Page 53 of Crazy Imperfect Hearts

I stand and shake her hand. “Thank you.”

She opens the door and escorts us out, all the way past reception, where I don’t miss how she shoots Stacey anotherwarning glance. It makes me wonder if she’s had issues with her assistant blabbing in the past or if she’s just putting an exclamation point on her earlier warning. Either way, Candace McMillan is not a woman I’d like to cross. My dad is always saying what a pitbull she is. Someone who’d eat you for breakfast and use your bones to pick her teeth. Someone I’m glad is on my side for sure. But in this instance, I get the idea she’s not just working for me, she’s on Regan’s side, too.

“That was… surreal,” Regan says on the elevator ride down.

“It’s definitely up there with the meetings I never thought I’d have.”

“Are we really doing this?”

We exit the elevator. “I guess we are.”

In the parking lot, I open the back door of her ride, just now realizing I still don’t know what she expects from the actual baby-making process. “I’ll send the contract over when I get it. After that, I guess call me when…”

You want to fuck? You want me to jerk off into a little plastic cup?

“I’m ready to make a withdrawal from your bank?” She winks and smiles that quirky dimpled smile.

I laugh. Because if the way she’s looking at me right now is any indication, we’ll definitely be fucking. She’s back to her calm, carefree self. Hopefully because she’s been put at ease by what we just agreed to.

The car drives away and I’m left with only my thoughts. After the last few days, the idea of having a child has become more and more appealing. But one thing occurs to me. No matter how much I’ve decided I want a kid, I’m not sure I want it happening on the first try. Because the thought of all thetrying, has me just as excited as whatever else lies in my future.

Chapter Nineteen

Regan

It’s Friday afternoon. The contract was signed last week. I still haven’t told a single soul.

And I’m staring at a positive test. I’m ovulating. Or I will be within twenty-four to forty-eight hours.

I know because I went back to the city and bought several dozen ovulation tests. I take a deep breath. Now is the time. We have to start tonight.

I’m excited, but at the same time, terrified. What if it doesn’t happen? What if I’m one of those women who can’t get pregnant? Or what if I simply waited too long? What if I finally figured out what I want out of life and it’s unachievable?

I can’t think about any of that yet. I pick up my phone.

Me: It’s time. Are you around?

Lucas and I haven’t texted much. The time I told him I agreed to his first proposition. Then when I agreed to the second. And when he told me the contract was ready. The last time we texted was last week, after a courier brought me the contract and he asked when he might expect to hear from me because his job entails out of town commitments and he’d have to plan accordingly.

Plan accordingly. Like I’m something on his schedule to be checked off.

I stare blankly out my front window thinking about how crazy this is. I may have a baby with the one man in this town who is the polar opposite of me. Signing his contract, taking these ovulation tests this week, that’s about the most planningI’ve done since before I dropped out of college thirteen years ago.

If I were to bet on it, I’d say he has my name written on some calendar or list somewhere, along with all his other projects.

Project. I think about his ‘mission’ to make me come. The things he whispered in my ear. The way I’d actually looked forward to being with a guy—something that hasn’t happened in eons. I haven’t thought about it in weeks. Not since I completely changed directions and went on a mission of my own. Am I disappointed that is no longer the objective here?

No. I don’t think I am. Having an orgasm is overrated. I think society puts too much pressure on women as it is. And to then expect them to just ‘let Calgon take them away’ and forget about everything else in life just for five to ten seconds of pleasure. It’s a ridiculous thought, one I’m embarrassed I ever agreed to.

I stare at my phone. He hasn’t texted back. He’s normally much quicker than this. What if he’s not available? Or worse, out of town. I close my eyes. I should have kept him more in the loop. I gave him an approximate time frame, but never having done this, I couldn’t be sure. Since my period decided to be almost a week late last month, who knew when this might happen? It’s why I’ve been peeing on ovulation tests for the last six days.

I should have warned him that once a test strip indicates impending ovulation, it’s imperative for success that we do it as soon as possible. The articles I read said all the studies show sexbeforeovulation is best. Having sperm right there, waiting for the egg to be released so they can jump all over it as soon as it’s in the fallopian tube, is ideal.

Okay, so maybe I’ve gone a bit overboard these past few weeks with my internet research.

I check my phone again. Still nothing.

Texting him a second time would seem desperate. So I busy myself. I clean the dressing room. Put some dresses back on the rack. Count today’s profits. I stare at the calendar. June 20. Could today be the day I—oh shit—it’s June 20th. I haven’t done my quarterly sales tax filing.

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