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“Are you making me a custom pizza?” “Yepperoni pepperoni, baby.”
“Down to the raisins for Raisin ’Em Right, my second bestselling breakfast pizza,” Kallum confirmed. “But nah. Lots of reform families are observant, but it’s just never been part of our family life. And so I decided not to start my new path as a pizza-wizard with a kosher restaurant, because it is pretty complicated to get started and do it right. But I do have a meat-free kosher pizza truck that makes the rounds to my different SSB locations one night a week. It’s called There’s Something About Dairy. A rabbi came in and kosherized the truck’s equipment with a blowtorch. It was awesome. And
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it occurred to me that Kallum was so much more than silly jokes and nice cuddles and lap dances in private rooms. I’d just watched him go to the trouble to make me a custom pizza because nothing else sounded good to me; he’d not only made it, but cleaned up after, even the messy, greasy bacon pan. And now he was feeding me a pear like it was a privilege to do so.
“Kallum,” I said, my voice trembling, a little hoarse. “Say something.” He took a breath and then lifted his eyes to mine. He was crying. Panic tore at my throat, but before I could say anything, he was back between my legs and wrapping those strong arms around me. He buried his face in my neck: all wet cheeks and scratchy beard.
“I’ve never heard better news in my entire life. And just so we’re clear: I want to be asked, Winnie. I want nothing more than for you to ask me to be a father to this baby.”
I loved him. He loved me. Why couldn’t that be a start?
I moaned around the slice. “Oh my God, this weird pizza is the only thing that’s tasted good to me in months.” Kallum’s eyes went wide with awe. “It really is my baby,” he breathed,
“Oh my God, this weird pizza is the only thing that’s tasted good to me in months.” Kallum’s eyes went wide with awe. “It really is my baby,” he breathed,
Boning our brains out seemed like the only logical next move, really.
She ran a hand through my hair, and I loved everything about this moment. Kneeling in front of this woman as she looked down at me. I’d never been religious, but this moment was as close as I’d ever come to believing in a higher power.
“Why sit on Santa’s lap when you could sit on his face?” I asked.
“I love you, Winnie Baker. I love the pizza-hungry monster inside of you. I love us.”
The thought made me nostalgic for a time I didn’t even know yet.
“What are you doing?” I asked. “You ready for an especially messy round three?” “No, no . . . I mean, talk to me in the morning, but this is so we can lay naked in bed while we dry off.” “Is this an everyday shower ritual thing?” I asked. She laid on her side and patted the space beside her. “Oh yeah. Sleepy post-shower naked time is a Winnie Baker special.”
She nodded, but didn’t look at me directly. “And what about religion?” she asked. “I don’t think I could go back to church anytime soon, but I still feel a personal connection to God. I think I want my child to experience that too.” “I don’t believe in Sky Daddy,” I said. “But for me, being Jewish has always meant tradition, and family, and this—I don’t know—connection with grandparents who died before I could know them and even the generations of Liebermans who came before me.” “I think that’s beautiful,” Winnie said. Her voice was soft as a tear rolled down her cheek. I reached up to wipe it
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“I don’t believe in Sky Daddy,” I said. “But for me, being Jewish has always meant tradition, and family, and this—I don’t know—connection with grandparents who died before I could know them and even the generations of Liebermans who came before me.”
“I’m glad your parents were nice, though.” Just remembering the squeals and shouts coming from the end of Kallum’s phone after he’d told his parents made me smile even bigger; listening to their happiness had made me feel like I’d just scooted up to a warm fire. “They’re over the moon,” said Kallum, letting go of my hand to dab cautiously at his newly white beard with his fingertips. “My mom has known for a total of twelve hours, and she’s already bought you lanolin ointment, whatever that is.” “She’s amazing.” It was how I wanted my own mother to react, but that was a fantasy I needed to let
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“No family is a sitcom family,” Kallum told me. “And mine is a mess sometimes, and totally chaotic, and constantly in each other’s business, and we definitely don’t fix problems in twenty-two minutes. But, loyal?” he added. “Loving? Yes. And I just want you to know that you’re officially a Lieberman now. It’s as good as notarized as far as my mom is concerned.”
