Page 56 of Baby, One More Time

Instead of smiling back, my lips wobble as all the other things he listed sink in. Strollers, bottles, diapers, night feeds, projectile vomit? I knew all of it was coming. But until now, I hadn’t fully realized the enormity of the journey I’ve embarked on. Until I saw that plus sign on the test all of it seemed just abstract, but now it’s real. Oh, so real.

John frowns. “I’ve upset you, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

Before he can continue, I’m full-on crying. “It’s not you,” I wail before I slump to the floor. “I’m just in over my head.” Between sobs, I hiccup the words, “I’m not ready to be a mom. I don’t know any of the stuff you’re talking about.”

John sits next to me, his presence calming for once as opposed to destabilizing.

“It’s okay,” he says. “No one’s ever fully ready to become a parent. But the first time you hold your baby, oh, Marissa, it’s not something I can describe. It’s pure instinct. You will know what to do. And we have months to prepare.” He winks, and my stomach flips.

I drop my head against the wall. “Are you sure?”

“One hundred per cent, I promise you. Plus, I know you. By next week you’ll be a guru in all pregnancy and newborn related stuff.”

We sit in silence for a long time until John turns to me. “Anything I can do for you now?”

“Yes.” I look at him. “Please leave.”

His face falls and I quickly add, “In a good way.”

He gives me a cute frown.

“I need some space to think, to clear my head.”

“Okay, but you’ll allow me to be this baby’s father?”

“Yes, John, I don’t hate you that much.”

“Low levels of hate.” He tilts his head and smirks. “I’ll take what I can get.”

He stands up and offers me a hand. I clasp it and let him pull me up.

Once we’re both standing, he lets go of my hand and asks, “Co-parents, then?”

I nod. “Co-parents.”

26

MARISSA

The moment John leaves, I call Blake.

When she picks up, I skip all pleasantries and launch straight into a ramble. “I don’t care if you’re in the middle of a post-reconciliation sex marathon, I need to talk to you. Are you at your place?”

“Gabriel’s actually, and we already copulated three times today; we’re good for the next few hours.”

I half-cringe. “Good, ’cause I’m crashing your party and you’d better have a wide chocolate selection available.”

“I’ll see what I can put together.”

“Okay, text me the address.”

Forty-five minutes later, I’ve stolen all of Gabriel’s chocolate, his cat, his couch, and his girlfriend’s ability to talk.

Blake stares at me from the other section of the angular sofa, opening and closing her mouth, shaking her head, but eventually not saying anything.

I absent-mindedly pet Gabriel’s cat, Latte, who’s sitting in my lap, and say, “Keep doing that for another hour, and you’ll be where I’m at.”

“Sorry.” Blake gets out of her stupor. “I literally don’t know what to say. Congratulations, I guess?”

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