When I’m boneless and sated, Josh turns on his side and fits my back into his chest, spooning me on the hardwood. I can feel the thundering of his heart. He smooths my hair back from my face. I lay on my side and take everything in. I’m sore, sated, achy and happy. Josh trails his hand from my neck down my back, tracing the line of my spine.
I remember the text that I sent him of my naked back. I wonder if he’s thinking of it. His fingers run leisurely over my spine and I tilt toward him. My breathing has slowed and I feel like I’ve almost come back to earth. So much so that the hardwood floor is becoming uncomfortable.
In fact, the hard coldness reminds me of my parents’ garage floor.
A flicker of unease passes through me. The last time Josh and I had sex, we ended up on the floor. It was fast and dirty. Just like this time.
He moaned my name and…yes…stroked my back, just like this time.
And then he went to college and I didn’t see him for six years.
Because, just like every other guy in my life, I didn’t really mean all that much to him.
Oh.
Oh no.
The only thing different about this time than the last was that I initiated the sex this time. I jumped him and he seemed surprised.
He wasn’t expecting sex. He didn’t necessarily want sex. But it’s been two years for him, hasn’t it? He probably would’ve had sex with any woman who threw themselves at him like that.
Oh no, what have I done?
In my stupidity, I complicated things horribly.
When I started this whole thing I just wanted a sperm donor. A nice, uncomplicated, business-like arrangement with a decent guy. We had a contract, visitation agreements. No complications. None.
My body runs cold and I wrap my arms around myself.
Josh’s hand stills on my back. “You okay?” he asks. “Were you not supposed to have sex?” He sounds worried.
I sit up and start to pull on my clothes. My pants and sweater are cold from the draft that comes in off the floorboards. “No. No. It’s alright. I can have…sex.”
I flush and turn my face away from him.
From the corner of my eye I can see him stare at me, a confused expression on his face. Then, he pulls on his boxers and his pants.
“That’s good,” he says, and he sounds relieved. “I made the baby her first comic. It’s in my bag. You could check it out while we get some pizza. Or I’m up for lime Jell-O if you want to go that route.” I can almost hear the suggestive laughter in his voice, and my stomach clenches in response.
The thought what have you done, what have you done, what have you done, repeats over and over in my mind.
I turn back to Josh and try not to stare at his naked chest. I can’t think straight when I look at him.
“Hey,” he says. He reaches out and runs his knuckles down my jaw, then he gives me that smile again, the one that I’ve never seen before.
My heart flips over and then I feel like I’m going to be sick.
He frowns and pulls his hand away. “What is it?”
I swallow and look down at my bare feet. I can’t look at him. I don’t want to look at him. But if there’s one thing that Josh always deserves from me, it’s the truth.
We shouldn’t have done that.
It complicated things.
It complicated everything.
“What do you think about telling everybody at your parents’ get together on Sunday?” he asks.
I look up at him and shake my head. What’s he talking about? “What?”
“Your mom’s post-Valentine’s Day pot roast. We could tell everyone the news on Sunday.”
I press my hand to my stomach. “I…” I shake my head. “You’re going?”
He frowns and studies my face. “I thought I was. Is there a reason I shouldn’t?”
I clench the hem of my sweater.
“I wasn’t going to tell them until I’m showing. And…” Oh, this is hard. “I wasn’t going to tell them you’re the father until…”
His shoulders stiffen. “Until when?”
His face has wiped completely of any expression.
I swallow and then shrug. “I hadn’t figured that out yet.”
My chest tightens as he takes a moment to study my face. Then he says, “You don’t think they’ll figure it out when I bring her home for weekends? Or when I pick her up every other Christmas? Or hell, when she comes out with my eyes, or my nose, or my dad’s hair or—”
He cuts off. Then he gives me a look like he doesn’t know me at all.
Heat rushes over me and I say, “It’s not that I’m not going to tell them, it’s just, I’m not going to tell them yet.”
“Why? What are you ashamed of?” he demands.
I look around my apartment, at my bed, my futon, my wall quote about the gift of love. But I can’t look at him.
I can’t look at him at all.
“I see,” he says in a quiet voice.
But I don’t think he does, because honestly, I don’t see.
I’m afraid of him. I realize that now. I’m afraid of Josh Lewenthal. Not because he’s horrible, or a cheater, or a bad person, but because of exactly the opposite.
Because I could easily fall completely, totally, irrevocably in love with him.
Maybe I already have.
I flinch at the thought.
No. I haven’t.
I chose Josh to be my donor because he wasn’t marriage material. He wasn’t even boyfriend material. I didn’t think I was in any danger of falling for him. At all.
I figured, he’s thirty-three, living in his dad’s basement, writing comics, making a joke of life, there’s no way I’d fall for him.
No danger of getting involved. No danger of getting hurt.
We’d be friends, and that’s all.
I could have a baby to love, and never, ever get hurt.
Except.
Isn’t this feeling hurt?
I put a hand over my heart. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to complicate things. You’re not…I don’t want…this was just a stupid mistake. If we could go back to the way things were, if we could just be friends…”
Finally, I look up at him.
He stands completely still, so much so that I wouldn’t know he was here if I wasn’t looking at him.