Pregnant by the Playboy (Fong Brothers, #1) Page 5
“I’m not sure.”
“Do you have a preference? Boy or girl?”
“No, but it’s easier to imagine having a girl. It was just my mom and me growing up, so that’s what pops into my head.”
Me and my little girl against the world.
But with Vince. And an extended family. And no money worries.
“I imagine us having a girl, too,” Vince says. “Because my niece is the only baby I know. But I’m fine either way.”
“The one thing we are not having is a gender reveal party. I know showy stuff is your thing—”
“You seem to have a lot of preconceived notions about me,” he murmurs, “but I agree. No gender reveal party.”
“What about a cake smashing party for our baby’s first birthday?”
“A cake smashing party?”
“You buy a pretty cake and take lots of photos as your child destroys it. Apparently adult cake smashing parties are a thing, too, if you’re interested in doing that yourself and making a mess with buttercream.”
We look at each other and laugh. We’re still laughing when the doctor comes out to get me for the appointment, and for a moment, it feels like we’re a real couple.
* * *
When I walk out of the doctor’s office, Vince next to me, I’m feeling good.
“She did a blood test to confirm the pregnancy,” I say, “and she ordered my twelve-week ultrasound plus other tests and referred me to an ob-gyn. We also talked a bit about pregnancy in my old age. Since, you know, it’s a geriatric pregnancy.”
“Say what?”
“I’m over thirty-five.”
“I didn’t realize that.”
“How old did you think I was?”
He shrugs. “My age. I’m thirty-three.”
“Well, I’m thirty-six. You can add that to the list of things you know about me. I’ll be thirty-seven by the time the baby comes.”
“Hardly geriatric. You want to grab a quick lunch before I drive you back?”
“Yeah, that would be good.”
“There’s a Chinese place nearby. I was looking at the reviews on Yelp.”
I shake my head. “I went there once. The servers are too friendly. Made me suspicious. And sure enough, it wasn’t that great.”
He laughs. “I know what you mean. What do you want?”
“The falafel shop near here is pretty good.” I look at my watch. “I should be getting back to the office.”
“You have to eat first. Or did you bring a lunch?”
“I didn’t.”
“Falafels to go, then.”
I lead him to the falafel and shawarma place. I get a falafel sandwich with everything on it, including lots of pickles—for some reason I’m in a pickle mood today. I really am quite hungry, so I start eating my sandwich right away, but I put it aside once we get into Vince’s car.
“You can eat in the car, I don’t mind,” he says as he pulls away from the curb.
“Umm.” I don’t know much about cars, but I can tell this is a fancy one. And it’s spotless.
My stomach growls.
“Eat the damn falafels, Marissa Chan. My car will survive. It’s important to eat properly during pregnancy.”
I roll my eyes. “I can take care of myself.”
“I know. But let me worry about taking care of the car.”
“Fine. Be that way.”
“I know, I’m so difficult, wanting to make sure you eat enough.”
“Bastard,” I mutter.
He laughs.
Fifteen minutes later, I’ve finished my very tasty falafel sandwich and we’ve arrived at my office.
“Thank you for the ride,” I say.
“You’re welcome. If you need anything, ever, feel free to text me, alright? You’re not doing this alone.”
I smile at Vince, then get out of the car.
Though he’s not the father I imagined for my child, I think this might work out okay.
But I am not going to marry him.
Chapter 10
Marissa
I always do my grocery shopping on Saturday morning.
When I finished grad school and moved out three months later after getting a full-time job, I loved grocery shopping. For the first time in my life, I felt rich.
Of course, I was far from rich, and I still had a small student loan to pay off. But my income more than covered my basic expenses, and I could afford to buy what I wanted at the supermarket.
I bought a pint of blueberries, out of season. Havarti that wasn’t on sale. Halibut rather than cod, even though cod was cheaper. And when I got something from the olive bar, I really felt like I was living the high life.
I bet Vince Fong has no idea what that’s like.
Now grocery shopping has become just another weekly chore, part of the drudgery of being an adult.
But it has never been truly terrible...until today.
I’ve become really sensitive to smells lately, and someone is cooking mushrooms in the goddamn grocery store.
I approach the little table to see what’s going on. An Asian woman, who looks somewhat like my mother, is sautéing mushrooms, which are then placed on top of some kind of fancy cracker with cheese. There’s a large pile of crackers and cheese for sale next to her.
She hands over a napkin with one of the cracker/cheese/mushroom delights, and I don’t want to be rude, so I take it and curse myself for walking up to the table in the first place.
Normally, I like mushrooms. This is the sort of hors d’oeuvre I’d pick up at a party.
Except today, I feel like I’m going to vomit, and now that I’m holding the offending food, the smell is even stronger.
I turn to the side, and the woman thrusts a garbage can in front of me before I throw up.
Yeah, this is great advertising for the food.
“I’m pregnant,” I explain.
I haven’t told my friends and family that I’m pregnant yet, but now I’ve told a woman at the grocery store.
A bunch of people glance in our direction, concerned looks on their faces.
