The One Love Collection Page 56

  “At first, I didn’t think I would want this, but now I do.” I clasp her hand, and she threads her fingers through mine. God, it feels so right. All of this feels so damn right.

  Her voice is soft and heartfelt as she speaks. “Everything has changed, hasn’t it?”

  My heart soars. “Yes. Everything has changed.” I squeeze her hand, take a deep breath, and prepare to tell her I love her, I love our baby, and I want it all.

  “Ryder?” In her voice, I hear all the hope in the world. “I would love for you to be involved in the baby’s life. Would you like that?”

  The floor falls out from under me. My jaw comes unhinged. The room topples, turning upside down.

  Yes, I want to shout.

  No, I want to shout.

  I want you, too.

  But she didn’t offer herself.

  She only offered the child.

  “I can tell you’ve fallen for the baby,” she says, squeezing my hand again. “And it melts my heart. If I’m wrong, tell me, and I won’t be offended. But if I’m right, I would be so happy to have you as part of the baby’s life.”

  I can’t answer her. Her words sound foreign to my ears, garbled and muddy. I want to find the rewind button. The redo option.

  I blink, trying to make sense of this flipped-around reality. But when I replay her words in my head, they’re not muddy. They’re crystal clear. She doesn’t want love from me. She wants her baby to have a father.

  My chest hurts. My heart literally fucking aches. I want to grab her shoulders, stare into her eyes, and ask her to be mine for-fucking-ever.

  I open my lips to tell her she’s the one, and I want it all with her, but something catches inside of me.

  An ancient hurt. Old fears. Or perhaps the stone that blocks my voice is the stark reality that life isn’t a fairy tale.

  I think back on my chats with Simone, the things I try to teach her. You get what you get and you don’t have a fit.

  Sometimes, you don’t get all you want. In fact, you rarely do in life. I don’t have all my business back. I have enough of it. I don’t have my marriage, but I have the dog. And I don’t get the woman. I get the kid.

  The kid I desperately want.

  I’m being given a great and wonderful gift, and you don’t turn away from that.

  When I finally speak again, the words sound as if they’re coming from someone else. “I would love to be part of Papaya’s life.”

  “We should probably focus on that, then. Do you agree?”

  Her meaning is crystal clear. Last night was a last hurrah.

  36

  Top Five Signs You’re a Pathetic, Mopey Idiot

  By Nicole Powers

  1. You microwave your tea for five minutes instead of one.

  2. You drink it anyway, burning your tongue.

  3. You put your underwear on inside out.

  4. You don’t care enough to change them to the correct way.

  5. You can’t for the life of you figure out how to write a decent column.

  Top Five Ways to Pretend You’re a Badass, Even When You’re Not

  By Nicole Powers

  1. Wave when you walk past his office, like you only think of him as your hot-as-fuck co-worker.

  2. Make a joke about the Wheelbarrow position. Even if it falls flat and he stares at you like How could you possibly joke about sex when we’re not having it anymore?

  3. Don’t let that shit go. Pat your belly and pretend you’re the wheelbarrow now because it’s the only way to manage the absolutely awkward situation you’re in of BEING FUCKING CO-WORKERS WITH THE FATHER OF YOUR CHILD WHO YOU’RE IN LOVE WITH BUT WHO ISN’T IN LOVE WITH YOU.

  4. Casually mention the next doctor’s appointment and ask him if he wants to go, since you’re totally cool with this new arrangement. When he says of course, say “awesome” and head to your office, shut the door, and lock it.

  5. Bawl into your double-ply aloe-vera-infused tissues because you miss him so much it hurts.

  Top Five Reasons You’re Not Picking Up the Phone and Admitting You Love Him

  By Nicole Powers

  1. Your fingers are broken.

  2. Your phone is broken.

  3. Your brain is broken.

  4. Your heart is broken.

  5. You’re scared.

  I drag a hand through my hair and toss that last sheet of paper into the trash can along with my other miserable attempts to write a column. I miss the can by a mile. Sighing, I drag myself from the desk chair like it takes the strength of ten thousand men to walk, then bend and grab the crumpled-up paper from the floor. If my life were a rom-com movie—Emma Stone would play me, thank you very much—I’d miss the trash can with the last wad, but I wouldn’t realize it. I’d leave my office with that ball of paper parked on the floor, unbeknownst to little old me.

