I expect Gigi to respond with a snarky, yet entertaining comment that manages to both irritate me and amuse me at the same time, much like all the witty comebacks she's made in the last few months.
But she doesn’t. Instead, her grin widens.
“I can’t believe you would do that,” she says, her tone slightly lower than it was a few seconds ago. “Really.”
My chest is on fire. I don't require any further confirmation that this Gigi is the one I've always known, yet it's still unmistakable. I'm consumed with an intense desire to embrace her and kiss her passionately, to make love to her. Thankfully, the waiter arrives with our orders, and I let out a sigh of relief. My mind is racing too fast, and I need to slow down. Although the waiter disappears within a few minutes, Gigi appears to still be in shock.
“You’re not giving me enough credit,” I say, reaching for my fork. “I dowant to raise this baby with you.”
“I know,” Gigi says. “I just…” She suddenly trails off.
It’s my turn to quiz. “What?”
“I just can’t imagine Brandon Stawarski curled up on a sofa reading maternity books,” she says with a chuckle. “I mean, you’re you.I knew of you all through growing up in Connecticut. Everyone knewyou and your brother did not want to settle down or have kids.”
Somehow, talking about this does not make me feel even slightly self-conscious. “I thought so,” I admit. “But from the moment you told me you were pregnant, something changed. And I realized that sometimes you have to let the change happen before you know ifyou really hate it as much as you say you do.”
She gives me a smile. “Yeah,” she says. “I get what you mean.”
I lean closer, suddenly curious. “What changed you? You hated the concept of starting a family. You’ve hated it since the first day I met you.”
Gigi’s cheeks turn pink. “Yeah, well…” she says. “I agree with you. Ihad to get pregnant before I realized everything I was saying was a bunch of hogwash. I do love my career, and I’m happy to have done what I have in the past six years. Buteverything I usedto think was worthy enough to be the epicenter of my life doesn’t seem all that worthy anymore. It’s no use trying to fight it. I do want to combine taking care of her with my career, but I don't mind the life I've always known changing. She feels like my purpose now.”
“Her?” I say, my mind spinning with images of a little girl running down a porch toward me. A porch in front of a house Gigi and I live in with our baby.
She grins again, her palm rubbing her belly. “I can’t say for sure, you know,” she says. “But I do want it to be a girl. I’m hopingfor a girl.”
“Me too.” The words slip out of my mouth, buoyed with more images of a little girl who looks exactly like Gigi, fiercely riding her bike in Central Park.
“What of you?” Gigi asks suddenly. “Do you welcome the fact that she’s going to change your life?”
I think for a moment on my life before I found out about the baby. Or hell, before I met Gigi. An endless drone of meetings, running a media company, and countless women. It was a life I’d held for more than two decades, a life I was certain I was happy in.
That ultrasound upended it.
“Yes,” I say, holding my gaze with hers. “I spent all my life certain I was doing it the right way.”
And then, you came along.
I bite back the urge to say those words. We aretalking about the baby. Only the baby.
“This is a different adventure, the one my friends always wanted Theo and me to try out, and the one we always balked at,” I say. “But now, I’m completely in.”
Gigi’s grin grows even wider, and now, there are tears in her eyes.
“I’m sorry,” she chokes, seizing a napkin and dabbing at her eyes. “Apparently, tears are the most irritating side effect of this whole fiasco.”
“I know,” I say, emotion welling up in me too. Everything about this moment—including the pregnancy and all its confusing effects—stirs up excitement I cannot get enough of. All I want to do right now is to pull Gigi into my arms and thank her for making me a father.
And making me truly happy for the first time in my life.
“What you just said,” Gigi says, replacing the napkin, “was so profound. I’m glad you understand how I feel. My parents are probably going to lose their heads when I tell them that I’m pregnant. I was so certainI didn’t want a kid or a family.”
A family,I think. I was certain as well that Theodore was all the family I needed in this world.
But somehow, teaching our daughter how to ride a bike seems like something worth giving up a billion-dollar corporation for.
“I’m really, really happy we’re in this together,” Gigi adds, still grinning.