“It’s not the food!” I say. “The food is lovely, I’m sure.”
Alright. Maybe I’ll get my groceries delivered.
* * *
The next day, I drive to Mom and Larry’s for dinner. When I step into their townhome, a burning smell greets my nose, and Larry is pulling the battery out of the smoke detector.
Fortunately, smoke doesn’t make me as queasy as sautéed mushrooms.
“He burnt dinner,” Mom says. “But do not worry, I have ordered sushi, including spicy tuna. It’s still your favorite, yes?”
I must have a panicked look on my face—I assume that’s why she frowns.
“Hey, Marissa,” Larry says once the smoke detector has stopped beeping. “You want a glass of wine?”
“Umm.” What are they going to offer me next? Soft cheese?
My mother’s mouth falls open.
“Are you pregnant?” she asks, just as Larry’s kids walk into the hallway.
When I continue to stand there, speechless, she pulls me into the front room, separated from the rest of the floor by French doors.
I’d planned to tell my mother today. I thought I’d pull her aside after dinner and explain the situation, and then she could tell Larry, since I wouldn’t expect her to keep secrets from her husband. I certainly hadn’t planned on everyone finding out like this.
Man, I’m going to miss spicy tuna rolls. And wine. I love wine.
“Yes, I’m pregnant,” I tell my mother once we’re seated next to each other on the couch.
She takes my hands in hers. “I had no idea you were trying.”
Hahaha. As if.
“What is it like to go to a sperm bank? Do they give you profiles of the sperm donors and you get to choose?”
Oh, Mom.
“The baby was conceived the old-fashioned way.”
“But you are not seeing anyone.”
She blushes. “Do you know who the father is?” A little worry creeps into her voice.
“I do.”
“And? He is a good man?”
“I think so.”
“But you don’t know him well? I mean, other than...carnally.”
When I huff out a laugh, she smiles.
“The father is Vince Fong,” I say. “You know who he is?”
“He is a party boy, that’s what I’ve heard.”
“Yes, that’s where I met him. At a party. But he’s been good about this, he really has, and he likes kids.” I don’t want my mother to dislike him, even though we’re not together.
She looks away.
Shit.
I never told her when I got pregnant in university. I thought she’d be disappointed in me, and I can’t bear to disappoint my mother. She stayed in this country—where she has no family—after my dad died. For me.
And now I’m knocked up by a notorious playboy. This is not what Good Asian Daughters do.
I’ve never tried to be perfect, but I did want my mother to be proud of me.
“This is not what I imagined,” she admits. “I never wanted to tell you what to do—”
“Why not? Many parents have no qualms about that.”
“Because your father would have hated it.” She shakes her head. “I hoped you would have children, but I know it is not right to demand grandchildren from you. I thought you would get married and have a little family and a good job...I imagined you would have the life that I didn’t. Then when you turned thirty-five, still no man, I wondered if maybe you would go to a sperm bank, because that is what some career women do, isn’t it?”
“He offered to marry me.” I think this might improve her opinion of Vince.
“And you did not accept?”
“I hardly know him.”
“I guess you are right. You should not marry without love. But wouldn’t it be nice... He is rich, yes? Not that money is everything, but when you are poor, you dream of money.” She pauses. “You are happy, though?”
“Yes. I always wanted a child, but not with a sperm donor. I wanted my child to have a second parent because...”
I turn to the side and sniffle into my sleeve.
Grief for a person you don’t remember is an odd thing. Cruelly, my first memory is my father’s funeral. I remember the smell, more than anything. Shoe polish. I remember my mother crying, I remember feeling so confused.
“I understand,” Mom says. “I’m sorry I wanted Cheetos.”
“It wasn’t your fault.”
We sit in silence for a moment.
I’ve heard so much about my father, and I’ve seen photos of us together, not just the one on my bedside table. I can picture things in my head. Sometimes, they almost feel like memories, but they’re not.
I force a smile. “I’m going to be a mother.”
It still seems a bit odd to say that, but I’m excited.
“You will be so good at it.” Mom pats my hand. “You know I will give you whatever help I can. I will be the best grandmother. I’ve already had practice!”
I chuckle. “This is true. And the baby will have Vince’s family, too. He has a baby niece. They will be only a year apart. Can you imagine? Having a cousin so close in age?”
“Oh, Marissa,” Mom says. “I am so sorry about everything.”
“Don’t be sorry. You’re a good mother.”
I pull her into my arms and hug her tight. I never want my mother to feel like she wasn’t enough, but I do want my child to grow up with some of the things I didn’t have.
“Are you feeling okay?” she asks. “Do you have morning sickness?”
“Yes, unfortunately. It just started.”
“For the first trimester, it was like all-day sickness for me. I hope you will not have it quite so bad. But then in the second trimester, I was...” She winks at me. “Horny all the time, is that how you say it?”
“Mom!”
My mother never says things like that.
She laughs at my response.
My heart squeezes. I’m so glad she has a comfortable life now, a nice retirement where she gets to go on holidays. A partner to keep her company. No fear behind her laughs.
