His Baby

I’m not even sure why I’m saying these words. After all, my man’s PSA levels were elevated and that’s an indicator, for sure. And yet on this bright, sunny Saturday, I can’t bear to talk about it. I want to live life with my man, and discuss what’s on my mind.

Fortunately, the alpha male lets me pull him up by the hand and lead him to the outdoor café.

“Pretty day, isn’t it?” he asks with a grin, ordering us a latte to share. When they ask if he wants whole milk or skim, he orders skim out of deference to me.

“Thank you,” is my pretty smile. “I appreciate it especially since I know you really want to get chocolate milk.”

“I do,” he says devilishly. “I don’t need the caffeine. I just need some chocolate and a good dose of you.”

I sigh while sitting down at a small iron-wrought table. Mace brings over our drink, setting it down carefully so that the foam doesn’t spill over.

“So tell me what’s on your mind,” he invites in a low growl. “What’s got you so worked up?”

I sigh a little. A million things to be honest. How amazing and gorgeous he looks, sitting there with his shoulders so broad and blue eyes discerning. How I’m over the moon now that we’re dating like regular people. But also serious issues too, like how much I want to have his babies. And I take a deep breath then because there’s no sense in holding it in anymore. He and I are in a somewhat different position than most couples. He has disease looming over his head, and there’s no one who knows it better than me, his doctor.

So I go for gold in one fell swoop.

“Mace,” I say quietly. “Do you want children? I know this is such a weird thing to ask especially since we only started dating,” the words come out garbled and hurried, my cheeks flushing. “But I have to ask because I really want kids, and … and ….”

It’s impossible to finish because I’m too embarrassed. Oh my god, who does this after knowing someone for only a few weeks? But again, there’s a sword hanging over his head, and there’s no sense in ignoring it. It’s the elephant in the room that I have to acknowledge.

He grins, teasing me a bit.

“Why are you so interested?” he growls. “Something on your mind?”

I blush even more red.

“Well yes,” is my stammer. “I mean, you’re potentially sick, and I have ovaries that are expiring, and I’ve been dating in the city for years now with no result. I’m getting old,” is my explanation, even as my cheeks feel like they’re about to overheat from embarrassment. “And as a doctor, I know better than anyone that women’s fertility peaks at age twenty-three.”

“Really? I heard female fertility peaks at seventeen,” he quips, waggling his eyebrows.

On the one hand, it makes me mad that he’s joking around, but on the other, I appreciate it too. Because this is a hard talk to have, and I’m glad that my man has a sense of humor about it.

“Oh you,” I say, swatting his arm playfully with one small hand. “You know what I mean.”

“I do,” he says thoughtfully, taking a sip of the coffee. “But tell me more,” he invites. “You’re gorgeous, sweetheart. Absolutely ravishing, so it’s weird to hear you say that you desperately want a baby.”

I cringe a little. I’d been hoping to stay away from the word “desperate,” but now that it’s out there, fine. Because it’s an accurate description, and I go with it.

“Well,” I say taking a deep breath before trying again. “I’m getting older. You know I’m thirty,” is my sentence, pausing a little on the word thirty, “and that’s not exactly young anymore. I’m no spring chicken so I was hoping to maybe get pregnant? What are your thoughts? Plus we’ve never used protection,” I say in a rush. “So maybe you’re okay with it?”

Again, I cringe internally. How could my phrasing be any worse? “Spring chicken”? Oh god, I might have well have said big fat whale.

But Mace’s expression remains thoughtful, his blue eyes calm.

“You’re no spring chicken but you’re a juicy chicken,” he quips.

“Oh you!” I squeal again, swatting him once more. “You know what I mean.”

He grins, making me melt, and nods seriously then.

“I do, sweetheart. And I appreciate your honesty because yeah, we’re not exactly in the most normal position. Most couples don’t talk about this kind of stuff until they’ve been dating months, if not years. Meanwhile, I met you what … two weeks ago? But we’re already a couple?”

“Some people start trying the moment they meet,” I say primly. “My friend Marlene was like that, and she and her husband Bob have five kids now.”

Mace waggles his brows at me again.