Getting Her Back

The little text bubble of him typing appears at the bottom of the screen, and I wait, chewing on my lip.

Here’s the address. I figured someplace more private would be better for something like this.

I quickly Google the address and find that it’s an upscale apartment building on the Upper West Side. That’s fine with me. I’d expected to be doing this in a relatively low budget hotel room. this is a nice surprise.

Thanks, that’s nice of you.

I thought you might be less nervous if it weren’t at one of our apartments. And since you said you wanted to keep this as businesslike as possible, I thought it might help with that as well.

I’m surprised at how well he’s managed to read my mind just now. Of course, I suddenly have a tinge of doubt. I’m about to meet up to have sex with a stranger. In a location that I do not know. What if he’s dangerous? What if I’m walking into a trap?

I shake my head. Everybody on the app has been extensively vetted. Just don’t be stupid. I quickly text Ellen and tell her where I’m going. The only thing she sends back is a string of eggplant emojis and I roll my eyes even though I’m laughing.

What time should I be there?

Seven?

Works for me.

I close Heartility and gather my things, time to go home and decide what to wear to make a baby.

* * *

It was harder than I thought to decide what to wear. Again, my traditional dating instincts wanted to kick in and I was tempted to wear cute underwear and a cute outfit. But that isn’t exactly necessary, sex is guaranteed on this ‘date.’ But at the same time, I don’t want this guy to think that I don’t care, or that I don’t appreciate what he’s doing for me. So I ended up going somewhere in the middle. A bra and panty set that is cute and makes me look put together without being too sexy, combined with skinny jeans and a cute top.

I feel like I’m bouncing the entire way on the subway. Bouncing with nervous energy, with excitement, and with hope. If I’m very, very lucky, I might be pregnant. I could become a mother in nine months. No matter how many times I tell myself not to get my hopes up, I can feel that it’s absolutely not working.

I want this to happen.

The apartment building I approach is even nicer than my Google search made it out to be. There’s a doorman, and when I tell him my name and which apartment I’m going to, he waves me right to the elevator.

The hallway I step into is plush, with deep green walls and a lovely golden carpet. The apartment is at the end and I have to fight down the butterflies I feel in my stomach as I approached the door.

Just like we agreed, the handle turns when I try the door. And then I step into luxury. The apartment is sleek and modern, decorated in shades of white and silver. All the lights are on, and it seems warm and inviting. I glance into a couple of doorways and see a kitchen that’s absolutely to die for with marble and stainless steel and an island big enough to prepare a feast on. There’s also a living room that looks cozy and comfortable despite the modern decor. But I don’t see my mystery man, not yet.

“Hello?”

“Hello.”

My stomach drops. Not because I’m about to meet a stranger to sleep with, but because his voice sounds so much like a voice I know. The voice comes from behind me, and I turn, and when I do the floor falls out from underneath me.

Christian.

It’s Christian.

Christian is here in this apartment, standing right in front of me.

A million things go through my head at once. There’s a spark of joy, seeing him. And then anger. But the thing that rings out in my brain above all the rest is why on earth is he here? “What the hell is this?”

The little smirk that crosses Christian’s face is both a welcome sight and one that makes me burn with fury. “If I’m not mistaken, we’re both here to try to get you pregnant.”

“I’m not here to do that with you.”

“Sure you are.”

I have to walk away from him. I stalk into the kitchen, looking for a glass. I need some water. “You’re telling me, that you knew it was me all along, and you chose not to tell me that?”

Christian stays in the doorway of the kitchen leaning against it and looking so fucking attractive I find myself even more angry. “I didn’t message you first,” he says. “You messaged me. So I guess it must be fate.”

I roll my eyes so hard it almost hurts. “After everything, I can’t believe that you would do this. You of all people know how much I want a child. The fact that you would play with that—”