Ready or Not

by Cara Bastone

It’ll be perfect! I promise I’ll make it perfect for you!” He laughs and puts his hands in his pockets and looks around a little more. “You really like it that much?” “I love it.” “And you swear you wouldn’t feel weird about coming over, given the location?” “I…honestly, I might. But I’ll still come over no matter what. Once you’re inside, it’s heaven.” “Are you sure?”

“Because you being comfortable in my house is pretty much the only criteria I’m currently using for picking a place.”

Because there’s a man sitting on my stoop. He’s sweaty and breathing hard and wearing running gear. He’s got copper-red hair and tears on his cheeks.

“Eleni found the twenty-week ultrasound images and…it was too much for her to handle. She, ah, doesn’t want me to contact you. And she…tends to check my phone and email and stuff.”

“Do you currently have a crush on my brother?” “No! He’s…the worst! He’s unattractive and rude and he’s never there when you need him. He smells bad and is thoughtless and he never tries to feed me or surprise me or make me happy.”

“We weren’t ‘just trying.’ ” My stomach fish-flops. “What?” She takes a deep breath and drags her hands down from her face. Her eyes are swollen and her skin is blotchy. “I lost a pregnancy last year.”

got to tell her, you know. Right before she passed, I got to tell her that I was going to be a mom. She was so happy.” Those last words are a strangled whisper that dissolves away into silent pain. “When I lost the pregnancy…I couldn’t…”

He was telling me, all those months ago, that he wanted me. Infinitely kind words in a dark moment. I’ll never leave you whispered in a secret code that he was content for me to never solve. That’s what wanting without taking looks like. Other-centered as he is, maybe he’s been waiting for me to do the taking.

“I took off work today and I really, really wanna see you. Like right now.” “Yes. Done. I’m there.” Is there any compliment higher than someone dropping everything for you? “You have the time?” I ask. “I don’t care. I’ll quit. Where are you?”

that’s when I notice it. His bike. His new bike—the one he took the train up to the Bronx to buy and then rode all the way home—has a baby seat fastened onto it.

“Up against a tree,” I muse. “That’s not quite how I pictured it.” “You’ve pictured kissing me.” It’s not a question. More of a statement. One he seems to need to say aloud in order to believe. “I’ve spent an awful lot of energy trying to stop picturing kissing you over the last few months.”

Shep is behind me, his forearm clamping over my collarbones, and swiping us both through. He doesn’t unhand me and we duck-walk to a free area. People are smiling at us, glancing at my belly and then smiling more.

I’m the best thing he’s ever tasted. I know because he whispers that in between kisses,

“I was just thinking…kissing you…I’ve been waiting twenty-five years for that.” The words go cardboard flat and flop to the ground. I’m aghast. “Twenty-five years?” I ask. Surely he means days. He must mean days. He gives a little laugh at my expression and strokes my jaw, gently closing my wide-open trap. “Give or take.” “Since you were six?” I ask. His gaze is back on our tangled hands and it takes a moment for him to bring his eyes to mine. “Eve, for as long as I can remember I have always wanted to be as close as possible to you.”

“What if I told you that I didn’t like waiting that long? And that I want to see you tomorrow. And every day. And, oh, lord, pregnant and off my rocker might not be the best time to start dating me.” “It’s the perfect time to start dating you.”

“Eve. If you want to see me every day, you want someone to measure your belly, I’m clearly game.”

He puts two hands on either side of my breasts, and I think he might be punishing himself for loving me. “Don’t asphyxiate in there, please,” I say to the top of his head. “What a way to go.” I can barely hear him through the muffle.

To my dismay he’s tucking and zipping and smoothing himself back into place. “Nooooooo,” I whisper in despair. He smiles at my reaction. “I promise I’m not taking it away for good.” I get out of bed too and pull on some underwear and a bra from my drawer. “Noooooo,” he says, his eyes wide with alarm. “See?” I say with a finger point. “It’s terrible to watch someone put on their clothes.”

“She wanted you to never see me or the baby again,” I guess. “And you wanna know the worst part?” Ethan says. “When she realized I was leaving her…she told me she’d just been bluffing. That I could see the baby if I wanted but not you.”

