“It’s okay. I get it,” I attempted to reassure her without getting too distracted and upping my insurance premiums.

  Thankfully, we make out of the parking ramp, which lowered my stress immensely.

  “Oh God!” Elle shouted as she tore through her purse.

  My eyes widened as she pulled out a shopping bag and started loudly retching into it. My shoulders stiffened and my whole-body froze. I wanted to help, but I was driving, and I had no fucking idea what to do.

  “I’m okay!” she shouted in-between waves of puke.

  I kept my eyes on the road and tried not to wince as she retched. 10 very awkward minutes later, I parked outside Elle’s apartment. She tied off the bag of vomit and sat it on the floor near her feet. For the first time today, she turned to me and met my gaze. Her eyes were red, strained from the retching.

  “…So… I’m keeping the baby,” she blurted out.

  “Cool.”

  “Cool?” she raised an eyebrow.

  “Yeah… I mean, that’s good. I’ll support you. It takes two people to make a baby. You’re not in this alone,” I said with much more confidence and bravado than I actually felt.

  “Okay. Well, I’m gonna go brush my teeth. I’ll text you the time for my next appointment.”

  “Okay.”

  And just like that, Elle and her bag of vomit were gone.

  Elle

  “My great niece or nephew is the cutest little baby that ever existed!” Trisha gushed.

  It was another one of our Sunday get togethers. I sat across from my aunts at their dining room table. Their house was a disaster. Renee had an urge to renovate and Trisha, being the gooey eyed romantic she is, went along with whatever her wife wanted. The downstairs spare room was full of wood, cans of paint, shelving, and assorted junk. She was a badass with a table saw, and I’m sure Renee could have been a perfect host for a HGTV show if they employed Black people.

  With a girlish giggle, Trish hugged my ultrasound photos to her chest. Renee wrapped an arm around her while also grinning like a loon. I rolled my eyes. The baby looked like a little flickering blob with no defining features. But I guess I considered my blob to be a cutie. My dating scan was a couple of days ago. There was a last-minute cancellation, and they were able to squeeze me in. I was supposed to text Logan, but after his lukewarm reaction to everything baby related, vomiting included, I opted not to tell him. I didn’t contact him, and he didn’t contact me. So much for support.

  “Have you guys thought about names?” Renee asked.

  I shook my head no. I was still wrapping my mind around having a living being growing inside of me. Names were so not on the radar.

  “Don’t worry, I’ll start a list for you!” Trisha exclaimed.

  I rolled my eyes. “Are we gonna eat?”

  “I’ll order some pizza.” Renee stood up and went in search of her laptop.

  “You still haven’t texted him, have you?” Trisha wriggled an eyebrow mockingly at me.

  I shifted in my seat and swallowed back a suddenly convenient wave of nausea.

  “…Why should I? He obviously was uncomfortable, and I don’t wanna be a bother,” I shrugged, attempting to play off my response as unbothered when I was all sorts of terrified of doing this on my own.

  “You are so fucking stubborn! You puked in a shopping bag IN THE MAN’S CAR FOR GOD’S SAKE! I know TV and movies make pregnancy seem all cute, quirky, and shit but it’s not! You have to give him grace too if you expect any in return!” She huffed.

  “Maybe,” I sighed at her iron clad logic.

  “Don’t maybe me! I swear to God if you weren’t pregnant, I’d hit you. Text the man!”

  Thoroughly chastised like the knobby-kneed kid I once was, I pulled my phone from my pocket to text him.

  Logan

  Fuck.

  I’m an asshole.

  A massive fucking asshole… who’s gonna be a dad.

  Some Sundays, I enjoyed taking my work out to the backyard. Soaking up all the vitamin D in just a pair of shorts, I worked out until my legs turned to jelly. It was the best, most constructive way to release stress. Second to baking. After an over long session with the ropes, I went to the patio to grab my water bottle and check my phone. I unlocked my phone to a text from Elle. I opened a picture of an ultrasound with a caption that reads 9 weeks, 2 days. A small gasp squeaked past my lips. The sweat trickling my forehead was suddenly super fucking annoying and not at all refreshing. Feverishly, I ran a hand over my face before dropping onto my ass.

