The Knocked Up Plan

My mother’s lips quiver. “He was a good man. Your father loved you so much.”

The fire hydrant cranks on. My eyes leak fat, salty tears. My mother joins me on my side of the table, wraps her arm around me, and squeezes. “I believe in you—whatever you decide. If you choose to have him involved, and if he wants to be involved, it will be for the best.”

I nod as a sob hovers near my lips. “It will,” I say, choking on the words.

“It will be for the best for your child. What a gift for your baby to know such a good man is his or her father.” Her tone is so warm, so loving, so full of motherly wisdom. I know she’s right. I just wish that good man wanted me, too.

But only a fool would think she could have it all.

I bury my face in my mother’s shoulder, and I cry like a baby in the diner. If I get out all the tears now, I can keep calm tonight, and I absolutely must remain calm. If I can’t have all of Ryder, I want to have the part of him in my life that is keen to know his child. It’s such a gift, to be able to know your family. It’s a gift I didn’t think I’d be able to give my child.

Now, it’s possible, and I have to stay strong for Papaya.





Thirty-Five





Ryder

After all my travels, I have the day off.

I spend it with my boy. I take Romeo to Central Park and toss tennis balls to him in the off-leash section until he flops down on his belly, panting in the unseasonably warm March.

We leave, and as I wander through the park, I stop at the bridge over the lake. I stare into the distance, past the water, my eyes landing on the tall buildings framing each side of this oasis in Manhattan.

I’m not here by chance.

I’m here by design.

Maggie and I had our first date in Central Park. Our first kiss on this bridge. As I stand here, I wait for the familiar sensations to pummel me. For the tightening in my chest, the twist in my gut.

It comes, but it fades just as quickly.

“C’mon, boy,” I say to my dog. He trots beside me as I head to the park exit then cut across the brownstones and pre-war buildings toward Lincoln Center.

Tension winds through me as I bound up the steps to the fountain. Maggie and I kissed here after I took her to a ballet, the lights from the fountain like candlelight against the dark night.

But when I let go of thoughts of my ex, and focus on Nicole, the tension flickers away.

Next, my dog and I cut a diagonal swath down the city, walking and walking, all the way to the Union Square Farmers’ Market. It’s open tonight, and I wander around the edges, remembering the times I came here with my ex-wife.

This was our stomping ground, so I brace myself for a slice, a nick, a fresh new cut.

But as I make another lap, I don’t bleed.

I don’t hurt.

I might not enjoy the reminders of Maggie, but they don’t hobble me like they used to. They are part of my past, part of my history.

They don’t have to control my present.

Romeo and I walk to Chelsea, and I park myself on the stoop of my building. Romeo, now exhausted from the long trek, slumps on the steps and rests his snout on my leg.

“What do you think?”

He raises an ear.

“Time to move on?”

He raises his other ear. I cycle back to the night of the hookup seminar that Cal’s son surreptitiously attended, and remember the thoughts that swirled in my head then. Happily ever after is a cycle of bullshit, love is a medley of lies, and marriage is a thing that can only go wrong.

But maybe not.

Maybe love isn’t a collection of falsehoods.

Maybe happiness isn’t a farce.

Maybe being together can go right, if you trust yourself to try again.

I pat my dog’s head, and we go inside.



A cupcake is a good start.

I grab a strawberry one from her favorite bakery, and a bouquet of red tulips from a florist near her home. My heart skitters as I walk along her block.

I’ve traveled this block so many times en route to a night of baby-making, and more recently, to taking her home after the Ping-Pong fall.

But tonight feels different.

Because it is different.

It’s the start of what I hope will be all the things I never thought I wanted from this arrangement and now I can’t imagine living without.

When she opens the door, her smile is so bright it nearly blinds me.

“Hi!” Her voice rises at the end as if she’s been practicing the greeting all day.

“Hey, beautiful,” I say, and dip my mouth to hers to kiss her lips. I catch more cheek than lip.

“Come in.” She shuts the door behind me, and after a proper dog greeting from Ruby, I hand Nicole the flowers. “For you.”

She sniffs them. “They’re lovely.”

After she grabs a vase and fills it, she sets the flowers on the living room table then sits. I join her on the couch. She crosses her legs, and places her hands on her thighs. She seems more proper tonight. Not in appearance—she wears jeans and a sweater—but in demeanor.

“Everything okay? You seem . . . jumpy?”

She shakes her head. “Everything is great.”

“I got you a cupcake.” I hand her the box.

She opens it, her eyes lighting up. “I’m going to save it for later. Too nervous to eat.”

“Why are you nervous?” I ask, hoping it’s for the same reason I am.

She takes a breath, her shoulders rising and falling. She doesn’t speak, and I can’t fucking exist in this in-between state any longer. I didn’t take a journey to the haunts of my broken heart to do nothing.

“I’ve been thinking about us,” I say, ripping off the Band-Aid.

“Me, too.”

Relief floods me. “You have?”

“Yes. A lot.” Her voice rises, and hope rises in me. She’s got to be thinking the same thing. I can’t be so goddamn out of touch with emotions that I’ve misread her.

“At first, I didn’t think I would want this, but now I do.” I clasp her hand, and she threads her fingers through mine. God, it feels so right. All of this feels so damn right.

Her voice is soft and heartfelt as she speaks. “Everything has changed, hasn’t it?”

My heart soars. “Yes. Everything has changed.” I squeeze her hand, take a deep breath, and prepare to tell her I love her, I love our baby, and I want it all.

“Ryder?” In her voice, I hear all the hope in the world. “I would love for you to be involved in the baby’s life. Would you like that?”

The floor falls out from under me. My jaw comes unhinged. The room topples, turning upside down.

Yes, I want to shout.

No, I want to shout.

I want you, too.

But she didn’t offer herself.

She only offered the child.

“I can tell you’ve fallen for the baby,” she says, squeezing my hand again. “And it melts my heart. If I’m wrong, tell me, and I won’t be offended. But if I’m right, I would be so happy to have you as part of the baby’s life.”

I can’t answer her. Her words sound foreign to my ears, garbled and muddy. I want to find the rewind button. The redo option.