I flip back to the magazine as my phone buzzes. It’s Kyle again, because I ignored his last text. I’m ignoring this one too. I scan the article, which references some billionaire bachelors list he was on last year. Ugh, who makes these things up? And why didn’t I read any of them? If Kyle were an actor or a musician I’d have probably had a better grasp but I’ve never followed business.

Sources close to the couple tell us they were married in a private ceremony—

Double ugh! What sources?

—and are expecting their first child early next year.

Seriously, what sources? Do they want an ultrasound picture too?

The new bundle of joy is estimated to be worth a cool one billion dollars.

What on earth does that mean? Babies don’t have a net worth, that’s ridiculous. I suppose the baby would eventually inherit Kyle’s money but that’s not a guarantee. Kyle could donate it all to a cat rescue group and leave the kid zero. Which honestly he should, because how in the hell do you raise a kid who’s going to come into that kind of money not to be a pretentious entitled little dickhead?

In what was previously a closely guarded family secret, the terms of a trust previously set by KINGS founder William Kingston have become public. The first grandchild of William Kingston is set to inherit one billion dollars, to be kept in trust until his or her eighteen birthday. Here’s where things get interesting—

I was already interested, MoneyWeek, because I don’t have a clue what’s going on in my own life.

—the future Kingston heir is also a company shareholder. Rest easy, the tiny tyke will not be expected to sit in on board meetings anytime soon. His or her future one million shares in Kingston Enterprises will remain in the capable hands—and control—of current KINGS CEO Kyle Kingston until the infant reaches age twenty-five.

One million shares? The baby is a shareholder? This is insanity.

Mr. Kingston will also control the voting rights of the million shares until his heir reaches twenty-five, which gives Mr. Kingston a surprising, undisputed and indefinite control of Kingston Enterprises after a lengthy battle with the board of directors on the direction he wanted to take the company.

The article goes on about what that means. It’s boring business mumbo-jumbo, but I get the drift. This baby is going to be very profitable for Kyle. Profitable and some kind of savvy business move. There’s some additional quotes from Kyle about the company, but it appears they were pulled from an older interview. If I’m reading the wording correctly he wasn’t interviewed for this piece. Unless he’s the anonymous source.

I suddenly feel like an incubator. Like an uninformed incubator.

Was this entire thing a setup? Did he need a baby? Did he use a faulty condom on purpose? What if he doesn’t even need me at all? What if he’s going to ditch me as soon as the baby’s born and fight me for custody?

Did I marry the ultimate jerk?

Husband McBaby-Daddy: Where are you? Please answer me.

Where am I? Definitely not here. I toss the magazine aside and get off the couch. I have the carry-on bag I brought to Philadelphia packed with the only things I really care about in less than five minutes. Electronics. Pre-natal vitamins. Most of the clothes I’d initially packed don’t fit anymore. I toss in a couple of favorite items in and say screw it to the rest. Now I’m thankful I hadn’t yet gotten around to packing up my apartment, because it turns out I still need it.

I stumbled into Kyle and broke my dick diet because he was my kryptonite—a hot jerk. And when he turned out to be so much more I thought I got lucky. I thought the universe was rewarding my dick diet with the exact type of man I’d set out to find when the diet started. Responsible. Family-oriented. Caring. Good in bed.

I thought I’d found my nice guy. To be perfectly fair, I was even stroking my own ego about it a bit. The dick diet worked! It paid off! I ended up with the perfect guy! But I didn’t really do the work, did I? I didn’t find men I had things in common with and date like an adult. I didn’t go on endless terrible dates finding the right fit. I stumbled into Kyle and got knocked up and thought I’d gotten lucky. That my Jerk Charming was really Prince Charming. But he’s not. He’s King of the Jerks.

I say goodbye to Tubbs-McGee and I’ll admit it, I cry. I think about just taking him but that seems like a bad idea. Mostly because I’m not sure how I’d carry a seventeen-pound cat through the airport and if they’d even let me on the plane with him.

Then I walk out the front door.

24

Daisy

It starts to rain on my way to the airport—fitting perhaps. It’s not until the cab driver asks which airline as we approach the airport that I realize I don’t have a ticket. Distracted much, Daisy?

“American,” I tell him. Might as well start there. I’m sure I’ll find a seat on a plane heading to Chicago in the next few hours. Once inside I scan the departures board and find a flight leaving in forty-five minutes. Even better, there are only a couple of people ahead of me waiting to talk to an agent.

Ten minutes later I’ve secured a one-way flight to O’Hare. I always thought last-minute one-way flights were outrageously expensive, so I pulled out Kyle’s credit card to pay for it as some act of petty vindictiveness. It was four hundred dollars. I don’t know why this annoys me as I make my way through security. Four hundred or two thousand, it’s like a nickel or a quarter to a normal person. To me. I should have bought first class, I think, too late. Not that it would have mattered. It would have cost Kyle the equivalent of sixty-five cents.

I make it to my gate as they’re boarding group one, so I stop at the newsstand across from my gate and purchase another copy of MoneyWeek so I can torture myself by reading it again on the flight home—I forgot mine on Kyle’s couch. I grab a bottle of water too, and then toss Kyle’s credit card in the trash bin as I board the plane.

I fall asleep shortly after takeoff, the motion of the plane lulling me to sleep like a newborn. I drift in and out of sleep the entire flight, my mind in turmoil. Bits and pieces of my time with Kyle invading my every waking thought.

Our first appointment with my new OB/GYN was last week. We were all smiles then, having gotten another set of ultrasound pictures and another opportunity to listen to the heartbeat. Just like a normal couple.

I was so happy that day. Kyle had left work to join me at the appointment and that evening he surprised me with a present. The space cat blanket I’d told him about weeks ago—special-ordered in gender-neutral grey with a yellow border. And the cat wearing the astronaut helmet was fat and orange, just like Tubbs.

I mean, swoon. Am I right?

Hopefully Tubbs-McGee can use it.

He mentioned wanting to take me on a babymoon. The dimple in his left cheek flashed as he grinned and suggested it was a thing people do. Like we were just a normal couple expecting a baby.

But then I also remember the texts. And the fact that he left me in the first place. When he thought there was nothing tying us together—no baby—he walked right out the door without a backward glance.

My mind is one big jumble of conflicting memories and I feel like all of the events of this pregnancy are catching up with me and I’m tired. Bone-wearyingly tired. Keeping it from Violet, finding Kyle. Telling Kyle, marrying Kyle. Telling Violet. Growing a human the size of a pomegranate inside of my uterus. I’ve done a lot.