22. Helen
Back in business school, I thought I was so lucky, meeting someone like Oliver. His family was impressive. His parents were picture perfect. He was gorgeous. And he liked me.
It wasn’t until after he stole my idea that I realized what a bullet I had dodged when he dumped me.
When I saw him again, I got a little nostalgic, and for one very stupid second, I actually wondered if I was making a mistake, putting my effort and time into someone like David Park. Someone who wanted things that were fundamentally different than what I wanted.
But David has always been willing to lead me to water, and he’s always been patient waiting for me to drink.
Oliver has been impressively consistent in an entirely different way.
“He did what?” Abby asks. “I’m going to castrate him.”
“Not kill him?” I lift my eyebrows.
“No, I want him to live with his misery for a very long time,” Abby says. “And I want to make sure he can never ever make any more little monsters like him while he suffers.”
I place my hand on my belly. “Like the one I’m growing right now?”
“Yours won’t be a monster.” Abby’s face softens like it always does when she looks at my stomach. “Yours will be an angel.”
“Not this again.”
Abby rolls her eyes and changes gears quickly, as usual. “What’s our plan then, if not castration?”
Oliver alerted the board about our plan to force a vote, when he knew I didn’t have enough votes yet. By my calculations, I’m still one percent shy of taking the company for the price I want—a price that will make us all a lot of money.
“There’s not much we can do,” I say. “Except talk to the shareholders about what I think they should do and how it will benefit anyone who votes with me.” I shrug. “This is how this kind of thing goes. He’ll forfeit his share of the gains if we can prove he disclosed after signing that agreement, and we’ll do what we can to repair anything we can.”
Once Abigail has lined up a sitter for her little guy—Beth is proving to be very willing to help out in a pinch when I throw money at her—we both hop on a jet and head for California. We go over the particulars of the speech I’ll make to the board on the way.
“You’re ready,” Abigail says. “After that speech, I’d hand over my votes and my retirement fund to you.”
“It’s about time,” I mutter. “It’s offensive you have that money invested in REITs.”
“They consistently outperform the market.”
“So does your sister, by a much larger margin.” I narrow my eyes.
When we land, there’s a car waiting, and even so, stupid Oliver has already assembled a quorum and is talking to them when we land. At least I recognize a lot of faces around the table when I walk in the door.
“We have the required quorum,” Oliver says.
I wonder what the current CEO offered him for turning on me. “That makes things easier for me.”
Abigail hands me my stack of proxies. “I represent forty-nine percent of your outstanding shares. And you’ve gathered most of the others here.”
“But it’s too late for talking. You’re late. We’re about to vote,” Oliver says.
“Under section 16f, a majority shareholder can speak before any forced vote, as long as there was less than twenty-four hours notice given,” Abigail says.
I love having her with me. “And I’m going to exercise that right.” I can tell that Oliver’s ticked, but he can’t stop me. None of them can. I just need to get at least two percent of the people gathered to switch to my side, and they’ll have to accept my tendered purchase offer.
The CEO’s a very stormy looking older man with eyebrows that look like little white caterpillars. He moves out of the way very slowly, like he might be able to hold his ground by refusing to yield the podium. But I don’t need a microphone to address the people gathered in this boardroom. There aren’t even sixty of them. It looks like a town hall meeting in Manila.
“My name’s Helen Fisher. Some of you have heard of me, either from Oliver, or perhaps from reading Forbes. You surely know that I’m famous for making a lot of money out of companies that were formerly foundering.”
“Which is why we’re confused at your interest. Our company is doing fine,” the CEO says. He’s clearly Gonzago’s man.
“We won’t let you steal from us,” a blonde in the back says.
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” I say. “In fact, as you may already know, I’ve been buying your shares at market value for quite some time now. I personally own twelve percent of your company. If I were planning to steal from you, would I place myself in exactly your position?” I arch one eyebrow. “I also own another thirty percent through my group—a company that I own nearly outright myself.”
