“Yes! I’m famished.”
We dig into the pizza. She can’t drink, so I content myself with a glass of Coke while she sips her lemonade and we talk about the water filter project. I don’t want to ambush her with my prepared statement about the baby yet. It’s always best to broach a sensitive topic when the audience is in a receptive mood.
“Since it’s not your typical for-profit venture, what’s going to happen if it’s really successful?”
“We’ll toast with the best champagne, and I’ll continue to be involved with Bernie and make sure he doesn’t let some hedge fund or private equity firm take it over.”
“I thought that was the exit strategy.”
“Normally, yes, but not after the botched one with the Blaire Group.”
Her fingers flex and unflex around her lemonade. “The Blaire Group botched one?”
“It was a co
uple of years back, but yeah. The whole thing was a clusterfuck. To be honest, I should’ve known better than to say yes when Marion Blaire wanted to be in charge of the deal. He has an overinflated sense of his own competence. And it bothers the hell out of him he’s only where he is because of his daddy.”
There’s more to our enmity than that. His ongoing attempts to mess with me professionally and personally are more than irritating. He regards us as rivals, which is ridiculous. Rivals would mean we had the same level of talent and drive. The reality is that he just tries to steal my employees. Well, former employees. I hear that he’s snapped Webber up. He’s welcome to that unwanted dreck.
Amy sips her lemonade, her eyes lowered. “So. Are we only here to share a pizza and talk about Marion Blaire?”
Here it comes. I shift in my seat, mentally checking through my plan to make my case. “No,” I say. “I want to show you something, if you’re done eating.”
“I’m done.” She wipes her fingers on the napkin.
I lead her upstairs to the bedroom between my bedroom and an office. The door and one window have been left open, and the smell has dissipated a lot.
I gesture into the room with a flourish. “What do you think?”
She stops at the entrance and stares. The walls are painted shades of blue-green that look like the La Jolla water. Sea turtles and seals and towering kelp columns occupy two walls, while the others have unfinished murals of the marine world. An oak crib is already put together and sitting in the corner.
She walks inside slowly. She doesn’t speak, just turns slowly, looking around the huge room, her eyes wide.
Finally, I can’t stand the tension. “Do you like it?”
“Yes! Wow. It’s…gorgeous,” she whispers. “I love everything.”
Thank God. “It’s the nursery.”
“When did you prep all this?” she asks. “You didn’t know what I was going to text back to your questions, did you? I’d like to believe I’m not that transparent.”
I laugh. “No, you aren’t that transparent.” I wish. “I started yesterday.”
“But you were in the office the whole time.”
“Yeah, but I’m home at night. I put together the crib.”
She looks at me like I just single-handedly cured cancer. Oh yeah.
“But I can’t take all the credit. I hired a crew to do the painting and supervised them over the phone.”
She blinks a few times. “I’m not sure what to say. I wasn’t… I haven’t even thought about a nursery yet.”
“Well, you’ve been busy.” She’s adorable when she’s flustered. “I figured it was something I could take care of.”
“Thank you.”
So far, so good. “Listen. I know what you said on Sunday, but I want you to consider that raising this baby on your own isn’t going to be as easy as you think. I don’t want to be the kind of father who ignores and abandons his children.” Like Dad. He gave us money, but nothing else. If he could go back in time to ensure his vasectomy didn’t fail, he absolutely would. Or at least contact the women quickly and ask them to get abortions. “Same thing with you being the mother. We’re already compatible in a lot of ways. We both understand the demands our careers place on us. We’re both smart, and we want to do the right thing for the baby. Marriages have been built on a lot less.”