The Knocked Up Plan

1. Do your research online in advance and tailor the caches to her interests, even her mood.

Maybe she had a crummy week. Perhaps something didn’t quite go her way. Traipsing around the city hunting for treasure is a much better way to get her mind off the shit that didn’t work out than dinner is. Searching for a little pouch of treasure tucked away on a shelf in the New York Public Library is guaranteed to improve her mood. Plus, there’s just something about libraries. They’re catnip for most women. When she finds the red drawstring bag tucked behind Jane Eyre with a miniature book inside it, she might even give you a kiss. And that’s one more thing to help her out of her funk. If she keeps the miniature book, replace it with a snow globe. A snow globe will get the next man who finds it a kiss, too. Pass it on, bros. Pass it on.





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2. Listen to her.



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Maybe she’s got a thing for the Brooklyn Bridge. Include a cache on the bridge on your hunt. When she tells you the story of how her mother took her and her brother to this bridge to watch the sunset when she was younger, you listen. If she shares a story of how those walks remind her of someone she lost long ago, you pay attention. Look in her eyes, tuck her hair behind her ear, and let her know you care.





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3. Have some motherfucking fun.



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Include a geocache in Grand Central. (There are hundreds. Look them up.) Track one down and replace the Lego dude you discover inside it with, say, a small model train or a matchbox car. But you’re not done. This is a two-part cache, and the second part is a surefire winner.



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Head to the Whispering Arch Gallery on the lower floor of the terminal. It’s near the Oyster Bar, between the intersection of two walkways. If you press your ear up against the tiles, you can hear someone whispering from the diagonal arch. This acoustic anomaly is a chance to tell her something that you’ve been keeping secret, holding back, or just weren’t quite ready to say before. Maybe you’ll say do you want to go out again, or maybe you’ll tell her how you feel about her. Or maybe you’ll admit there’s a part of you that’s glad things worked out the way they did so you can spend more time with her. She might even whisper back her own sweet nothing that can be heard crystal clear over the din of crowds, but only by you. She might even say Me, too.





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4. Pick one in a park.



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Wander through Central Park searching out a cache hidden behind the Alice in Wonderland statue, as kids clamber all over it and she watches them with a smile and a wish in her eyes. When she asks your favorite memory from when you were a kid, tell her it was the hours you spent in the park with your brother and sister, pretending you were pirates and hunting for treasure, too. Tell her you loved that it was always your job to make sure everyone made it home safely. But, dudes, that’s my fucking story. Tell your own.





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5. Accept you won’t find them all.



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Some geocaches will bedevil you. No matter how hard you try to find that one that some website said was absolutely in the 72nd Street subway station or definitely in the lobby of Radio City Music Hall, you’ll never track it down.



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Remember, you’re in this together with your woman, and if you don’t find one, try to have the best time possible. Tell her you’ll do it again the next month. There’s something about those words—try, try again—that might be exactly what she needs to hear.



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When she thanks you at the end of the date, you can thank me for being your guide. Because she just might be into you.





Twenty-One





Nicole

We barbecue on a friend’s rooftop, and we screw. We go lingerie shopping, and we do it. One evening, we see a revival of Private Lives at the Neil Simon Theater, and Ryder takes me backstage afterward to meet the director, Davis Milo, who happens to be a good friend of his.

“Your work is amazing. I loved Crash the Moon,” I gush, mentioning a musical he recently won a Tony for. “Almost as much as I loved what you just did with Noel Coward’s work.”

He nods a thank you. “I’m thrilled to hear you enjoyed both. I had good material to work with.”

He’s as humble as he is handsome.

“Speaking of good material, I’ve been enjoying your radio show these days,” Davis tells Ryder as the men do their man-hug thing.

“Good to hear. And if you ever want to commission my life story for Broadway, you know where to find me,” Ryder says.

Davis laughs. “Indeed. Finding the cocky bastard to play you will be the real challenge.”

Ryder laughs. “Just find the most handsome fella around, and you’re good.”

Davis turns to me with a sly smile. “You agree with his casting strategy?”

I run a hand down Ryder’s arm. “I agree wholeheartedly.”

When we leave the theater, Ryder has a town car waiting for us—one with a partition. We make excellent use of the private life we temporarily have in the backseat of the sleek, black auto that cruises through Manhattan. I’m not taking any chances. Just like last month, we’ve been doing it every night in the middle of my cycle. I’m not going to risk missing the window in case it turns out I ovulate early or late. I like to think I’m being thorough.

I’m also just the slightest bit addicted to sex with Ryder.

The next evening, we come up with the genius idea to play spin the bottle with an empty Pinot Grigio from my pre-baby-making days.

Cross-legged on my floor, I spin. It lands on Ruby, and I laugh. “Does that mean I kiss the dog?”

“Do it.”

I bend to her and kiss her soft snout. Next, I plant a wet, slobbery kiss on Ryder’s lips. He returns my lip-lock with an equally tongue-drenched one. When we break the kiss, he says, “Bet you thought I’m one of those guys who doesn’t want to be kissed after you’ve just kissed a dog.”

“The thought actually never occurred to me.”

“Let the record reflect, I don’t mind at all.”

It’s his turn to spin, and the amber glass bottle whizzes in four or five speedy rotations. After it slows, it settles on my door. “Is that your subtle way of kicking me out?” He shoots me a skeptical stare.

“Oh yes. I weighted the bottle because I just don’t have it in me to send you on your way. I had to have the bottle do it.”

He grabs at his crotch. “I’ll just take my sperm and go, then.”

“No, not the sperm, not the sperm,” I tease.

He points to the bottle. “By the way, how the fuck do you play spin the bottle with two people?”

I laugh and shrug. “I don’t actually know.”

“Shame on you. I’m going to tell Cal there is something you don’t know about dating games.”