My Grumpy Billionaire

“I heard what you and your brothers were talking about at dinner. About how babies create a carbon footprint,” she says gingerly, as though she’s taking her time to pick the right words.

Is that all?The topic isn’t worth this much anxiety on her part. “That was just a research paper.” I don’t want her operating under the misconception that my brothers or I have anything to do with the paper. “It’s not even published.” Why is she so nervous about wanting to discuss the paper? The topic’s a bit obscure, and probably only an economist would think it’s interesting. But, of course, there’s nothing wrong with laypeople wanting to know more.

“Do you believe the findings?” Sierra watches me intently.

I don’t understand why she’s so edgy, but I’m getting a feeling that I should answer her as thoroughly as possible.

“The data they used is okay,” I say finally. “There are some parts where I thought their math could be better. They also overlooked a few possible causations and other explanations, but they’re hard to explain without the paper in front of us so you can see exactly what I’m talking about.”

“I don’t care about the math. I want to know if you agree with the conclusion that the babies are nothing but a carbon footprint.”

She misinterpreted what we said. But then, it’s difficult to understand research from mere eavesdropping, and I don’t mind taking the time to explain the nuance if the topic is of such interest to her. “The paper didn’t say that. It states that they generate—”

“Are you trying to be technical?” Her voice is loud and slightly shrill.

I pull back. “I’m trying to be thorough, since you seem interested in the paper.”

Sierra takes a deep breath. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have raised my voice. I don’t care about the paper. I want to know if you think that children are bad for the environment.”

“No,” I answer.

She lets out a long sigh.

“But if you’re not interested in the paper and the details of the research, why are you asking about it?” Most people aren’t interested in economics research. I wouldn’t have brought it up if it weren’t for Grant.

“Because…” She inhales slowly, then exhales in a whoosh. “I’m pregnant.”

I sit, feeling like somebody just swing a hammer into the base of my skull. All thought vanishes from my head, and I blink a couple of times, trying to force the gears to start turning again.

Statistically speaking, condoms aren’t perfect, but we only had sex recently. Doesn’t it take longer for an egg to get fertilized and settle in the womb? Perhaps there are new ways to determine pregnancy faster. That area isn’t my expertise. But…

I finally croak, “When? How?” I wince inwardly at the second question. How is obvious. I must be more shocked than I thought.

“It must’ve happened when we were in New Orleans. I just found out today when I went in for my regular checkup with my gynecologist.”

“Didn’t you say you couldn’t get pregnant?” I keep my voice matter-of-fact so she doesn’t think it’s an accusation. It won’t do to upset her right now. Even a numbers geek like me knows this is a critical juncture in our relationship.

She winces. “Yes. I did. Because I thought that was the case. But my fallopian tubes are only partially blocked. Apparently, some swimmers can still get through.”

Wow. That wasn’t what I thought she was going to say. So my guys are that persistent and strong, huh? It gives me an absurd sense of pride.

I can’t decide if I want to categorize this as a Class One catastrophe or not. My stomach isn’t twisting with a sickening feeling. But it isn’t happy and relaxed, either.

“What do you want to do?”

The question slips from my lips. I don’t know what answer I want to hear. Even if having the baby is going to forever change our lives irrevocably, if the little life we just created is anything like Sierra, it’s going to be adorable—and totally worth everything that’s going to come. But it’s Sierra who’s going to be most impacted by the pregnancy, and I want to be ready to support her no matter what she decides.

“I want to keep them.” She places a protective hand over her belly. “They’re my babies. My family.”

I wait for her to add to that, but she doesn’t. I’m vaguely disappointed, although I can’t put my finger on—

“Wait. Them? Babies?”

Biting her lip, she nods. “Triplets.”

“Triplets?”

“Yes.”