Jack turned to me and before I could speak, gesture, or consent, Miss Crumpets was put into my arms like a baby. She settled in with a fart, gave my upper arm a half-hearted lick, and then fell asleep.
She was mid-laugh as she waved back. I pointed to my belly and then to her and then shrugged before flashing two thumbs. Surely she would understand my miming Morse code which definitely translated to: Baby in your belly feeling good, hot stuff? She laughed again and gave me the double thumbs-up. I couldn’t wait for the rest of our lives, and I was also terrified for it to all happen too fast.
And Dad, well, he sent me a seven-word text that I screenshotted for when I didn’t know what the hell I was doing. That’s going to be one lucky kid.
“My girlfriend is so fucking cool,” I said as I turned back around. “Your girlfriend, huh?” Nolan said through a burp that he caught with his fist. “I mean, we never said it was official, but I’m her baby daddy and she literally owns this dick. If you look along the bottom it says: Made in the USA, property of Winnie Baker.” “That sounds pretty permanent.” “Forever kind of shit,” I confirmed. “Look at us! Just a couple of former fuckups who are all settled and spoken for. We’re basically a Home Depot commercial.”
“Holy fucking shit. An INK reunion,” I said through my puckered lips. “We’re going to do a new album called Grown Men or something and we’re doing it on our terms. Just don’t tell Isaac. Yet.” “We gotta write this down,” I said frantically. “It’s in my dream journal.” His hands dropped and he began to stand up as the rest of the cast and crew filed out. “You have a dream journal?” I asked. “Is that something I’m supposed to be doing?” “Yes, I have one and if you ask me about it when I’m sober, I’ll probably lie. And yes, you should have one. It’s life-changing.” I followed him out of the
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“Oh, trust me when I say this one-hundred-percent Jewish guy has a bona fide Santa kink now.” She looked up to me. “You can be my ho, ho, ho.”
Even Teddy’s voice sounded like it had a mustache,
Teddy?” I heard the kind of heavy sigh that can only come from under a mustache. “I’m not sure if I’m good to drive or not, and if I’m not sure, that means it’s not safe enough for me to feel good about.
“Fuck me sideways.” “Have offered many times,” Sunny responded.
“You don’t have to—” I started. “I mean, I don’t want anyone to miss their night of fun—” “I’m going to stop you right there,” Steph said crisply. “You are more important than discounted appetizers. We’re going to make sure you’re okay.” And then more people crowded onto the trolley. Nolan. Luca and Jack Hart. Gretchen and Pearl. “You guys,” I said. “Please don’t miss the party just because of this. It’s so silly, and it’s probably nothing . . .” “You need to be surrounded by good energy and loving kindness,” Pearl said seriously. “And western medicine—” “—is great for emergencies,” Gretchen
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Kallum just blinked at her, a picture of handsome, bearded bafflement, and I realized what was going on. Turns out that a horde of mostly drunk porn stars and former boy band members wasn’t the greatest at communication.
Home is where the pizza is. And for me, home was the apartment above the Slice, Slice, Baby flagship location in downtown Kansas City.
When I let myself in through the back room, the pizza oven was still warm, so I fired it back up again. I needed to get my shit together, but first I had to make a pizza. To knead my fingers into the dough and let myself get a little angry at it.
“You invested your federal student loan money?” I asked. I couldn’t tell if this kid was a genius or not, but lately I was leaning toward not.
“Tomorrow, you and I are going to see your mom. We’re going to tell her everything. I’m going to own up to my shit and you’re going to own up to yours.” His head lolled back. “This blows.” “Yeah,” I admitted. “It does.”
I scooped up a slice of his pizza and folded it in half before taking a bite full of pineapple, olives, and anchovy. “Topher, this is fucking foul,” I said as I took another bite. He grinned. “But if you hadn’t tried it, how would you know?”
But it would cost me more than fifty-one percent or control of the company. It would cost me the first two—probably three—years of my child’s life. But Winnie would never have to worry about leaning on her parents or doing projects she didn’t fully love. I sat there at my desk, memorizing every page of this pdf and dreaming about the life it could give me and everyone I loved.
