Page 94 of Books and Hookups

He snorted. “Nothing’s going to be the same once that baby comes. Remember when the twins were born? It took all four of us to manage them. Poor Giuliana ate cereal three meals a day for weeks. Lucie’s gonna need you.”

“I know she will. And I’ll be there when she does. But I was kind of hoping to be more than a babysitter, you know?”

“Either way, you’ll be more than that. You’ll love that kid so hard. But just because things didn’t work out with Lucie doesn’t mean you can’t find Ms. Right. Once your life settles down, I’ll help you build a dating profile. We’ll find you a woman to settle down with. A stepmom for the little bambina. You’ll get the family you’ve always wanted.”

“Look, I appreciate it, but I don’t think I’ll ever be ready to look for love on apps.”

“Okay. We’ll canvas every Catholic congregation in the city until we find you the nice woman you’re looking for.”

But it wasn’t a nice woman I wanted. Lucie Knox was it for me.

Still, I smiled and nodded.

One of us should get what we wanted, though I knew it’d never be me.

33

T Minus Five Days

I’ve listened to the pregnancy and delivery stories of people from all over the world. I’ve heard about their anxieties, their tragedies, their triumphs. Many have told me they felt empowered to enter this experience with the knowledge I helped provide. I’m happy to have been a small part of their journey to bring their own legacies into the world.

Dr. Dorothy Dunne, OB-GYN and bestselling author ofDr. Dunne’s Guide to Pregnancy

LUCIE

Itrudged up the steps to the fancy hotel where Dr. Dorothy Dunne was staying. Pregnancy books must bring in the dough. Though, I supposed, with over three million babies born in the US each year, her book had a solid market.

But I was concerned about my book. Specifically, that I’d been heads-down writing it for three weeks, ever since I’d returned from Carly’s, and it still wasn’t right. I took breaks only for meals and, y’know, my job—though I did that from home now, having finally given up on the pretense that I could walk a mile and a half to the office at almost nine months pregnant—but no amount of brute force could make it come together into a coherent message about women’s legacies.

Every evening, I devoured The Book. Dr. Dunne reassured me that everything I was going through, from swollen ankles to Braxton Hicks contractions to the purplish stretch marks spidering across my belly, was perfectly normal. But there was another message in the book that fascinated me. It was that I was enough and that I could do this with or without a partner. And that even though millions of women around the world were pregnant and gave birth every day, I was doing something special and worthy.

How the hell did she do it?

Thanking the doorman, I passed into the lobby and headed for the elevator. Fortunately, Dorothy Dunne was doing a tour for the new edition of her book, and she had a stop in San Francisco. This close to my due date, no airline would allow me on a plane.

I stepped into the elevator and carefully wedged my expansive belly into the available space. By now, I was used to the skeptical looks and personal comments.

“You look about ready to pop,” a woman said. “When’s your due date?”

“In five days.” I’d tried jokes and snarky comments but found it was better to give a straight answer to even the rudest, most personal questions.

“You’re not going to have it in here, are you?” The man next to her gave a nervous chuckle.

I rolled my eyes. “Not planning on it, but I’ll let you know.”

And there it was. The judgy expression that said,I feel sorry for your kid.

Fuck him. I stared at the numbers illuminating on the panel. Fortunately, the next stop was mine, and I lumbered out of the elevator.

“Good luck, honey,” the woman said.

I trudged down the hall to Dorothy Dunne’s suite and knocked on the door. When an assistant answered, I gave my name, and she ushered me in.

Dr. Dunne sat on a small sofa facing a view of the San Francisco skyline. She sipped coffee from a china cup with the hotel’s logo on it. God, coffee smelled good.Just another week,I told myself. I’d drink gallons of it. My OB-GYN had said that coffee was okay while breastfeeding, and in chapter fifty-two, Dorothy Dunne agreed.

“Good morning, Dr. Dunne,” I said, extending my hand. “I’m Lucie Knox. I reached out through your publicist. I’m writing a book about women’s legacies, and I’m interested in yours.”

She rose and shook my hand. “Call me Dottie.” She gestured to the straight-backed chair next to her. “It might be easier to get in and out of that. But if you’d prefer to sit on the sofa, I’ll call in my assistant, and we’ll heave you out of it, I promise.”

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