Shopping For A CEO’s Baby
I look at my phone. Andrew.
I’ll be home for dinner. What do you want?
For the last few weeks, we’ve ordered takeout every single night, because I never know what my stomach will or won’t be able to handle. I close my eyes and ask myself what I want, and reply:
Grilled salmon with paprika. Cantaloupe. Sautéed carrots in honey and cumin.
He texts back: I see you’re sticking with the orange theme.
I send an emoji of someone an orange sticking out its tongue.
Will do, he replies. I’ll have Consuela make it and bring it home after the gym.
Then I get a heart.
Consuela owns a private restaurant in the Seaport District, the kind that you can’t know about unless you know someone who knows someone. It’s our special place, and since morning sickness has ravaged me, Consuela’s been gracious enough to meet my weirdo dietary needs.
She also takes it as a challenge. My palate has expanded considerably as a result of her driving mission to find new orange foods.
I reply with: You mean you’ll have Gina contact Consuela to do it all, and have Gerald pick it up and bring it to the house.
Same thing, he texts back.
“I love how you smile when you think about Andrew,” Mom says, making me look up from my phone.
“You two are so in love.”
My smile broadens. “We are.”
She looks at my belly. “Those babies are very, very fortunate.”
“Billionaire’s kids,” I mutter.
“No. You could be penniless and they’d be so, so blessed. You and Andrew are going to be wonderful parents.”
“How do you know?”
Tenderness floods her face as she reaches for me. I stand and bend before her, her hand on my shoulder, eyes shining with something close to tears.
“Because you have such a good heart. You always did. You’re smart and sweet and you care about people and want to help them. And Andrew loves you deeply. I may not un-derstand his ambition, but I do see that he’s a loving man.”