The Sexpert

I do. It looks fabulous.

My heart will be broken if this is all a setup.

The next morning, I wake up early so I can plan my Stevie’s First Birthday outfit. I want to make Andrew’s head turn, but still keep it G-rated at the same time. So I choose a bright yellow sundress, a light cropped red sweater, and a pair of red wedge-heeled sandals.

I feel like a bright ray of sunshine.

Then I walk over to the local bakery and pick up Stevie’s cake. I got a little welcome-to-the-neighborhood coupon when I moved in, so I gave that to Zoey to use, since we’re still so strapped for cash until we finally get paid. The cake’s got a whole cowboy theme going on.

Right at noon, my doorbell chimes.

I take a deep breath and straighten my dress as I walk to the door and pull it open.

Andrew stands there, one hand propped up on the doorjamb, grinning at me.

“Hey,” I say, kinda nervous.

“Hey yourself,” he says, leaning in to kiss me.

God. I want to melt right into him.

“Jesus, you smell like frosting.”

“Oh.” I laugh, twirling my hair in my fingers. “I picked up Stevie’s cake earlier. That must be why.”

“That’s not why,” he says, leaning in to kiss me again. “I think you’re just naturally delicious.”

I want to wrap my legs around his middle and kiss him forever. Never let him go. Just… wow. I might be falling in love with this man.

“So…” he says, pulling away. “Meeting the best friend? We’re there already, huh?”

“Does it bother you?” I ask. “Too much, too fast? Do you not want to go? You don’t have to come with me if you don’t want to, I just—“

“Hey,” he says, cutting me off. “I am thrilled that you asked me on a date.”

I smile. Nod. “It is a date, right?”

“Do you think it’s a date?”

“Do you not?”

“I do.”

“Then I guess it’s a date.”

I smile again. “And we’re… we’re kinda liking this, right?”

“Yeah. We’re kinda liking this,” he says, his hand dropping to my hip.

I bite my lip. “You’re going to love her. Zoey, I mean. She’s so cool. We’ve been BFF’s forever. And she’s going to love you back.”

“Well, good. Because my best friend can’t remember you.”

I laugh.

“So I guess after this”—he holds his hands out, palms up—“the only thing left is to meet the parents.”

Holy shit. We’re at the meet-the-parents stage. “I’d love to meet your parents,” I say.

“It’s just my mom. And I assure you, you wouldn’t. But I’d be happy to meet yours.”

“Yeah?” He nods. “Cool. My dad is really going to like you.”

“Yeah? Good.”

And then we just kinda stand there, staring stupidly at each other for a few moments.

Wow. This is real, I say to myself.

We have something real.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT – ANDREW

“Oh, thank you,” says Eden’s friend, Zoey, accepting the gift I hand her.

“Of course. I remember what it was like to be one. Everybody treating you like you’re still a baby when all you wanna do is spread your wings and fly. It’s a kid-sized hang-glider by the way.”

Zoey nods at Eden. “He’s funny.”

“He tries,” I say. I look around at the cowboy motif Zoey has going for the party. “I like your place. Nice design eye. Who’s your decorator? Eden needs an upgrade.”

Eden giggles and now Zoey’s looking at us the way a single mom with a one-year-old looks at kid-less people who’ve only just started seeing each other. In other words: slight annoyance ringed with contempt.

“Make yourselves at home. Can I get you anything to drink?”

“Do you have any ginger ale?” I ask.

“I have water, punch, and maybe some old breast milk in the back of the fridge.”

“Water’s great. Thanks.”

“Eden?”

“I’m good,” she says.

“Yeah,” says Zoey, walking away. “You look good.”

“I like her,” I say, kissing Eden on the head. “She seems kind of mean.”

“She’s not. She’s just… I mean, she’s raising a kid on her own without any help.”

“Where’s the dad?”

Eden gets quiet and then says, “Another time. OK?”

“Sure.” I nod. As we wander into the apartment, I nod and smile at all the people. Pretty much all of them have kids. That’s what I hear happens. You become friends with the parents you meet at pre-school or at the playground or wherever. I’ve never really given much thought to having kids myself. Not that I wouldn’t, just with my relationship history it’s always seemed like a far-fetched possibility. Not only would I never have wanted to have kids with the women I was with, they all would’ve been pretty mean mothers, I have a feeling.

I grew up with kind of a mean mom, so I know how much fun it isn’t. Not really fair. She wasn’t mean so much as not terribly present. And kind of judgmental. And a little snobby. And sorta rude. And, yeah, pretty mean.