  That’s my kid.

  It didn’t look like much, but there it was. I didn’t know how long I sat there staring at the blob on my screen, but eventually I blinked my way back to reality. After one realization settled, another one lodged in my throat. My fingers fired back.

  Logan: Why didn’t you let me know?

  Elle: I didn’t want to bother you.

  My heart assaulted my ribcage. I couldn’t tell if the manic nature of my heartbeat was me still coming down from the workout or me realizing how much of a massive asshole I was. A groan vibrated in my throat before I yelled a string of obscenities into the air. I dropped my phone in my lap and buried my still sweat covered face in my hands. I could only assume my warm and welcoming reaction lead Elle to that conclusion. Fuck, I didn’t even check on her.

  King of the assholes, that I am.

  I tilted my head back and looked up at the sky. I needed to make things right.

  Elle

  Logan never texted back. I hoped he’d respond, but it didn’t hurt that much because I totally didn’t get my hopes up. Or that was the lie I told myself. It slightly soothed the burning hurt that burrowed in my chest. It was morning somewhere and my stomach was touchy. With a sigh, I stretched out on my couch. My phone buzzed. I grabbed it off the coffee table.

  Logan: Are you home?

  Elle: Yeah.

  Logan: Cool. What number is your apartment?

  Elle: 3

  Confused as hell, I sat up just as there was a knock on my door. Brow furrowed, I open the door to Logan on my doorstep. His face flushed, jaw clenched, and a big box in his arms.

  “Hi.” He said sheepishly. “Can I come in?”

  I nodded. Logan stepped inside and kicked off his shoes. His dark gray t-shirt was tight across his chest and his pair of ripped blue jeans hung loosely from his hips. I swallowed hard to stop myself from drooling on the carpet. The sight of his muscles made me forget how much he hurt my feelings… Almost. With a deep breath, I regained some composure and led him into the living room. I separated my studio apartment into ‘rooms’ with curtains and creative furniture placement. Mysterious box on the coffee table, I sat on one end of the couch and Logan sat on the other. He turned to me and let out a massive sigh. I bit my bottom lip and tried not to giggle at the visible wave of relief that overcame him once he stopped holding his breath.

  “…I’m an asshole. And for that, I want to say I’m sorry.”

  “You’re not an asshole,” I shrugged.

  Logan sighed again before approaching things from a different angle.

  “I am. I’m an asshole. I said I would be there for you and then proceeded to drop off the face of the earth. That’s not right,” Logan shook his head in disbelief of his own actions. “It takes two people to get pregnant. I said I would be here for you and I truly mean that. I will do anything and everything in my power to make it up to you and to prove to you that I will be an equal partner in this pregnancy and with the raising of our child.”

  “…Logan.” I breathed as I attempted to carefully choose my words. “…God knows we didn’t plan for this to happen. And just because it did doesn’t mean we have to force square pegs into round holes. I’m not gonna force you to go to every appointment and check in with me every day if that doesn’t work for you. Honestly, if you want to visit the baby after they’re born and once they’re older, you can have them on weekends. I think that would be a reasonable plan.”

  Eyes wide, he shook his head. “No. I want to be more involved than that.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “You’re a professional wrestler who runs a gaming bar on the side. I can’t really picture a baby fitting well into that narrative.”

  He kicked me to the curb once. I didn’t want to entertain that again. I had already settled on doing this alone. It was the 21st century, being a single parent wasn’t worthy of a second glance these days. Logan huffed as if my rationality was unexpected. We were a one-night stand that had no plans to see each other again. We weren’t dating, hell I wasn’t even sure if we actually liked each other outside of having really, really, really amazing sex.

  “Elle, please let me try?” He looked at me with those mesmerizing, ocean blue eyes of his.

  Not fair.

  I nibbled my bottom lip like a fucking life raft to snap myself away from drowning in his gaze.

