“How’d you know, then?”
“I might have sneaked a peek at your driver’s license,” Richard says.
“You’re very resourceful,” I say.
Richard rolls toward me. “I can be resourceful when I want something,” he says. I can feel him looking into my eyes, in the dark.
“And what exactly do you want?” I ask, my heart racing, although I’m not sure why.
Richard doesn’t answer my question, but he finds my lips and kisses me. I kiss him back, considering in what way Richard wants me. In the same lustful way I want him? Is that all I really want? Or are we more about companionship, about filling a void and passing time? Could we be falling in love? Would I ever want to be with Richard in the way I was with Ben? Would I ever want to try marriage again with anyone?
As if he is reading my mind, Richard stops kissing me abruptly and says, “Can I take you away for your birthday?”
“Yeah,” I say. “I would like that very much.”
“Anywhere particular you’d like to go?”
“Anywhere with you would be just fine,” I say in such a firm tone that I’m almost convinced that it is true.
In the morning, I return to Jess’s apartment to get ready for work. Jess is sitting in the family room, wearing silky black underwear (Jess owns no cotton pairs) and applying lotion to her legs. The room smells of vanilla. Her hair is still wet, and spiky with gel. She looks happy and is singing Liz Phair’s “Perfect World”: “I wanna be cool, tall, vulnerable, and luscious.”
I think Well, you are all of those things . Then I say, “Did the jackass call you back?”
I am, of course, referring to Trey. He is officially known as “the jackass” now. First he was “Jackass,” a proper noun, but we decided he wasn’t even worthy of that much and demoted him to a generic, random jackass. According to his assistant Daria, he is in Tokyo. We can tell she’s lying for him. We already know that lying for her boss is part of her job description. “Tell him phones work in Asia,” Jess said the last time she spoke to Daria. Apparently Daria had snorted and said, “Will do,” before hanging up abruptly. Jess said it wasn’t altogether clear who Daria was disdainful of, her or her boss. I said maybe Daria was sleeping with him, too. Jess didn’t think it was all that funny. I made note of this: hold the jokes for a bit longer.
“Nope. No word,” Jess says with a shrug. “Fuck him.”
I study her face, for a sign of false bravado. There is nothing. I can tell she is starting to mean it. In fact, she is so strong that I begin to think that there is only one explanation: Jess wants the baby more than she wants Trey. Sort of the opposite of Ben and me. Could my best friend and I be more different?
“Fuck him,” she says again.
I laugh and say, “That’s how you got in this mess.”
“Yeah. It is a bit of a mess,” she says. “And yet it feels right .”
Then she informs me she has scheduled her first prenatal visit for the following Thursday at two o’clock.
“That’s exciting,” I say, nearly meaning it.
“Will you come with me?” she asks hesitantly. “The nurse told me that they check for the fetal heart sounds with a Doppler ultrasound. I’d like to share the moment with someone With you .”
“Sure I’ll come,” I say, feeling touched that she wants me there. And I want to be there with her, but I still have reservations. First, fall is our busiest season, and I can just see myself stuck in a waiting room for hours. Second, and most important, it seems to set a bad precedent. Will Jess then expect me to go to every appointment thereafter? And what about the nitty-gritty moments of childbirth? I imagine her asking me to cut the umbilical cord or photograph the emerging blood crown.
I marvel at the irony of mea woman who does not want a baby, being asked to be an egg donor and a surrogate parent all in one month’s time.