“So what do you want?” the same blonde woman asks.
“I would like to wrest control from this man right there.” I point at the CEO. “For the past three years, he’s been badly mismanaging things, and your company has underperformed as a result of that management.”
“You get monthly numbers,” the CEO says, his caterpillars bobbling wildly. “You know that’s not true.”
“I don’t read the Bible much, but my sister was just telling me about a story from it, one that you might know already. In the New Testament, Jesus tells a story about some master who gave his servants gold pieces. One of them buries the gold, but doesn’t lose it. One turns two gold shares into four, and one turns five into ten. As you already know, Jesus rewarded?—”
Abby clears her throat. “The master in the story rewarded.”
“Right,” I say. “The master rewarded those who turned two into four and five into ten, but he punished the man who sat on the buried money. That’s essentially what your CEO here has done.” I nod at Abby.
She passes around the packets we prepared. A few people have to share, but most of them have one to themselves.
“This is my plan for the company, which most people in my position would not share. You can look over what I intend to do, the numbers we project it will yield, and what we hope to accomplish in the next twelve months. I believe they speak for themselves.” I lean forward and drop my palms flat on the table. “I never bury my gold.”
I let them think, murmur, and review for a moment.
But just as the CEO is standing up, ready to dicker over some line or another, I resume. “Compared to the rest of the market, you’ve barely kept apace with what your company has long been worth. I’m suggesting that instead of treading water, we double our money.” I straighten. “Or. . .how do you think Jesus would feel about us tripling it?”
Abby looks a little pained at my abuse of her analogy, but no one here seems too upset. In fact, a few of them are cheering. In the end, the vote winds up being close to sixty percent in my favor. I’m smiling when I stand up. “I’m delighted at the trust you’ve placed in me.”
Abby’s hiss, however, is a little distracting.
“What?”
She points at my chair.
And I realize that where I was just sitting, there’s a puddle of blood.
For a baby I didn’t even want, I’m surprisingly nervous as I’m rushed to the ER and then straight up to labor and delivery. Abby’s texted and called everyone by the time I’ve been seen, and David’s on his way to LA.
Abby’s downright terrifying when she wants to be, and apparently when my baby’s future is in question, she wants to be. She never raises her voice, but a woman with an ultrasound is checking my belly five minutes after we reach the room.
“Good news.” The woman shifts the wand and points. “There’s a steady heartbeat, and the fetus looks good. I’ll wait for the attending to tell you more.”
“You’re not even a doctor?” Abigail looks disgusted.
“I’m a third-year resident,” the woman says. “I am a doctor.”
“Then what are you worried about?” Abigail says. “What do we have to wait for the real doctor to come tell us?”
The woman sighs, and I almost feel sorry for her. “Bleeding during a pregnancy isn’t always a concern, but it’s not usually good.”
“Well, a quick internet search would tell me it’s not good, if I didn’t already know that much,” Abby says. “But I figured after seven years of training, you’d be able to tell me whether it was placenta previa, a placental abruption, or something worse.”
“It’s not an ectopic pregnancy,” the resident says.
“We already knew that,” Abby says. “It’s not our first ultrasound.”
“I’m actually a general surgery resident on a rotation,” the poor woman says. “So if you could just wait for a bit?—”
“Next time, lead with ‘I know less than you,’” Abby sighs. “It’ll save us all some time.”
It takes about ten minutes for the terrified resident to track down the attending, but once she’s in the room, she grabs that ultrasound wand and starts whirling it around like some kind of wild west gunslinger with his favorite pistol. “Alright, your baby’s attached high, so there’s no risk of placenta previa, and your baby’s vital signs continue to be very good. I’d like to monitor you overnight, but I think you’re going to be just fine.” She tilts her head as she puts the wand down. “Did you work out today?”
“Could that have caused it?” I frown. “I went for a jog this morning, but I’ve done that almost every morning of the pregnancy, and it’s been ten hours since then.”