  “What’s in the box?” I asked, steering the conversation to the left.

  Logan shifted forward and said, “My peace offering.”

  Curious and intrigued, I sat back to weigh my options as he presented me with his olive branch.

  “So, I know you’ve been having problems with puking, and I wanted to help with that.” With a sheepish grin, he sprung up a finger like a cartoon character making a brilliant point.

  From the box, he retrieved two bright yellow buckets with handles. My brows bunched at the cheery confusion of a vomit bucket in pastel colors.

  “I got you two of these. One big and one small. But the thing that makes these buckets different is they come with a ‘chunk’ catcher in the middle to prevent splash back.”

  Patent pending puke bucket to the side, Logan then proceeded to pull things from the box like a low rent game show host. A pack of resealable vomit bags, no more puking in Walmart bags for me! A pair of anti-nausea acupressure wristbands. 100 ginger candies to suck on when I felt sick. Two 6 packs of ginger beer, again for nausea. 2 packs of saltine crackers to munch on before getting out of bed. A large tub of cocoa butter for impending stretch marks. And last but not least a tray of the double chocolate brownies I devoured at his place.

  Logan put actual effort into his olive branch. I was impressed and pissed that I was impressed.

  Logan

  My heart was like a sledgehammer in my chest, pulverizing my ribs. Besides, her pouty lips clamped between her teeth, I couldn’t read Elle. She gave nothing away. Leaving me to dangle on her line like the saddest fish as I try to breathe and prevent myself from having to use one of her puke buckets. I looked at the collection of groveling gifts spread all over her coffee table, hoping with all my nervous might that it would inch me towards forgiveness.

  “You really put thought into this, didn’t you?” Elle eventually said.

  I nodded. “I’ve been reading this pregnancy book, and it’s full of brilliant advice. Also, it’s got an app to go with it and there’s a message board where people can ask questions.”

  “Did you ask random strangers for help with this?”

  I rubbed a hand over the back of my neck as I admitted, “Yeah, I did.”

  Elle giggled. The tension that had my muscles in an incorrectly placed choke hold since this morning started to ease.

  “…I appreciate all this. I really do. Thank you for being willing to admit you were wrong and try to make it better.”

  Being the chud I am, I nodded.

  “But-”

  I swallowed at her interjection. My muscles locked up again.

  “We aren’t dating. We don’t really know each other.”

  “…Well, if the noises you made a few weeks ago were any indicator, we have really good sex.” I stated matter of fact.

  Elle snort coughed like a wounded animal. I glanced at her out of the corner of my eye as she pounded a fist against her chest and a rosy blush colored her cheeks.

  “NOT FAIR!” she shouted.

  Smugger than I feel, I shrugged. I felt the shift in the air. My wrestling persona peeked through. In the arena, Logan was a bastard. But in personal situations like this, I was rubbish. Whenever I found myself thoughtless, confused, or at a loss for words, that’s when the cocky champion side of my personality slapped my back for the hot tag in.

  “Anyway! I really do appreciate this. Thank you. But Logan, I have to be honest with you. We don’t know each other, and I think to be effective parents, we should spend some time getting to know each other.”

  She’s right.

  I crossed my arms, and I leaned back onto the couch. “What do you want to know? My name is Logan Smith. I’m 38 years old, born and raised in Windsor, Ontario, Canada. I’m 6 ft fall and weigh 235 pounds depending on the day. I don’t smoke or drink. And my favorite color is gold.”

  Factoids listed off like a poorly edited Wikipedia page, I turned to Elle and raised an expectant eyebrow at her.

  “If I wanted to know things like that, I’d read your Wiki page. I want to know the real Logan.” She smoothed a hand over her stomach and my jaw clenched.

  “…You’re the father of my child. I want to know the real you.”

  I took a deep breath. I wanted to reach out and touch her. I wanted to put my hand on her stomach. I knew we weren’t there yet, so I tempered that urge and turned my gaze to the ceiling.

  “How do you suggest we get to know each other better?” I asked.