“I love you.” I pull her into my arms. “But don’t ever say stuff like that again.”
“I love you, too. I am not disappointed, don’t worry. Just surprised. You understand?”
I nod.
“Your father would be proud of you. He would brag about his daughter the engineer. He would be very excited about being a grandpa, I know.”
When I was little, I begged my mother for stories about my father all the time, after she’d come home from working long hours at the dry cleaners to make ends meet. He was a hero I could not meet, but he was my dad.
I’m giving my baby something better. A real father.
I brush the back of my hand over my eyes to stem the tears. I’m blaming it on pregnancy hormones. Plus, my mother and I rarely talk about this stuff anymore. But being pregnant...it brings up lots of memories.
And the absence of certain memories.
“I would like to meet the father of my grandbaby,” Mom says. “You will bring him over for dinner one day, okay?”
I am so not ready for this. “Not yet. But sometime before the baby comes.”
“I will make sure that it actually happens and you do not keep putting it off. Perhaps you will change your mind about him. He did offer to marry you, yes? And having a baby can make people change their ways.”
I think of the enormous pregnancy book that Vince brought to my appointment, the way he trusted me to make my own decisions about my health but wanted to be there to support me.
The doorbell rings.
“It must be the sushi,” Mom says. “I think you can eat the tempura, gyoza, and cucumber rolls. Next time, I will cook, and I will make only foods you can eat.”
We head into the hall, where Larry is taking the bags of sushi from the delivery man. When Larry puts everything down in the kitchen, he gives me a hug, and the rest of the family joins him—his son, his daughter, her wife, and their six-year-old daughter.
Yes, it’s all going to be okay.
Chapter 11
Vince
“Can I tell you a secret?” I ask Evie.
She’s sitting beside me on the couch. I take her gurgle as a yes.
“You’re getting another cousin near the end of the year. You’re going to be a Big Cousin and show her—or him—how to do all sorts of tricks, won’t you?”
Apparently this is funny. Evie laughs.
Evie already has three cousins. Courtney’s older brother has two kids, and her younger sister has a daughter, Hazel, who is only nine days older than Evie. Courtney and her sister Naomi got pregnant at the same time and had nearly identical due dates. Hazel was born a few days early, but Evie decided to take her time. Naomi brings Hazel over to Courtney and Julian’s once or twice a week so her husband, who’s a writer, can get some time alone to work. Julian bought a second crib and other things for when Naomi and Hazel visit. I think going through everything at the same time as her sister has been really great for Courtney.
I’m pretty sure Marissa doesn’t have any siblings. She said it was just her and her mother when she was growing up.
But I’ll be there for her. Being a family man sounds like the right kind of life for me now. It would solve the pesky feelings of uselessness that have plagued me for so long. I don’t just want to see our baby a couple times a week; I want to see them every day. I want to change diapers in the middle of the night and carry the baby around in a carrier.
“And it’s thanks to you!” I say to Evie.
I hand her a Sophie the Giraffe toy. She looks at it with curiosity then sticks the head in her mouth.
If it wasn’t for Evie—if this had happened a year ago, say—I would have panicked at the idea of b
eing a father.
But I’ve fallen in love with my niece, and I want this for myself, too.
In fact, I’m rather jealous of Julian, my staid older brother.
He was always the organized, responsible one. Growing up with Julian was annoying at times, though I did look up to him.
I never wanted to work at Fong Investments, but now he has a career, a wife, and a child, and that sounds rather nice.
The Vince Fong who sold his company for two hundred million, slept for two weeks, then did nothing but party, would be horrified.
But that isn’t exactly me anymore.
And I do want to have more sex with Marissa—that’s part of the appeal of this plan.
I don’t know who I am now, but I do know what I want.
I’m working through books on babies and parenthood, making a list of things we’ll need—crib, change table, that sort of stuff—as I go. I’ll purchase the items soon, then show Marissa the room I’ve set aside.
I don’t live in the ideal place for a baby. Julian and Courtney moved from Julian’s old penthouse to a house in Rosedale when they got married, and I see Marissa and I raising our child in a house, too. Maybe something in midtown, where she lives now.
I pull out my phone, add “buy house” to my list of things to do, then set it aside and turn my attention back to Evie. “How about we sing a song?” I kneel on the floor in front of the couch and start singing “I’m a Little Teapot.”
She looks at me in confusion as I sing the first line, then starts crying when I hold up my handle and spout. She throws Sophie onto the cushions and wails at the top of her lungs.
Oh, dear.
I go back to our reliable favorite, “There Was an Old Woman Who Swallowed a Fly,” but she doesn’t like that, either.
I gather her up in my arms and walk around the playroom as I bounce. She was fed and changed before Courtney went up to have a shower, so I don’t think it’s either of those things.
Finally, I pick up a T-Rex puppet, which I got her before Julian instituted the no-presents-for-Evie rule.
“Raar,” the T-rex says as it bites Evie’s foot.
Somehow, this is less terrifying than me singing “I’m a Little Teapot.”