“Did you drink anything or eat anything out of the norm?” She frowns. “Or were you under a lot of unusual stress?”
Abby laughs.
“This isn’t funny,” the attending says. “In a woman your sister’s age, stress can be very dangerous to a pregnancy.”
“The woman you’re scanning is Helen Fisher, and she’s made Forbes’ list of top ten billionaires to watch for over a decade,” Abby says. “An unusual day would be one without stress.”
“I did fly out here this afternoon and attend a board meeting where I had to convince shareholders to vote for me over the current management,” I say. “The vote was unexpected, and we didn’t know how it would go.”
“Well.” The woman stands. “I’m going to recommend that you try and take it easy for the next few months, unless you’d like to lose this baby and start over.”
My heart sinks. “This is what I was afraid of,” I say. “This baby is already slowing me down.” But really, I’m terrified. Could I, with my normal, daily life, kill this little child? Would it be my fault? Because I live and breathe stress constantly?
“Helen, do not let that woman browbeat you,” Abby says. “Bleeding in a pregnancy isn’t your fault.” She leans toward me and drops her hand on my arm. “You’re going to be just fine, and so is your little one.”
“But it wouldn’t hurt if I took it easy for a while.”
She smiles. “No, it wouldn’t hurt.”
“Well, then Oliver did us a favor,” I say. “I had another few weeks of meetings planned, but now I can just process the paperwork for this forced purchase deal and then focus on the boring work of getting that company turned around.”
“Yes, just that.” Abby pulls out her laptop and starts clicking, clearly already working on the documents we promised to send. “You should try and take a nap before everyone gets here.”
“Everyone?” I ask.
“David says his parents insisted on coming. Steve wanted to be here, and if he’s coming, apparently the kids wanted to come too.”
It’s going to be a zoo. “So much for low stress.”
“Having family around is always a good thing,” Abby says. “I promise.”
She winds up being right. David and his parents bring about five hundred pounds of food when they arrive, and Steve and his kids bring cards and camp out in the corner of my room, shouting and laughing as they play some variation of Uno that I’ve never seen.
Nathan practically screeches when he sees his mother. “Thank goodness,” Abby says. “I left my pump on the plane.” She ducks into the bathroom, apparently not keen on nursing in front of David’s shell-shocked parents. For two people who claim to like children, they’re not very natural with Abby’s mob.
“How many kids do you have?” Mr. Park is looking at all the blonde heads in despair.
“Five,” Abby says as she walks out. “But Ethan stayed behind to deal with stuff on the ranch, so there are only four of them here.” She smiles. “Don’t worry, though. They’re easier to process when they come one at a time.”
Now I’m the one coughing. “And in our case, we’ll only ever have just the one.”
“For now, anyway,” David sits next to me on the bed, patting my legs. “We never know what the future holds.”
“Oh, I disagree. We know just what it will hold. This one little baby and no more.”
“A few months ago,” he whispers, “you’d have said it would never hold this one.”
I roll my eyes, because. . .he’s right.
There’s a tap at the door, but it’s just a courtesy. The attending from before walks in without waiting for a response. “We did some routine bloodwork when you first arrived, and now that it’s back, I wanted to find out whether you wanted to know the gender of the baby.” She’s hovering in the doorway, like I should be ready to answer her right away.
So I do. “Yes.”
“I’m not sure.” David hops to his feet.
“Why would we not want to know?”
“Don’t you think it might be fun to do, like, I don’t know.” He glances around the room, and then he starts to pace, hopping over Uno players and bags and discarded shoes as he moves. “People do parties for this stuff nowadays.”
“We have a party here right now,” I say. “Look around.”
“But they, like, blast pink confetti out of cannons and stuff,” David says. “We could do something like that.”
“Out of a cannon?” I can’t help laughing. “Is that something you’ve been longing to try?” I glance back at the attending. “I think we would like to know. Then we can start shopping and setting up the nursery in the right colors.”
