Chapter 7
SEVEN
I’m a fucking idiot.
Why did I make plans with this man when I’m lonely and horny? Why would I tempt myself like this?
“Earth to Dani.” Remi waves her hand from where she sits across from my desk.
She walked in a few minutes earlier, asking for an update on Paula’s event.
Little does she know, I’m already panicking over having my very attractive neighbor in such close proximity when my vagina is literally weeping to be touched.
I try not to look into Remi’s hovering, knowing once I ace this, she’ll never have to question me again.
Though she likely will.
“Oh,” I start, pushing around my mouse and staring at my computer monitor as it comes to life. “I actually have to call her.”
Remi extends her hand toward my phone, her gesture making me sigh as I press the speaker button before dialing her number. Paula picks up on the second ring.
“Daniela,” she exclaims, and I press the lower volume button as I grin, greeting her in return. “What do you have for me, amiguita ?”
Her ease of such casual language makes me pause, wondering if our cultural connection makes Remi uncomfortable.
In any other situation, I’m the outsider, with my wide hips, thick thighs, and hairy arms. I can’t help but look up at Remi, attempting to gauge a reaction from her outwardly pleasant expression.
“I have three venues in mind that I’d love to walk you through later this week, whenever you’re free,” I start, running over my notes on my monitor in front of me as I lean forward, placing my elbows on my desk.
“Each has a different vibe, but I think we can cater to any option with specific themes.”
“Wonderful. And what about catering?” she asks, making me press my lips together as I try to figure out how best to approach this.
“I’m still working on it. Now, should he be booked?—”
“Please inform the chef that I’m willing to work around his schedule.”
Complete silence follows as I digest what she’s saying. She can’t be serious, not when I’ve made calls around the date she already gave me.
“I contacted the venues with the date we specified at our last meeting,” I try, wondering what kind of crack is in Quintin’s food to make Paula so damn determined to have him.
“Venues are interchangeable. My husband and I had dinner at this restaurant two months ago, and I haven’t stopped thinking about how divine the food was.”
I can feel Remi staring at me, waiting for my response, waiting for me to blow up my peace to make Paula happy. I lean back, drumming my fingertips against the desk before I respond.
“Okay. I’ll let him know.”
We exchange a few more details, set a date and time for another meeting, and hang up.
“Is everything okay?” Remi asks, still watching me, tucking her short hair behind her ears before crossing her legs. “Should I be concerned? You typically never take no for an answer.”
Her pointing out the obvious irritates me. It reminds me of how Quintin looked in my apartment last night, smiling at me like he belonged there.
I wave my hands, leaning back in mock ease, ready to say whatever it takes to keep her concern at bay. “No, no. Everything is fine. I just like to have options.”
“Don’t we all,” she says as she stares past me, out the window behind me.
“Date last night didn’t go well?” I ask, remembering she mentioned something about a blind date when she emailed me yesterday.
“I think the men of Chicago have crawled up from the depths of hell to assist with population control.” She’s still staring out the window as I regard her, wondering what it’s like to be her age and desperately desire marriage and children.
“Maybe you could…do it alone?” I offer, shrinking as she flicks her hard gaze to mine. “I hear more women are choosing to.”
“I haven’t reached that level of desperation yet, Dani,” she tells me, rubbing the diamond stud nestled on her lobe. “Maybe I’m foolish for still harboring hope.”
“If you’re looking for a man worthy of hope…” I trail off with a grimace.
“You’re right,” she sighs. “I tend to intimidate them anyway. Like if I don’t need them to save me, they’re incapable of an erection.”
Welp.
I cough to hide the chuckle bubbling up, and she blinks, as if reeling herself back in.
“Well, maybe I’ll look into my options,” she murmurs before standing. “The only thing worse than being single at my age is being lonely.” She brushes off her charcoal slacks and smiles at me before walking out of my office.
Remi has no idea I’m pregnant, but the way her massive emotional dump landed right on my shoulders has me anxious to get out of my stifling office.
I gather my things, prepared to get the hell out of here, even though there’s an event tomorrow night I spearheaded. All the details have been seen to, everything has been checked, double-checked, even triple-checked, so there’s no need for me to stick around.
As I shut my office door behind me, I glance around, looking for that auburn head of hair. Remi must’ve moved quickly, because there’s no sign of her around her office or in the hallway.
I stop at my colleague’s desk, and she pulls her phone from her ear as she looks up at me. Her brown hair is piled on top of her head, a pen sticking through it, and I bet her frazzled appearance has something to do with Remi’s helicopter brand of authority.
“What’s up?” she asks in a hushed tone.
“I’m heading out for the day,” I start, pulling my jacket on. “Would you mind letting Remi know when you see her?”
Bridget nods, mouthing okay as she looks back down at her monitor. Then, as if she’s forgotten something, she peers up at me again. “Want me to forward your calls to your cell?”
“Don’t.” I close my eyes, shaking my head for a moment. “You don’t have to do the assistant thing. You and I both know Remi gives you enough work as it is.”
She offers a small smile before putting the phone back to her ear, returning to her call.
It’s bad enough that this woman has worked here longer than I have, but having her as a shared assistant between Remi and I makes me so uncomfortable.
