Before today, I would’ve had a hard time imagining Vincent being so focused on a child. He was always so busy either with his business or doing crazy recreational activities. Having a kid was a lot of responsibility. It was almost in complete opposition to his lifestyle. “It sounds like he practically treats Brady as his own kid.”
She shook her head. “He knows the limit. The way he gives me options is always a one-off. He doesn’t argue with me or nag me or anything like that. He cares tremendously about his nephew and has an unusual capacity for helping out, so he’s taking advantage of that. Plus as you’ve seen, his gifts for Brady aren’t outrageous. I think Brady will become conscious of how much money his uncle has very slowly.” She took a taste of the frosting. “Put it this way: it’s a good parenting challenge to have.”
“What does Rob think?”
“He’s supportive. Vincent and him get along well. My brother takes the protective older sibling thing very seriously.”
I knew more about how protective Vincent could be than I wanted to. “I bet.”
Giselle turned and looked at me intently. I did my best to keep a poker face and concentrate on spreading the frosting, though I could see her out of the corner of my eye. To my relief, she finally went back to her own frosting job.
“Anyway,” she said, “Vincent’s wonderful with Brady. Like another child. I hope he can have children of his own soon.”
I dropped the frosting spreader on the counter and it tumbled to the floor. Embarrassed, I scrambled and picked it up. Was she suggesting what I thought she was?
She stopped whisking again and squinted, smiling quizzically. “I didn’t say he’s in a rush!”
I washed it off in the sink before wiping up the frosting on the floor. “Sorry, I’m just a little clumsy.”
She stood with her arms crossed, watching me again. “That’s okay, accidents happen.”
Her sleeves were rolled up, and as I was looking at her trying to judge her expression my eyes fell to some peculiar scars on her forearms. Were those cigarette burns? Nothing in the house smelled like cigarette smoke, so I was guessing she wasn’t a smoker. Maybe she had been one in the past, before Brady. Or maybe it was something more nefarious.
She seemed to notice I was looking at her arms and rolled down her sleeves before turning back to work. “Anyway, I do hope things work out between you two,” Giselle said. “I would love it if Vincent has finally found someone to share his life with.”
I let the question of her arms go and flashed a smile fit for a job interview. “So far he’s been pretty great.”
I heard their footsteps a second before they burst in. There was a crash at the kitchen door, then the knob turned and Brady came in giggling, with Vincent close behind.
“Hey buddy, come back. Where are you going?” Vincent cried.
Brady made a beeline straight for me and threw his arms around my right leg. “Kristen,” he screamed, “Come play trains!”
I looked at Giselle, who was smiling. “It looks like I’m being summoned,” I said.
“I think so. You guys have fun, I can finish up here.”
The three of us went back and played trains until the cake was ready. By that point, a couple of Brady’s friends had come over with their parents, and Vincent and I were nearly forgotten. The party ended up lasting until seven o’clock. By the time we left, I was as tuckered out as the kids. I slept in the car the whole way home.
Chapter Four
Sunday was a blur of errands and getting my life in order. Seeing Vincent in a family environment was a serious eye-opener. After the way he had handled Marty, I was afraid I was dating a hyper-logical man with the emotions of a caveman. But now, seeing him with Brady, it was clear he had a lot of love in his heart. That made me feel good.
Monday morning I dragged my feet out of bed and lurched my way to work. As I stepped off the elevator on the forty-eighth floor of the tall, glass building housing Waterbridge-Howser, I started feeling dizzy. I had a rough night trying to sleep and only ended up getting a few hours. When I got to my office, I put down my bag and walked right back out. I needed caffeine. Badly.
I went to the common kitchen area with my cup. When I smelled the coffee pot, it made me nauseous.
“Man, who made the coffee this morning? It smells terrible.”
An analyst named Sam was also in the kitchen; he was busy slathering a bagel with cream cheese. He took a bite of his bagel then a sip of his mug. “Hmm tastes fine to me. I don’t smell anything unusual.”
“You don’t smell it? It smells like dirty feet and tires.”
“Maybe you got a super sniffer.”
“A what?”
“You know, like someone who has super sensitive taste buds except with smell. I saw it on an episode of Law & Order. When the police dog was unable to sniff out drugs from a crime scene, they brought in this guy who was a super sniffer.”