“That’s another thing,” David says. “We still haven’t decided where we’re going to live once we’re married.”
“You know what?” the doctor says. “I’ll come back.”
“No,” I say. “Don’t. Just tell us.”
She glances at David, which is infuriating. I’m the one growing the baby.
But thankfully, he nods. “Go ahead. I just like messing with her.” His smile reminds me why I love him. He does love messing with me, and he takes my irritable behavior in stride, too.
“It’s a boy,” she says with a grin, and then she ducks out the door.
Like she didn’t just drop a horrible bomb.
I know that, with this many people in the room, I should pretend I’mpleased, but I just can’t. My face appears to be frozen in shock.
“Whoa,” David says. “What’s wrong?”
Okay, shock, and apparently also disappointment.
David hops back up on the bed and drops an arm around my shoulder. “You’re the one who wanted to know.” He sounds half concerned and half entertained. “Should I go order a cannon?”
“This isn’t funny.” I shove at him.
“I’m sorry,” he says. “But I’m glad we didn’t record that. I’m sure our future son will be sad when he finds out you were this upset to have a boy.”
“I was sad when I found out Nathan was a boy,” Abby says. “The girls’ clothes and shoes are so much more fun.”
“We can have another one,” David says. “Even if this spontaneous pregnancy was a fluke, we could purposely?—”
I shove him harder this time. “Stop.” I’ve calmed down some, but that joke has passed its expiration date.
“What’s so upsetting?” Mrs. Park asks from the corner where she’s been hiding. “You don’t like boys?” She arches one imperious brow. “Or are you sad about the dresses?”
“Who cares about dresses?” I feel tears threatening, and I just can’t do that. Not with all these people around.
“What is it, then?” David asks.
“I like boys just fine, and I couldn’t care less what the baby wears,” I say. “But I have no idea what to do with a boy. I don’t play ball or watch sports or. . .” I trail off, not even able to think of other little boy things. “My own baby’s going to hate me.”
David laughs. “That’s ridiculous. He’ll like what you like, and I happen to be a boy, so I’m more than willing to lend a hand whenever you need ideas of how to connect.”
It takes me a few minutes, but I do calm down. David’s telling me the things he did with his parents back in Korea, and Gabe’s telling me all the things he and Nathan like, and Steve even pipes up with how much fun it is to bean his infant son in the head with squishy balls. When Abby waltzes back into the room, I do a double take.
“When did you even leave?”
Abby’s lugging a huge bag. When Nathan sees her, he practically lunges out of Izzy’s arms to the hard tile floor.
“What is that?” I ask, staring pointedly at the large white paper shopping bag. “Where did you go?”
“This is now a gender reveal party,” she says. “In honor of that, I popped downstairs before the gift shop closed. The bad news is that they were fresh out of confetti cannons.” She makes a face at David. “But I did manage to grab a few things I thought might cheer you up.” She reaches into the bag and what she pulls out is tiny, light blue, and it has grey ridges all down the back.
I’m squinting. “What is that?”
She hands it to me, and I flip it over in my hands before realizing it’s a dinosaur sleeper for a newborn. It may be the cutest thing I’ve ever seen. “Aww.”
The next thing she pulls out is a baby bunny nightlight. “All babies sleep better in a room with low lighting, boys or girls.” She winks.
Steve takes the bag. “I call dibs on giving her the tiny fox.” He whips out a fluffy brown fox plush. “Plenty of boys still want to snuggle.” As if he can understand what Steve’s saying, Nate drops his head on Abby’s shoulder and closes his eyes.
“Ooh.” The kids have gathered around, and Izzy reaches into the bag and grabs something. She offers it to me.
It’s a pacifier with a mustache on the top. I can’t help laughing. “That is pretty cute.”
“And I know I didn’t buy any of this, but this is called a soccer ball.” David pulls a squishy orange ball out of the bag and tosses it to me.
