Page 37 of A Really Bad Idea

I’m taken aback by these terrible scenarios he’s declaring. “I might have thought about the negatives, but the demise of our friendship because I’m pushing you away wasn’t one,” I say.

“What is the worst thing you can think of? If you and I had a baby?” he asks, his voice riddled with interest.

“The worst?” I pull at a thread on the comforter. “That you wake up one day and realize too late that this was a bad idea. If you were to regret me, I could probably recover. To regret our child …”

He laughs lightly. I don’t know why he’s laughing, but he is, so I let it go. “Can I tell you something else?”

“We’re being all kinds of honest tonight, so why not add one more?”

“With all the bad scenarios that came into my head, there is one I can’t shake.” He takes a brief pause, and the air ignites in anticipation as I listen for him to speak. When he does, he whispers, “We have a baby, and it’s amazing. You want to be a mother, Meadow, and I want to give that to you. I know it won’t be easy. We’ll get a nanny for the first year. I was talking to the nurses in the heart center, and they said the daycare at the hospital is superb and that we could visit him during our breaks. Our moms will be over the moon. We can even do joint holidays since we’re practically family already. Vacations, too. And this person we create will be fucking awesome because he’s ours. You’ll teach him how to play tennis and listen to cheesy pop music, and I’ll have a little Yankees fan and show him how to drive. I know, someday, you’ll meet someone, but we’ll worry about that down the road. I know this is really fucking crazy, but let’s do it. I want to do this with you.”

A tear runs down my cheek. It’s hot from the burning desire of everything he’s offering. I grip my stomach and quell the nerves radiating through my entire body. “I’m confused. So damn confused. How do you throw down every reason we shouldn’t do something and then follow it up with that?”

“Because life isn’t perfect, and neither are we.”

“Our baby might not be. Have you thought of that? What if we have a child who you can’t throw a ball with in the yard or groom to be a doctor just like you?” I feel terrible mentioning it, but it’s the truth. Not all babies are born healthy.

He doesn’t take more than a second to answer. “That doesn’t make a difference. No matter who my son or daughter is, I’d love him or her more than anything else in this world.”

And, just like that, I shatter.

The air explodes.

That stifling heaviness I’ve been feeling for a week dissipates, and in its place is the purest oxygen I’ve ever inhaled. I take a deep, shaky breath and let my chest rise and fall as it fills up with the idea.

It’s a bad idea. A terrible idea. There are so many things that could go wrong, but there is one I can’t deny that would be right. Christian will be an amazing father. No matter who this child grows to be, he or she will be perfect because it’s a part of him.

“If we do this now, our kid will be six by the time you make director. Do you think you’ll still have time to throw that ball around?” I ask.

He laughs. It’s bright and beautiful, just like the man it’s coming out of. “I can fit in a few curveballs after work.”

I smash my lips as I bury my head into my knees and then declare, “Let’s do this.”

“Really? Say it again.”

I lift my head up from where it was buried in my book and say, “Let’s do this!”

“You mean it?” His tone radiates surprise and elation.

“Yes? Yes! Oh my God, this is crazy, but yes. Let’s do this.” I run my hand over my ponytail and pause in realization. “Wait, how are we doing this?”

He chuckles. “Do I need to explain how babies are made?”

“Kinda. I mean, are we doing this with Dr. Abbot, or do you want to …” I’m so lame; I can’t just come out and ask.

“Let’s save the ten grand and have fun while we try to make a baby.”

Heart? Racing like a freight train.

Brain? Swizzled like a Twizzler.

Nerves? Running rampant, straight down to my core.

“Seriously?” I know I shouldn’t sound so surprised, but, “So, we should just have sex?”

“Yes.”

I try to ignore how my body tingles with anticipation of being naked … with Christian. I need wine. The cheap kind.