I don’t know if I’ll ever get used to the idea of someone fetching me coffee, but I’m sure having my own assistant once I make partner will cut my workload in half. Plus, with the way Bridget gets worked, I’m sure Remi is reaping the benefits.
In the elevator, my hand brushes my stomach as I adjust my jacket, and my breath hitches.
As I walk toward the exit, the air getting cooler, I try not to pay attention to the woman passing by on the sidewalk, pushing a stroller.
Could that be my life?
What the fuck is the universe trying to tell me?
What would my mother think? The woman who had me young, without a man in the picture until she met the one I’d call Papi when I was two years old. Did she come to the United States from a small island where crime took her first husband for me to have a child without a father?
I get in my car, wiping away the lone tear that found its way down my cheek. Fucking hormones.
The drive home is silent, and I swear, every mother must’ve gotten some kind of signal to take their babies out for walks. I don’t remember ever seeing these many strollers out before. Maybe they’re out in solidarity, showing each other that life doesn’t have to end when you have a child.
Or maybe I’m just noticing what already was, except now, it could potentially pertain to my life.
I created a life in which I can afford to be selfish. If I don’t provide this life, have this baby, would that be selfish as well?
When I pull up in front of my apartment, I wonder about the gender of the baby. I try not to think about gender norms and blue versus pink. Rather, I try to picture a boy with my eyes or a girl with my thick hair.
As I think back on that fateful one-night stand, I try to remember his face. A drunken haze edges around the memory, but I see a square jaw and a hairless chest that I remember being freaked out by.
With my keys in hand, I walk up to the door of my apartment building, hoping I don’t see Quintin. Not when I feel as raw as I do. Not when I’m teetering on the edge of a meltdown over the state of my life.
Thankfully, I make it inside my apartment without seeing anyone, and as I shut the door, I realize just how empty my place is. I don’t come home to anyone, and no one is waiting on me. Maybe that’s what Remi means.
Worse than being single is being lonely.
But having a child to avoid feeling lonely? Seems like a shitty reason to have one.
When my phone rings and Santana’s name pops up, I call it fate and answer without preamble.
“I’m glad you called,” I tell her then wait for her response. I tuck the phone against my ear while I take off my jacket and toe off my suede, sherpa-lined ankle boots. With my jeans, oversize chunky sweater, and minimal makeup, today felt like a casual day.
“You and any man I’ve ever called,” she says, an air of humor in her tone. “What can me and my impeccable timing do for you, amorcito ?”
I start pacing, unsure of how to handle this. But what I’ve been doing—holing myself up to figure it out on my own—isn’t working. I need support right now.
“I need you to ask me about anything. Ask me about my day. Ask me about the last man I slept with. Ask me about my neighbor, about work.” I pause, taking a deep breath. “And then, when I’m not expecting it, ask me what I’m going to do about the baby.”
It’s logical, right? The notion that if I don’t have time to think about it, when I’m at ease, answering questions, the truth will reveal itself.
“First of all, who is this neighbor?” she asks, getting right into it.
“Just some guy Paula is determined to have cater her event,” I shoot back, shaking off my jitters.
“Okay. Do you plan on giving him a side of pussy with Paula’s check?”
I snort, perching on the edge of my sofa. “I don’t think so. At least, I’m trying not to.” I groan, tapping my toes on the floor for a moment before continuing. “I think he’s interested. Not sure why, because when I met him, I threw up on his shoes, but he keeps coming around.”
“Oh…” Her voice trails off, and she says something away from the phone, her words muffled, before coming back to the conversation. “If you threw up on him and he’s still showing up, he may be into weird kinky shit.”
“I doubt it,” I say, hoping he isn’t some kind of two girls, one cup kind of weirdo.
“Dating is fucking disgusting these days.” I hear keystrokes in the background.
“You’re at work?”
Santana may be the most stylish and eccentric person I’ve ever met, but she works in an office full of strait-laced white men who spend most of their days avoiding their wives and families. I’m not sure how she ended up at that law firm, but I know they adore her.
If I never have to sit through another story about one of the partners trying to fuck her or watch her open the inappropriate gifts they give her, I’ll only be too happy.
Old fucking perverts .
“Unfortunately,” she mutters. “What’s your favorite color again?”
“Yellow. Why?”
“Lucky number?”
“Six…” I glance out my living room window at the gray sky, wondering when the inevitable question is coming.
“Shoe size?”
“Seven. Well, sometimes?—”
“What are you doing about the baby?” I pause, and Santana’s voice grows louder. “Hurry up, hurry up, hurry up. Bitch, you’d better answer?—”
“I’m keeping the baby,” I rush out, squeezing my eyes shut as I wait for her to say something. To tell me I’m crazy, to threaten to call my mother, to call me a dumb-ass bitch.
“Listen to me,” she starts, and I take a deep breath as I wait for her response. “I don’t care what cousin was promised what or what bullshit old friend you have waiting on the sidelines. I’m the godmother, you hear me? I’m gonna spoil the shit out of that little fucker.”
I let out a laugh so loud, it echoes in my apartment. “Of course,” is all I can manage for a moment. When I finally catch my breath, I stand.
“Just call me Madrina Santi from now on,” she exclaims. “We’re having a baby!”
She continues her high-pitched exclaiming as my thoughts drift off.
I’m having a baby.