Suddenly curious that I might have a superpower, I asked, “Did he find anything at the scene?”
He nodded vigorously. “He sniffed out this scent that the dog wasn’t trained to detect. It was some weird chemical that led the police to this abandoned paint factory where they found incriminating evidence.”
“Interesting.”
“See if you can sniff my deodorant.” He lifted up his armpit and I noticed a faint sweat stain on the shirt fabric. Fortunately he was several feet away.
“I can’t smell anything from here.”
“Maybe you’re not a super sniffer then.”
“Yeah, I don’t think I have that ability. Otherwise, I would’ve probably figured it out earlier.”
He took another bite of his bagel. “Could be you’re pregnant.”
I nearly dropped my empty mug but caught it at the last moment. “What?”
He finished chewing. “When my wife was pregnant, she couldn’t stand certain smells. Like coffee and the smell of the grocery store.”
I laughed nervously and batted my hand at the notion. Sam shrugged and went off to his own desk to do work or perhaps ponder the mystery.
I remained in the kitchen. What if I really was pregnant?
The past couple weeks raced through my mind. I’d vomited twice. The first time I’d attributed to bad Chinese food. The second time happened because I was distraught over Marty showing up and the argument with Vincent that followed. Surely it wasn’t morning sickness . . .
My hand flew to cover my open mouth when I realized something: it was almost a week now that my period was late.
Oh no.
During lunch, I made a trip to Duane Reade and picked up a pregnancy test. When I got to the family planning aisle, I felt like I was walking into a sex shop looking over my shoulder every second like I was about to do something scandalous. I found what I was looking for and tucked the box under my arm until I reached the register. After paying, I hurriedly put the box in my purse hoping no one saw me buy it.
When I got home, I spotted Riley in her usual spot on the couch watching TV. I set down my tote in a kitchen chair and headed for the bathroom with the test box in hand, careful to keep it hidden from Riley.
I locked the door and stared at the box for a moment. The picture on the front showed a woman smiling brightly. I glanced in the mirror and saw that my expression looked nothing like that.
I took out a strip and followed the directions, my hands trembling the entire time.
It would take a few minutes before the results showed. I closed my eyes and started a countdown in my mind, dreading to see the result.
Deep breaths, Kristen.
Finally, five minutes had passed. I looked down at the test in my hand.
Pink line. I was pregnant.
I dropped the test on the floor. My hands were shaking. This had to be a mistake. No way I was pregnant. I’d been on birth control. Even though Vincent came inside me when we were in the Caribbean, there was no way he got me pregnant. It didn’t matter how potent his sperm was, it couldn’t beat birth control . . . right?
I took another one.
Five excruciatingly long minutes later, I looked at it.
Pink line again.
Shit. Shit shit shit. Shit. Fuck.
My world was coming apart. This can’t be happening.
I frantically examined the box, hoping to find a warning about its inaccuracy.
“Over 99% accurate. Take comfort in knowing your results.”
I stepped out of the bathroom and went to the living room where Riley was sipping a diet coke.
“Riley, I need to ask you something.” I tried to keep my voice as calm as possible for someone who just discovered they were pregnant.
She put her drink down on the coffee table and turned her attention to me. “Sure, what is it?”
“Is it possible to get two false-positives on a pregnancy test?”
“Huh? Why are you . . .” Her eyes widened. “Oh my god. Are you pregnant?”
I tried holding the tears back but they started flowing against my will. “I just took a test and that’s what it said.”
“I thought you were on birth control!”
“I was, I mean, I am. I just—I don’t know how this could have happened.”
“Oh Kris, you know that even the pill isn’t one-hundred percent effective.”
I nodded. “I mean, I knew that as a concept, but I never thought that I’d be the tiny sliver of a percentage that it would fail for!”
Riley studied my face, probably discerning that congratulations weren’t in order. Her tone became serious. “What are you going to do?”
I started crying harder. “I never planned for this. Vincent and I never talked about it. We’ve barely even known each other for two months!”
Riley came to hug me and rub my back. “It’s going to be okay, Kris. You have options. It’s not the end of the world.”
“I don’t know what to do.”
Her voice was soft. “Are you considering getting an abortion?”
“I don’t know. What other choice do I have? I’m not ready to be a mom. I thought I’d be into my thirties before I considered having a baby. I don’t even know how Vincent would react if he found out.”