Gabe opens his mouth. “That’s not?—”
Whitney shoves her hand over his face before he can finish. “Hush.”
“It’s clearly a basketball,” I say. “I know that much.”
“If he inherits my athletic ability,” David says, “you won’t need to know much more than that.”
“Oh, please,” I say. “You’re decent at sports.”
“But between the two of you,” Abby says, “he’s bound to be a huge nerd. Better than anyone else I know, you’re both amply equipped to raise a nerd.”
By the time Steve takes the kids to a hotel to sleep for the night, I’m feeling better. About the bleeding, about Oliver and his attempt to destroy my takeover, and about the baby being a boy.
“Should I stick around?” David asks. “Or are you going to be sleeping?”
Abby left with Steve, at my insistence, so she could nurse her little guy in peace, and for some reason, staying here alone kind of freaks me out. “Do you mind staying?”
“I’d prefer it,” David says. “But you’re Miss Independence. I try to keep you as happy as I can.”
“To keep from getting your head bitten off?” I’m smiling so he knows I’m teasing.
“I do like my head,” he says. “It keeps my neck in line.”
“Is there room on your plane for all those kids?” Mrs. Park asks.
I snap my head toward the door where she and Mr. Park are standing. “Of course,” I say. “It seats twenty.”
“If you don’t mind, we may head back to Utah tonight.”
“Of course. You should,” I say. “I really appreciate you mobilizing your jet so fast and bringing Abby’s family along as well. I know they can be a little much if you’re not used to big families.”
Until I got used to being around them, they used to wear me out, too. Sometimes they still do.
“I was worried,” Mrs. Park says. “My husband and I both were.” She steps closer. “We were hoping to convince you to move to Korea to raise your child.”
I have no idea what to say to that.
“But now, after seeing the family you have.” She shakes her head. “Our son has joined a beautiful family.” Her smile’s sad. “We’ll try to come and visit often so that we aren’t strangers.”
David’s parents may be overbearing, and they may be irritating in their insistence that he do things their way, but they clearly care about him, and they’re more insightful than I expected. Their culture is one where the woman leaves her family and joins the family of the man, typically, from what I’ve studied. It’s nice to hear her say he’s joined a nice family.
Once they leave, David drags the sofa a little closer to my bed and lies down. I feel a little bad. He’s far too long to sleep on the short little sofa the hospital provides. “You should have gone too,” I say. “You won’t be able to sleep there.”
“You know, in Korea, my people often sleep on mats on the floor.” He smiles.
“You’re lying.”
“I mean, I didn’t ever do that.” He’s smiling more broadly. “But you know, our people often do.”
I throw a pillow at him. It seems fair, since I have three, but it’s also gratifying to smack his smug face. “I love you,” I say.
“I don’t think you’ll ever truly comprehend how much I love you,” David says. “I know how much you’ve changed your plans, and I know you’re doing it all for me.”
“And for me,” I say. “Most of my plans are great, but the one where I never had a kid needed an overhaul.” I think about that moment when I saw the blood earlier today. “I’m not sure I’ve ever been so afraid as when I thought I was miscarrying.”
“Me either.” David stands and squeezes in next to me on the bed.
“You better not try to stay here all night,” I grumble. But I’m already turning just a hair sideways so he can curl up behind and beside me.
And when I fall asleep, I haven’t let him leave my bed yet. There are so many things in my life now that were all wrong for me before I met him. Now those very same things are the best parts of my life. I’m thinking about how certain people can completely alter the trajectory of our lives, if they’re the right ones.
Like Abby did when she was born.
I’m blessed that David careened into my orbit and knocked me sideways, and I’m beginning to understand how blessed we both might be to have this little boy joining our family.
I wanted Abby.
I didn’t realize I wanted David for years and years.
And I almost made a huge mistake with this baby, one that I would have regretted, maybe forever.
While I will forever champion the right for women to choose, I’m glad my family and friends helped me find the right path for this pregnancy while there was still time to take it.