What if this is my last chance? I’m not getting any younger.
I swore I’d never go the sperm-donor route because I didn’t want to be a single mom, even though I think I’d be a good mother.
I would have given anything to spend a little time with my own father. I always dreamed my child would have that connection, the one I didn’t have.
But although Vince and I aren’t together, that doesn’t mean he can’t be part of the child’s life. I doubt he’d want to be heavily involved—it would cramp his wild bachelor lifestyle—but he’s a decent guy.
He’s definitely not the worst father I could imagine for my child.
And he had a picture of his little niece on his phone and seemed rather taken with her. It’s not much to go on, but he loves that child, and he would love ours, wouldn’t he? He’d be the cool father who’d show up a few times a month and spoil the kid rotten. I’d have to be the disciplinarian, but that’s okay.
I can’t believe I’m having a baby with a man I hardly know.
Because yes, I think I’m going to have this baby.
The child will have their cool father, and maybe I’ll be able to give them a stepfather, too.
The child will also have their grandmother, and they can call Larry “grandpa.” Grandparents, right here in the city! Larry’s daughter and her wife have a kid. A cousin!
Then I think of Vince’s family, and it’s nearly enough to make me sob. He has a grandmother who calls him on Saturday morning. He has parents and brothers and a niece. All in Toronto, I think.
My child could be spending holidays with the Fongs. They’re giants in the Chinese community here. Being part of that family would be a huge advantage.
And then there’s the money.
It seems wrong to think of it now, but I can’t help it.
Vince is rich, and his family is rich. I have zero idea how child support works, but surely he could provide one or two thousand a month or pay for childcare. He’d hardly feel that.
I make decent money and have a comfortable life. I could afford a child, although it would be a bit tough, seeing as Toronto is far from a cheap city. But with a little help from Vince, it would be no problem.
I take a few deep breaths. I’m starting to feel better. I’ve thought about it logically, haven’t I? Sure, this isn’t what I imagined, but I can make it work.
Who would have thought that a hot two-night stand would lead to this? My one wild weekend of stress relief?
Yeah, this child is never, ever going to hear the story of how I met their father. I’ll just say something vague like, “We met through friends.”
It’s not even a lie.
After work today, I’ll get some prenatal vitamins and schedule a doctor’s appointment. And then I’ll contact Vince. I don’t want to tell anyone else until I’ve talked to him. There’s a small chance he won’t want to be involved.
If so, what will I do?
* * *
Telling your fling that you’re pregnant seems like something that should be done in private, so I’ve invited Vince to my condo. Fortunately, I already had his phone number. I asked for it before he took me home from the party, then texted it to Carrie, just in case.
Yesterday, I told him that I wanted to see him again, no more details.
He agreed.
And now I’m sitting at my kitchen table, waiting.
My phone rings. I buzz him up, then start pacing. What if Vince isn’t who I think he is? I only spent one weekend with him. I’m basing some of my assumptions on the two seconds I saw him looking at the picture of his niece.
Oh, no.
I feel queasy.