You’re like the nicest, most generous, lovable guy on the planet and you’re with the mother of my child. Do you have any idea how insufferable that is?” Shep laughs and it’s the first sound he’s made that’s not exceedingly kind. “Ethan, are you kidding me?” “What?” “Of course I know how you feel. You’re a handsome, successful guy who is usually very nice, and you got the love of my life pregnant. You wanna talk about insufferable?”

Did you make Ethan breakfast this morning, you absolute prince? I immediately receive a gif of a cartoon princess curtsying. You can stop wooing me now, I text him. We’ve already kissed. Now you can watch TV with your pants undone and scratch your nutsack and stuff. You certainly have a very vivid style of flirting, he texts back. And then: But my nutsack appreciates the green light.

“Sharing that with you,” he says. “Falling asleep with you like that, it’s the closest I’ve ever felt to someone. And it was a door, that moment. Don’t you think? We opened that door and then all the other moments cascaded in. Eating dinner at your house, just the two of us. Flirting at the movie theater. Falling asleep in your bed. Unbraiding your hair. Apartment shopping. And then, and then, and then…the park. All of that was possible because this little person, right here”—he smooths a hand over my belly—“chose that exact moment to kick. It was the most special moment of my life.”

“If it’s not totally obvious…I’ll say it because I’ve really, really needed to say it for a long time…but, Eve, I love you more deeply than I’ve ever loved anyone else. I’m bananas for you. So in love I…”

“I love you too and I was really hoping you’d be my boyfriend.” He’s gone solid. A block of ice doesn’t have shit on Shep. I grant him a few shocked seconds and then I give his collar a yank. “Shep.” Life comes to his eyelids and they start butterflying. “I’m sorry,” he says on choppy air. “I’m sorry, would you say that again?” “Is it really that much of a surprise?” “Eve. Say it again.” “Boyfriend and girlfriend. You and me. Sitting in a tree, et cetera, et cetera. Did I leave anything out?” “Yes.” “Oh, right. I love you.”

“I’ll never love anyone the way I love you,” he says, his tongue a warm, tasting press against mine. “Being with you is the only thing I’ve ever really wanted.”

“One of these days I’m going to wake you up with a blowjob and feed you honeydew off toothpicks and give you foot rubs and make you ravioli for lunch with raspberry lemonade and totally and completely befuddle and spoil you and see how you like it.” He laughs. “Yes. Karma’s a bitch.”

He takes a finger and places it over the bump. “Boyfriend,” he spells out loud and with his finger, he finishes the word by drawing an arrow pointing at himself. “Girlfriend.” He draws an arrow pointing towards my heart. “Rump roast.” He draws an arrow pointing towards the baby. I laugh. “You’re always drawing arrows.” “Yeah. I’ve never been very stealthy about how I feel about you, I don’t think.”

“She. Has. Red. Hair,” he says before dissolving down into sobs. His forehead is pressing my arm, his hand still on the baby. “Thank you. Thank you,” he’s chanting. “I love you. Thank you.” I don’t know if he’s talking to me or the baby, but it doesn’t really matter. Because right now, in this moment, me and the baby are one thing for Ethan. We’re his family. We made it. All the way here. A nine-month journey. And it’s just beginning.

“Didn’t know you felt so passionate about Shep sticking around.” “We’re attached to each other now,” Shep says from somewhere near my armpit, his eyes closed again. “When did that happen?” I ask them. Shep lifts his head, makes eye contact with Ethan, and the two of them burst into private laughter. “When you were laboring,” Ethan answers, “I was the brains and Shep was the brawn.” “He had to tell me everything to do,” Shep says groggily. “I definitely should have taken a birthing class.” “No,” Ethan says with a shake of his head. “Then there wouldn’t have been anything for me to do.”

On the other side of me, Ethan’s eyes are lasered to the end of the pen as I curve around the final h in my last name. I lift the pen and I can hear his breath catch. I press it to the paper and time stops. I draw a hyphen and he lets out all of his breath at once, collapsing down, tears in his voice. “Thank you,” he cries again. “Thank you, thank you.” He’s been saying that a lot.

But for today, I’ll let my eyes get heavy while I watch Shep hum my girl in circles. Today, I’ll let Ethan sleep on my feet. Today, we’ll all be brand-new together.