  Ryder would pop in later to ask me a question about his upcoming show. He’d spot the paper on the floor. Being the helpful guy he is, he’d pick it up to toss in the trash. But he’d notice the word love, and he wouldn’t be able to resist unfolding the balled-up wad. He’d read it, and the camera would pan in on his face, on the slow shift from bemused to thrilled. He’d race out of the office, skid on a street corner, dodge a cab—hell, he’d leap over the hood in a mad rush to find me—then vault over a hot dog cart vendor closing up shop for the night, and arrive at my front door, ready to profess his love.

  But this is life.

  It’s not a movie with a giddy happy ending. I stand by the trash can, rip the page to shreds, and stuff the remains in the bottom of the can.

  37

  Ryder

  “And that’s the field guide to dating and winning the heart of a modern woman.”

  I deliver the last line of my new seminar with the best smile I can manage. With business picking up, I refuse to fall into old habits. I won’t let one loss slow me down. One big, monstrous, painful loss of the woman I love.

  But still, Nicole and I remain friends, colleagues, co-parents. I do my best to remain positive, avoiding the trap of my once jaded ways. “Any questions?”

  Several arms shoot up in the air. I’m at a Midtown hotel, giving a talk on a Tuesday evening to fifty or sixty guys.

  I call on a sturdy fellow with glasses in the front row. His hair is military short, and he stands. “What if you’ve got baggage? Like from an ex-girlfriend or ex-wife? That’s my situation, and I’m trying to figure out how to approach the minefield of dating. Any advice you can give about getting back out there for guys like me?”

  “I can definitely talk about that. That’s my situation, too,” I say, and he blinks, surprised at first. I’m surprised, too. I haven’t shared the demise of my marriage in my talks before. But this guy is direct, and he’s asking something that matters. Briefly, I think of Cal and what a hard-ass he is, but maybe the old bastard was onto something—speak from the heart, not the dick. “I’m divorced, and let me tell you, it can be hard to get back out there. You think you’re going to be blindsided again,” I say, and the guy nods vigorously. Several others do, too. “You think you can’t possibly ever want anything serious again. Then, sometimes unexpectedly, a woman comes into your life, and she’s not like your ex. She’s not like anyone you’ve ever met. And you just know you have to give it a shot.”

  “That’s awesome, man,” the guy says with a smile.

  “And the best advice I can give you is don’t let the past hold you back from the present.”

  He beams. “And that’s what you did? With your new woman?”

  I’m silent for a moment. Is that what I did? Did I give it a shot? I’d like to think so. “Yeah, I did do that.”

  He doesn’t need to know the shot didn’t quite work out the way I wanted.

  The next night, as I sink into the leather couch in the lounge bar of a swank restaurant, I reflect back on the military dude’s question.

  And that’s what you did?

  I ask myself if I answered with comp
lete honesty.

  I’m not sure I did.

  I’m not convinced I went balls-to-the-wall for Nicole. I took what she offered, and only what she offered. I didn’t tell her I wanted her to sweeten the deal. To offer herself, too. I sure as hell didn’t let her know that she and Papaya are a package deal, and I want the whole package.

  But I shelve the thought when Flynn, his identical twin brother, Dylan, and Flynn’s divorced friend, Aaron, return with drinks and join me. We’re here to celebrate with Aaron, a stocky guy with a baby face and a good heart. Flynn holds a beer to toast his buddy. When Aaron decided he was ready to try the dating scene again, he hired the Consummate Wingman to give him advice. Naturally, the Consummate Wingman’s unofficial sidekick, Flynn, has been observing the whole time.

  I raise my glass and toast. “You ready?”

  Aaron smiles. “Ready or not, here I go.”