I told Tamara about my offer to help Topher find the thing that makes him tick. Her lip trembled, and that was enough to get me and Topher crying like babies because Lieberman men are fucking feelers. Dad might come off as chill and stoic, but you could turn on Seabiscuit and watch that man turn into a blubbering toddler.
“Topher can help,” I told Reuben, “but just FYI, I fired him last night and if you knew he was crashing in my apartment upstairs and didn’t tell me, we should have a talk.” Topher waved his hands. “Reuben had no idea. I was sneaking back in after they closed up for the day.” Reuben laughed. “I like this kid, but not enough to risk my job for him.” I bumped fists with Reuben. “Good man.”
I wanted to be everything for Winnie. The man she leaned on in every situation. But I would show up in whatever way she’d have me. So I’d give her time and space . . . when it came to us. But our child? Give me some New Balance dad sneakers, a grill, a Home Depot credit card, and call me Dad.
I missed how easy he made the world to be in, how comfortable and happy he made the people around him. Where I’d grown up terrified of being too much for someone—anyone, the entire world—he’d seemed to see too much of anyone as a good thing. Like handfuls of candy at Halloween or piles of presents at a birthday party. As if everyone should be more of themselves. As if the world would be a better, funner, sweeter place for it. I couldn’t think of something I wanted my baby to have in their life more.
I loved him, but he let me down.
But then why did logical still feel shitty? That was something my therapist had definitely neglected to mention when she’d explained setting boundaries to me.
My parents had been big on me staying productive until the bed rest order expired next week, but their idea of productivity was journaling to explore what God wanted me to learn in this time . . . or reading through movie scripts they wanted me to consider.
“Winnie, so wonderful to see you,” Jackie said, standing up and extending her hand for me to shake, which I did automatically before we both sat down. Jackie looked virtually the same as the last time I’d seen her: Short hair dyed chestnut and aggressively styled. Light beige features with too much makeup. A smile so insincere it made my skin crawl. “I’m so glad you agreed to meet with me.” “I didn’t,” I said honestly. “I didn’t know you were coming until I walked in the room.” “Winnie,” my father scolded, like I was a teenager with bad manners. But that didn’t work on me anymore. The
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“Now, I know we’ve had our professional differences,” Jackie went on, “and now you’ve found yourself where so many young women find themselves when they stray from their parents’ love.”
I stared. “I don’t want to bury Santa, Baby,” I said slowly. “I loved working on it. I’m proud of it. I’m proud of everybody’s work on it.” My dad scoffed next to me. “You can’t be serious.”
There was no taking it back now. The world knew that Winnie Baker, former wholesome sweetheart, had not only divorced her husband amid cheating rumors, but now was pregnant without her husband anywhere in the picture. The scandalous descent was now complete. I was so relieved.
came a text message from Steph. It was a thumbs-up emoji and nothing else, but that was basically a five-minute-long hug with boob presses and everything when it came to Steph D’Arezzo.
“Hey, Winnie,” Kallum said. “I just saw your post, and I wanted to say that I’m proud of you. I know that with your parents and all the stuff they raised you with, it might have been hard to tell people, and that there are going to be some people who say the very things you’re terrified someone will say. So I wanted to make sure, in case no one else said it, that you’re this supercool, amazing, brave, really hot person, and I’m proud of you. And, um . . .” A pause, and he continued, “I’m here if you need me. Even if it’s just to talk about what brand of car seat to register for. Or if you need
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He countered my offer with more money and an extra week of vacation, and I said yes. He was dependable, smart, and knew the business. And he was standing right the fuck in front of me this whole time. He was also the only person who didn’t make fun of me for chipping my tooth, and that was the kind of love I was willing to pay for.
“Yes, I’m currently taking business advice from my nephew who just blew his college tuition on hot tub trucks.” Nolan held up a hand. “Say more.” Topher sat up in his chair, fully ready to pitch this disaster to Nolan when I shoved a spring roll in his open mouth and said, “Nolan, keep your money.
