The Knocked Up Plan

I blink, trying to make sense of this flipped-around reality. But when I replay her words in my head, they’re not muddy. They’re crystal clear. She doesn’t want love from me. She wants her baby to have a father.

My chest hurts. My heart literally fucking aches. I want to grab her shoulders, stare into her eyes, and ask her to be mine for-fucking-ever.

I open my lips to tell her she’s the one, and I want it all with her, but something catches inside of me.

An ancient hurt. Old fears. Or perhaps the stone that blocks my voice is the stark reality that life isn’t a fairy tale.

I think back on my chats with Simone, the things I try to teach her. You get what you get and you don’t have a fit.

Sometimes, you don’t get all you want. In fact, you rarely do in life. I don’t have all my business back. I have enough of it. I don’t have my marriage, but I have the dog. And I don’t get the woman. I get the kid.

The kid I desperately want.

I’m being given a great and wonderful gift, and you don’t turn away from that.

When I finally speak again, the words sound as if they’re coming from someone else. “I would love to be part of Papaya’s life.”

“We should probably focus on that, then. Do you agree?”

Her meaning is crystal clear. Last night was a last hurrah.





Thirty-Six





Top Five Signs You’re a Pathetic, Mopey Idiot



* * *



By Nicole Powers



* * *



1. You microwave your tea for five minutes instead of one.

2. You drink it anyway, burning your tongue.

3. You put your underwear on inside out.

4. You don’t care enough to change them to the correct way.

5. You can’t for the life of you figure out how to write a decent column.





Top Five Ways to Pretend You’re a Badass, Even When You’re Not



* * *



By Nicole Powers



* * *



1. Wave when you walk past his office, like you only think of him as your hot-as-fuck co-worker.

2. Make a joke about the Wheelbarrow position. Even if it falls flat and he stares at you like How could you possibly joke about sex when we’re not having it anymore?

3. Don’t let that shit go. Pat your belly and pretend you’re the wheelbarrow now because it’s the only way to manage the absolutely awkward situation you’re in of BEING FUCKING CO-WORKERS WITH THE FATHER OF YOUR CHILD WHO YOU’RE IN LOVE WITH BUT WHO ISN’T IN LOVE WITH YOU.

4. Casually mention the next doctor’s appointment and ask him if he wants to go, since you’re totally cool with this new arrangement. When he says of course, say “awesome” and head to your office, shut the door, and lock it.

5. Bawl into your double-ply aloe-vera-infused tissues because you miss him so much it hurts.





Top Five Reasons You’re Not Picking Up the Phone and Admitting You Love Him



* * *



By Nicole Powers



* * *



1. Your fingers are broken.

2. Your phone is broken.

3. Your brain is broken.

4. Your heart is broken.

5. You’re scared.





* * *



I drag a hand through my hair and toss that last sheet of paper into the trash can along with my other miserable attempts to write a column. I miss the can by a mile. Sighing, I drag myself from the desk chair like it takes the strength of ten thousand men to walk, then bend and grab the crumpled-up paper from the floor. If my life were a rom-com movie—Emma Stone would play me, thank you very much—I’d miss the trash can with the last wad, but I wouldn’t realize it. I’d leave my office with that ball of paper parked on the floor, unbeknownst to little old me.

Ryder would pop in later to ask me a question about his upcoming show. He’d spot the paper on the floor. Being the helpful guy he is, he’d pick it up to toss in the trash. But he’d notice the word love, and he wouldn’t be able to resist unfolding the balled-up wad. He’d read it, and the camera would pan in on his face, on the slow shift from bemused to thrilled. He’d race out of the office, skid on a street corner, dodge a cab—hell, he’d leap over the hood in a mad rush to find me—then vault over a hot dog cart vendor closing up shop for the night, and arrive at my front door, ready to profess his love.

But this is life.

It’s not a movie with a giddy happy ending. I stand by the trash can, rip the page to shreds, and stuff the remains in the bottom of the can.





Thirty-Seven





Ryder

“And that’s the field guide to dating and winning the heart of a modern woman.”

I deliver the last line of my new seminar with the best smile I can manage. With business picking up, I refuse to fall into old habits. I won’t let one loss slow me down. One big, monstrous, painful loss of the woman I love.

But still, Nicole and I remain friends, colleagues, co-parents. I do my best to remain positive, avoiding the trap of my once jaded ways. “Any questions?”

Several arms shoot up in the air. I’m at a Midtown hotel, giving a talk on a Tuesday evening to fifty or sixty guys.

I call on a sturdy fellow with glasses in the front row. His hair is military short, and he stands. “What if you’ve got baggage? Like from an ex-girlfriend or ex-wife? That’s my situation, and I’m trying to figure out how to approach the minefield of dating. Any advice you can give about getting back out there for guys like me?”

“I can definitely talk about that. That’s my situation, too,” I say, and he blinks, surprised at first. I’m surprised, too. I haven’t shared the demise of my marriage in my talks before. But this guy is direct, and he’s asking something that matters. Briefly, I think of Cal and what a hard-ass he is, but maybe the old bastard was onto something—speak from the heart, not the dick. “I’m divorced, and let me tell you, it can be hard to get back out there. You think you’re going to be blindsided again,” I say, and the guy nods vigorously. Several others do, too. “You think you can’t possibly ever want anything serious again. Then, sometimes unexpectedly, a woman comes into your life, and she’s not like your ex. She’s not like anyone you’ve ever met. And you just know you have to give it a shot.”

“That’s awesome, man,” the guy says with a smile.

“And the best advice I can give you is don’t let the past hold you back from the present.”

He beams. “And that’s what you did? With your new woman?”

I’m silent for a moment. Is that what I did? Did I give it a shot? I’d like to think so. “Yeah, I did do that.”

He doesn’t need to know the shot didn’t quite work out the way I wanted.



The next night, as I sink into the leather couch in the lounge bar of a swank restaurant, I reflect back on the military dude’s question.

And that’s what you did?

I ask myself if I answered with complete honesty.

I’m not sure I did.