11. Keeley #2
The waiter returns with our water. Graham and I both order the New York Strip, served in a red-wine reduction, except he asks for spinach in lieu of fries.
It feels like a criticism, and I bet I’m in for more.
I bet I’m in for a whole lifetime of him silently but obviously doing things better than I do and gloating about it.
“You seem tense,” Graham says.
“I came here straight from work. It takes me a minute to unwind.”
“It’s seven-thirty.” His brow furrows. “I hope your boss realizes you won’t be able to work this late going forward.”
Oh, here we go . The inevitable discussion where he points out all the ways I’m not cut out for this. Where he produces a graph showing me how badly I’m about to fail.
“ Don’t ,” I warn. “This is all new to me and I’m figuring it out. But this is a kid, not something you can plug into an actuarial table and—”
He makes a noise—it’s a laugh or a growl, I’m not sure which. “For the last time, I do not use actuarial tables. What is it, exactly, that you think I do?”
“Something with money? Taxes? I think I just tend to lump all the boring professions into one.”
He takes a sip of his water. “I tell people what to do with their money.”
A basket of bread is delivered to the table, and I tear into it, trying not to groan volubly. “That still sounds like taxes to me.”
“You need a CPA to do taxes,” he says.
“So, what I hear you saying is that you’re not smart enough to do taxes.”
He makes that noise again. I’m pretty sure it’s a laugh, but this time it also sounds an awful lot like a prolonged, weary sigh. “Yes, Keeley, you’ve nailed it. Anyway, I’ve spent the week thinking about this situation and, well, you didn’t want kids, and—”
“I didn’t,” I say, cutting him off. “But I want this one. And you didn’t want kids either.”
He looks at me for a long moment, and I get the oddest feeling that something just changed, and I have no idea what it was. “I didn’t. But I want this one,” he says softly. “So maybe I should move in, just until you give birth.”
I swallow the bread in my mouth so rapidly I nearly choke. “Move in,” I say blankly. “You mean…with me ?”
“Yeah, I can work from LA for a while. At least until the baby comes. And it makes sense, doesn’t it?”
“In what possible way does you moving into a stranger’s one-bedroom apartment make sense?”
“Keeley, you have a second bedroom and none of the shit in that ‘closet’ is going to fit you in a month anyway.”
Oh no he didn’t .
I draw myself up straight, politely returning the rest of my bread to my plate. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
He scrubs a hand over his face. “You realize how pregnancy works, right? Your stomach is going to get bigger. All of you is going to get bigger. And I’ve seen how you dress. I’m guessing your closet doesn’t abound with loose clothing.”
Wow, just… wow . “Are you trying to say my clothes are slutty ?”
His eyes graze over me before he looks away. “It wasn’t a complaint.” His voice is deeper than normal, gravelly. And I see a flash of something from our brief past—unapologetic hunger in his eyes, his hand sliding inside my dress, the sound of panties tearing.
That’s why I couldn’t find them the morning I left. He tore them. He tore them and he wasn’t the least bit sorry. I feel a tiny spark in my core, one I immediately extinguish.
But… huh . I would not have guessed he was the type.
He swallows. “Weren’t you going to have to clear that room out for the baby anyway?”
I suppose telling him I hadn’t thought that far ahead won’t especially help my case here.
“I was kind of hoping a Saudi prince would just buy me a house between now and the delivery, but I guess that window is closing.”
“Pretty sure that window already closed,” he says, with a glance at my stomach.
Unbelievable . In less than five minutes he’s said my clothes won’t fit and that no Saudi prince would be interested in buying me a house.
“Well, you’re certainly doing a stellar job of persuading me thus far,” I say dourly. “Why the fuck would I let you live with me?”
“Because I’ll pay your rent the whole time I’m here. I’ll buy everything you need for the baby and help you get it all set up. Think about all the shit you could buy with that much extra money.”
“You don’t even know what the rent is.”
Amusement flickers somewhere behind his unmoving mouth, his unreadable eyes. “I’ll manage.”
If I trusted him, I’d be willing to hear him out, but there’s got to be a catch, some mean little legal trick at play here— eminent domain or something that will mean I can’t kick him out when the time comes.
“Why? Because nothing about this offer makes sense to me.”
His tongue slides between his lips. “I guess saying I don’t trust you to make responsible decisions for our child wouldn’t be a compelling argument?”
My eyes narrow. “I hope you’re not in sales because you’re terrible at it.”
“Based on the sheer number of purses you own, I’m assuming I don’t have to sell it.
You probably haven’t got a penny saved. Look, I want to be a part of my child’s life, even before he or she is born.
I don’t want to miss this. And I’m worried I’ll always feel like I’m on the outside, given the situation, if I’m not invested from the start. ”
Ugh. It’s the kind of appeal that’s impossible to say “no” to.
I move my bread plate out of the way so the waiter can place my steak there, and the sight of fries makes me lose my train of thought.
I spear a piece of steak into my mouth along with a single fry and let the flavor explode on my tongue. “ Ohmygod, it’s so good,” I groan.
For a millisecond, his face is feral, all sharp bones and glittering eyes before he swallows. “You shouldn’t let yourself get that hungry.”
Already the lectures begin. “Sometimes my job means I don’t have time to get downstairs for lunch. The baby will survive. You think cavewomen had breakfast, lunch, and dinner?”
His mouth opens to argue before it closes again. And that’s why it will never work. Because currently, he has to cooperate with me, but once this child is born, he’ll have no reason to be polite.
He’s not even all that polite right now.
“Your company is really just going to let you work from here all that time?” I ask. “It’s months .”
One corner of his mouth lifts. “I think it’ll be okay.”
God. I’m going to have to put up with his smug face for four months. Four . And we will kill each other. How am I the only one seeing this?
“Doesn’t it make more sense to, I don’t know, save your leave up?” I argue. “You can come back after the baby is born. Nothing is even happening now.”
His eyes darken. “ Everything is happening now.”
I sigh. “I don’t know, and you’re not going to push me into deciding anything here , so let me just enjoy my steak.”
He smirks. “I didn’t get the sense I was stopping you.”
I look down. My steak is half-gone already. “Just stop talking,” I tell him.
When the meal concludes, he pays the bill and walks me out to my car, eyeing my convertible MINI Cooper. Any second now he’ll say, “that’s not a good car for a kid . Have you considered replacing it with a used minivan?”
“I know you need some time to think,” he says instead, “but I’m only here until Sunday. Can we meet tomorrow morning to discuss it some more?”
“Do you promise you won’t trash any hopes I have about the Saudi prince?”
His mouth twitches. “Do you really think a Saudi prince is going to fall for a woman who’s five months pregnant? It’s not like he wouldn’t have other options.”
My arms fold across my chest. “You’ve got this weird habit of doing exactly what I just told you not to do.”
He smiles to himself. “You’ve got a weird habit of entertaining wildly unrealistic hopes and dreams.”
“Whatever. I’ll meet you at the Starbucks by my apartment at eleven.”
“Eleven? That’s hardly morn—”
He stops himself at my raised eyebrow.
“Fine. Eleven.”
He holds my door while I climb into the car. Holding someone’s door is honestly the most useless action. Were women once so weak they couldn’t close a door on their own? But I guess…it’s not all bad. Maybe it’s a little sweet.
I can see exactly who he’ll be as a father: bossy, demanding, full of unreasonable expectations. But he just flew across the country, tried to get me to eat vegetables, paid for my meal, and saw me safely to my car.
The truth is, he’ll likely be a far better parent than I’ll be.