Page 31 of Mismatched

I consider pulling my pills out of the trash when I slip away into the bathroom. Just sneaking the plastic case into the pocket of my robe and quietly taking them the rest of the month. Not really changing the plan so much as giving myself an extension. I mull it over while I pee, flushing away every drop of him I can squeeze out into the toilet. Anton checked in with me twice while we made love, asking if I was ready, and I said yes.

Because I am.

I thought it over all day before we went out. I thought about it through dinner. And again, before telling him to push inside me. Yes, I have a thousand reservations about pregnancy. About becoming a mother. I worry how it will change things—how it will change me. Not to mention our entire lives.

And though it was reassuring hearing Anton declare that we don’t need to have a baby, I feel better going into this with intention. I can do this—for our future together. But also for him. Because he is clearly hurting for family, and who am I to deny something he wants so badly?

So, I leave the pills in the trash, and we stay in bed most of Saturday and Sunday, relishing in our reconnection. Not making love the whole time, though we do more than once. But also talking, snuggling, and just being together. Gently erasing those four unpleasant days when we barely spoke while I tell myself hardly anyone gets pregnant on the first try.

Charlotte, my good friend, lawyer, and business mentor, invites me to lunch Monday, so I structure my morning around that, trying to push all thoughts of conception, pregnancy, and babies out of my mind. Ooh La Pooch isn’t open Mondays, so this is my day to catch up, re-center, and refocus, and I am grateful Charlotte is willing to offer me her guidance. She helped facilitate the deal where Henry came on as my partner, and I’m anxious to check in with her about some of the ideas he’s proposed for the Pooches.

Normally, Charlotte makes reservations for the two of us in stylish Cherry Creek North. Hillstone is a favorite of hers, or sometimes Cucina Colore. But today she is bringing along another of her mentees and asked if we could meet at Bread Bowls, a casual soup and sandwich spot. Which is actually fine. This way, I won’t have to change clothes before I head to The Pooch Park.

After I place my order at the counter, Charlotte crosses the room and greets me in her standard suit and heels. She’s a short, elegant Asian woman, with graying chin-length hair and a pink suit that matches her lipstick.

“Thanks for meeting us here, Lydia. I know it’s not our usual fare, but I’m excited to introduce you and Marisol.”

“Of course.” I smile. I’ll admit, I had been hoping for a more intimate conversation with Charlotte today, but she’s so generous with her time and advice I’m not surprised she’s in high demand.

She leads me toward a booth tucked away in the corner where a petite Latina woman about my age is situating a pigtailed toddler in a high chair.

“Marisol, this is my friend, Lydia Richie, who owns the grooming shop and doggie daycares.” Charlotte turns to me. “Marisol just?—”

“Mama!” The little girl in the high chair shrieks.

Marisol turns to her immediately. “What’s the matter, bebé?”

The baby looks up with wide brown eyes, reaching over the side of her chair toward a dropped toy on the floor.

“Uh-oh.” Marisol retrieves the toy, then turns back to Charlotte and me with a tight smile. “Thanks for being flexible today. My ex was supposed to take Paloma, but canceled on me last minute.”

I nod quickly, like I totally get it, but something tightens low in my stomach as I watch her lay a plastic placemat and a selection of cut up fruit in front of her daughter. Charlotte and I slide into the opposite side of the booth, and as Marisol unloads toys from a diaper bag, my hopes for a productive business conversation dwindle.

The little girl smiles shyly at me, and since I’m not sure what else to do, I give her a tentative wave. She grins and hides her face behind a toy, which even I have to admit is pretty cute.

“How old is she?” I ask, trying to make conversation. “She looks just like you.”

“Thanks. She’s almost eighteen months.” Marisol scatters a rainbow of Goldfish crackers on the placemat.

I smile and nod, wondering what Charlotte thinks we have in common. “So, are you looking at starting a business, or?—”

“Sorry, we were interrupted.” Charlotte jumps in. “Marisol runs a subscription box company, Lydia. They have several concepts, but you’ve probably heard of WoofCrate?”

My mouth forms an oh, and I blush, deeply and immediately. “Yes. I absolutely have. Most of my clients rave about WoofCrate. You guys have some seriously cute toys and treats.”

“Thanks.” Marisol nods. “My company has a variety of subscription products, but the dog boxes have definitely been the most popular.”

“Which is why I had to introduce you two,” Charlotte says with a grin. “Marisol just relocated to Denver, and I’m trying to help introduce her to the business community while she settles in.”

Marisol nods. “What’s the name of your doggie daycare? I’d love somewhere to take our little Biscochito.”

“Bizkit!” the little girl shrieks from the end of the table, startling me.

“That’s right, ‘Bizkit,’” Marisol says with a smile, handing her a sippy cup. “He’s a little mutt I’ve had for years. Paloma is obsessed with him.”

Our names echo over the loudspeaker, and Charlotte hops up. “You two keep chatting. I’ll grab the food.”

As Charlotte steps away, Paloma stares at me with wide brown eyes, then hands me a red crayon.

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