  He takes a drink, inhales deeply, and sets down the glass. He gives us a farewell salute and heads to the hostess stand, then to his table to wait for his date. He’s had a crush on a woman at work, and he finally had the guts to ask her out for dinner after a few coaching sessions.

  Aaron moves the linen napkin a centimeter, fiddles with a fork, peers at his watch, and looks at the door. His eyes light up, and I follow his gaze.

  A blond woman with her hair in a bun walks in, scans the eatery, and sees him. She waves. He waves back.

  I look at Flynn. “He’s on his own now.”

  “It’s like the first day at school,” Flynn says, pretending to wipe a tear from his eye.

  Dylan mock sniffles, pushing his black glasses up the bridge of his nose. Thank fuck he wears different colored frames than Flynn—when they’re together it’s the easiest way I can tell them apart. “He’s on the bus. We’ll have to be strong and say good-bye.”

  I toss a few bills on the table, and we leave.

  “You’re awesome, man,” Flynn says, as the three of us amble down the street. “You gave him the confidence he needed to get back out there.”

  “To just take a risk,” Dylan seconds.

  Risks. Chances. Shots.

  As I consider the men surrounding me, I have to ask myself if they’re taking bigger chances than I am.

  Honestly, it’s not that hard to answer.

  And later, it’s not that hard to figure out what I need to do to put myself on the line.

  38

  Nicole

  My phone rings late on a Tuesday evening.

  Late for me, I should say.

  It’s nearly nine, and I’m tired because, well, I’m baking another person in my oven. I turn down the volume on the basketball game and grab the phone from the table. “Let us in,” Penny demands when I answer.

  “You’re here?”

  “Yes, buzz us in now or we’ll throw garter belts and stockings at your window.”

  “Such hooligans.” A minute later, I open the door, and Penny and Delaney march into my place. Ruby barks a happy hello.

  “Well, hello there,” Delaney says to me and then my dog.

  “Hello there to you, too. What brings you here at this hour?”

  “It’s not that late, and we love you.” Penny shuts the door behind them and coos at Ruby, who then offers a full flank for proper petting. Naturally, Penny obliges for a minute.

  My friends head to my couch and take their spots. I park myself between them as Ruby sprawls on the carpet, watching us with avid interest.

  Penny reaches into a canvas bag she has with her. She takes out a pint of Ben & Jerry’s. “We’re getting you buzzed first.”

  “On ice cream?”

  “Of course,” Delaney says. “It’s like a pregnant woman’s vodka, right?”

  “I’ve no idea where that logic comes from, but I’m not turning down chocolate therapy.” I pop open the pint then stretch my arm toward the kitchen and grunt. “Can’t. Reach. Spoons. From. Here.”

  Delaney rolls her brown eyes. “You only have three and a half more months to use that excuse to get us to do things for you.”

  “Four months,” I mutter, thinking that Ryder probably knows precisely how many days are left.

  “Besides, I brought spoons.” Delaney grabs three metal spoons from the bag, along with a huge dog bone.

  I give her a look. “I know I’ve been hungry, but I’m not that hungry.”

  Ruby leaps from the floor, rearranges herself into a proper sit, and stares unabashedly at the bone.

  “Can I give it to her?” Delaney asks.

  “You better.”

  “Good girl.” Delaney offers the treat to Ruby, who returns to her bed, the bone in her jaw, and proceeds to bestow all the love in the universe on it.

  I dig into the ice cream. After three bites of chocolate, I arch a brow. “Why are you here, again? Besides your boundless love of me.”

  “Funny you should ask,” Penny says as she dives in for a spoonful. “We decided there’s something you need to add to your agenda tomorrow.”

  “At my doctor’s appointment?”

  They nod in unison, and Delaney goes next. “While you’re there, you should tell Ryder you love him.”

  I nearly spit out my ice cream. “You can’t be serious?”

  “Honey, you’re miserable without him,” Penny says sweetly.

  I balance the pint on top of my curved belly. “Hey, look at that. No hands.”

  “Nicole.” The admonishment comes from Penny.

  “No, seriously.” I point with both hands to this amazing feat I’ve pulled off. “Have you ever seen a pregnant woman balance ice cream on her belly?”