  “We could spend some time together.”

  I nodded, as if this wasn’t affecting me. It absolutely was. My insides were a jittery mess that bordered on panic.

  “Are you free Friday?” I asked.

  I was careful to pronounce each word with a cool, unaffected tone.

  “I think so.”

  “Cool. Friday it is then.”

  I had no fucking idea what we’ll do, but thankfully I had a few days to plan something.

  “It’s not a date!” Elle assured me.

  I nodded in agreement, “Don’t worry, I don’t date.”

  Parents don’t have to be together to raise kids. Plus, there’s was nothing wrong with being friends with the mother of your child.

  Elle

  Monday morning, I sat down at my desk with my small cup of coffee ready to dive into the revisions notes that tormented my waking hours and my dreams. With a heavy sigh, I opened my laptop to pause when my phone buzzed. There was a message on the screen from Logan. I felt the stupid, unabashedly goofy grin on my face and let the goodness wash over me. We extended an olive branch to each other in an attempt to parent like functional adults, but I didn’t expect much. Happiness bloomed in my chest, and I’d never been so ecstatic to be proven wrong.

  Logan: Morning! How are you feeling? How’s Blobby?

  Elle: Wearing the nausea bands! Didn’t puke as much this morning! Who’s Blobby?

  Logan: The baby of course!

  Elle: Our baby?

  Logan: Yes our baby!

  Elle: I don’t think I like that name

  Logan: I thought Blobert was too formal…

  Blobby…

  My hand dropped to my stomach. My ridiculous grin could become permanent. The nickname was cute… but I’d never tell Logan. With a snort, I shook my head and turned my attention back to my computer.

  Our text conversations quickly became the highlight of my week.

  Elle: Hormones r fucking stupid

  Logan: Why is that?

  Elle: I’m craving sushi and I can’t have any!!1

  Logan: That is a problem. I’m sorry

  Texting with Logan was low key enough that there was no pressure. It was nice to have the distraction. Especially after my editor emailed me to discuss rewrites. Frustrated, I tossed what I had written into metaphorical fiery pits of creative hell. Anxiety and nervousness balled up and pushed aside, I shot an email to producer Dani Chan, my friend/mentor who got me the job. We were BFFs, but our communication was spotty at best. Dani seemed excited to hear from me and we set a time next week to video chat.

  Wednesday evening, I closed the new, blank document for ‘The Fury and the Flood’ and turned my attention to more pressing issues. The more pressing issue was wrestling. Logan told me on show days he would be unavailable to text. I had never seen him wrestle before and had an uncomfortably burning urge to see him in a ring. MWA’s weekly show started at 8, so I made a whole evening out of it. I ordered a pizza and stretched out on the couch in my most comfy pair of pajamas. MWA had been around for 3 years, but because my wrestling knowledge was geared towards older stuff, I didn’t know who was on my screen. But none of that mattered because my eyes were glued. All those familiar feelings of excitement and anticipation flowed through me with every dive and near count. The crowd played into the hysteria with a chorus of applause or boos at all the right points. It was delightful! The two hours flew by and sooner than I expected, it was time for the main event.

  The arena lights went low. Logan’s name was emblazoned on the screen behind the ramp. Dramatic video game boss music started, and I waited for the start button to pop up. The crowd popped with enthusiastic cheering.

  “This man right here maybe up seen as a cocky upstart to some MWA viewers, but he definitely earned his stripes in Japan.” Commentator number one said.

  “He definitely did. If anyone has the right to be cocky, it’s him. He’s a megastar overseas and I’m more than happy to have him here with us in MWA.” Commentator number two continued.

  My mouth dropped open as Logan made his way to the ring. His oiled abs looked glorious underneath his open, black leather jacket. His black leather pants were so tight there was nothing left to the imagination. Every dip, curve, and bulge was visible. He stood in the middle of the ring and shrugged off his jacket. The camera zoomed in on his face and he gave the most confident, sexiest smirk I’d ever seen in my life. I swallowed hard and pressed my thighs together tightly.