  Penny rolls her eyes. “I bet there are tons of YouTube videos of women balancing ice cream on their big bellies.”

  I harrumph.

  Delaney stares at me pointedly. “You are absolutely miserable.”

  “Define miserable.”

  Delaney gestures to my belly. “Balancing ice cream pints for amusement because you miss the man you were too scared to say you loved is the definition of miserable.”

  I scoff.

  “You do love him,” Delaney adds.

  “Duh.”

  “How much do you love him?” Penny asks.

  I glance at my dog, chowing down on her bone. “Like a dog loves a bone.”

  She smiles and claps with glee. “I love dog analogies.”

  “I do, too, especially because you can’t fast-talk your way out of this,” Delaney says with a smirk. She drops a hand to my knee. “And what does a dog do with a bone?”

  My eyes stray to Ruby. Her paws grip the bone fiercely. Her jaw is wrapped tight around it. I glare at them and grumble. “You two set me up for that.”

  They cackle evilly.

  “A dog doesn’t let go,” I answer.

  Delaney squeezes my knee. “Don’t you let go, either.”

  Penny pats my shoulder. “Go get your bone. Or, in this case, your man.”

  “But what if he doesn’t love me back? And what if telling him I love him scares him away from the baby?” A new worry takes root. “I never thought I needed a father for my baby, but now that he wants to be involved, I don’t want to freak him out.”

  Delaney shoots me a gentle smile. “If this frightens him away from the baby, then he was never going to be a great dad in the first place. And I can’t imagine a man like him would be that kind of a pansy.”

  I manage a small laugh. “Pansy he is not.” But my laughter fades quickly. Delaney didn’t answer my other question, and this one gnaws at me. “What if he doesn’t love me?” My voice is tiny, stretched with the threat of tears.

  She grabs my hand. “What if he doesn’t? You have us, and Ruby, and an ice cream-balancing belly. You’ll be no worse off than you are now. And you have your baby.”

  I do have so much in my life. Is it possible I might have more? I close my eyes and rewind to my last night with Ryder, to the way he touched me, how he held me, the way he worshipped me. Maybe it wasn’t only me, the mot
her of this child, that he was attracted to. Maybe it’s me, all of me, the woman and the mother-to-be.

  I remember his words . . . the ones about me.

  Missed you. Missed this.

  It’s the only place I wanted to be.

  Look at me.

  Can I see you tonight?

  I’ve changed. I now want someone in my life as more than a donor, so is it possible he’s changed, too? A stupid grin forms on my face. Could a girl be this lucky in real life?

  Katherine’s opens at nine a.m. I’m here at three minutes before the hour. The second the doors swing in, I race to the counter where I bought the key chain many months ago. Alongside its gorgeous platinum rings and stunning necklaces, this classy store also carries a handful of little novelty key chains, like the tadpole. When I bought that one, I spotted the key chain I want now.

  I squeal when I see it’s in stock—a woman in silver, like the sexy silhouettes of women’s bodies on the mud flaps of trucks. It’s classy kitsch, and I love it. It’s exactly what I want to say to Ryder.

  I want you to have the woman, too.

  A saleswoman strides up to me. “Can I help you?”

  I bounce on my toes as I point. “I’ll take that.”

  Twenty minutes later, I carry the box into work as my stomach tries to crawl up my esophagus.

  Oh wait. That’s nerves. I’m a cauldron of churning emotions—hope and fear and happiness and doubt. But I’m going to do this anyway. I’m going to pursue the impossible dream, and there are tons of top five reasons why this might rank as the craziest thing I’ve ever done. But there’s one reason why this might be the best choice I’ve ever made.

  Top Reason to Tell Him You Love Him

  1. He’s the one.

  I knock on his open office door, but he’s not in there. Then, I remember. Right. He’s probably recording right now. Damn my baby brain. But I don’t leave the box on his desk this time. He doesn’t like surprises, and this is something I need to do face-to-face. Clutching it tight in one hand, I’m heading to my office when my phone pings.