“SURPRISE!”

I walk into the apartment and there are balloons everywhere. Standing around are Kate, Vicky, Gemma, Melissa, Charlie, a couple of girls from the office, and my mom.

Aside from the mint-green balloons floating in the room, there is a long table covered in finger food, and a giant stork sits in the middle of the room. Towards the left wall, another makeshift table stands with a ton of presents.

“Happy baby shower!” Vicky and Kate sing in unison.

I smile, still in shock, and walk around the room, greeting everyone. It’s the first time I’m meeting Charlie in person, and just like in her photos, she is beautiful. With long wavy brown hair just above her waist, her toned physique blows me away, especially considering she’s had three kids.

“It’s so nice to finally meet you.” She smiles, leaning in to give me a hug.

“And you. Where are the girls?”

“Lex took them to the zoo today. I’ve already gotten a dozen texts and calls.” She pulls out her cell and proudly shows me a picture of the three girls sitting in front of the bear enclosure. “Anyway,” she continues, “we’re here to celebrate you!”

Having been dragged to a number of these events in the past, I’m surprised it turns out to be a fun couple of hours, playing games, eating delicious food, and of course opening presents.

Mom, as promised, got me a new breast pump, and pretty much the rest of the baby store back home. Among the other gifts are clothes, toys, and other much-needed items.

Hidden behind the last bag I open is a flat present wrapped in brown paper. I take it off the table and search for a card. It’s on the opposite side. I open the envelope, take out the small card, and slowly read the inscription.

My dad would read this to me every night.

              Now it’s my turn to read it to our child.

With everyone in the room focused in on me, I unwrap the present carefully. It’s a storybook with a picture of two bears on the front. The title reads, Why I Love My Dad So Much. As I open the first page to have a glimpse, there in a child’s writing are the words: This book belongs to Haden Cooper.

I know everyone is watching me, and I’m barely able to choke back the tears. I think I mumble something like ‘thank you all for coming,’ and fortunately, Gemma distracts everyone with party favors.

When the last guest leaves, I head to my room, utterly exhausted. Vicky and Kate are happy to clean up, and Gemma, Melissa, and Mom head back to their hotel for some sleep before an early morning flight home. Flopping onto the bed with Haden’s book in hand, I grab my cell and try to call him. It goes to voicemail after a few rings, and with heavy eyes, I send a follow-up text.

Your gift was beautiful. Thank you for giving this to our child.

It’s the following morning when I read his reply.

Sorry I missed your call. I didn’t hear my cell at dinner.

My dad read that to me every night till I was ten years old.

              I’m hoping I’ll be able to do the same.

It wasn’t until a week later that I went back and absorbed his words. My heart sank for him, that he wouldn’t be able to read to our child every night because we weren’t together. He would live with his wife Eloise and I would live somewhere else. There was no point dwelling on that fact, and so I chose to move on. Well, at least I tried to move on.

He may have been in Vegas, but it felt like a million miles away and my memory forgot what he looked like, having not seen him in almost a month. So, becoming a crazed, obsessed stalker seemed only natural. I hit up social media, searching every photo he was in and the general comments he posted. Just like Vicky said, he’s an extreme sports junkie, with countless photos of him jumping out of planes and off cliffs. He didn’t post many status updates, but it’s the link to a video that he posted only hours ago that catches my attention.

I press play, and it’s him playing a guitar and singing. In what looks like a hotel room balcony, with the night’s sky above him, the guitar is positioned on his lap as he sits on the floor against the railing. Wearing a ratty Rolling Stones tank, grey sweats, and an army-green beanie, his arms are flexed and fuck does he look gobsmackingly beautiful.

He plays the chords and hums along to a familiar beat. I wrack my brain trying to figure out the song, and by the time he reaches the chorus, I recognize it. It’s an Eagles song, “I Can’t Tell You Why,” and I remember it from my childhood when Dad would play the album on repeat.

Haden’s voice is soft and sexy, perfectly in tune with the song. It’s over so quickly that I press play again, but this time I close my eyes. The lyrics are sinking deep within me, every word, every emotion, fueling this burning fire I am trying so hard to contain. What is it about him that does these things to my body and soul?

I let out a breath to stop my heart from racing and I click on the comments below. Several friends have commented, shared, and liked his post. In fact, there’s over a hundred comments. Shit. By the end of the night, I feel like a complete loser for reading more into it. He probably sang it about Eloise and that thought makes me head straight to the tub of ice cream I had reserved for Vicky.

Kate and Vicky notice a change in my mood, and they are quick to figure it out.

“You porked him, didn’t you?” Kate sighs.

“For the millionth time, NO!”

“Something happened,” Vicky says. “You’re acting odd. You’re in love with him…aren’t you?”

Frustrated, I pull myself up from the couch with the assistance of Kate. Being heavily pregnant at just under thirty-five weeks is taking its toll on my body.

“We kissed…okay? That’s it,” I barely admit. “And I’m not in love with him. Just feel guilty because we shouldn’t have.”

The damage is done, and the worst part is that it damaged me. I had enough on my plate without throwing a pile of guilt on there. I should have known this would happen. I’m not as strong as I thought I was. Love has this stupid way of creeping under your skin when you least expect it.

Fuck, I DID NOT just use the word love.

“Sweetie,” Vicky says soothingly, rubbing the base of my back like the good friend she is. I welcome the massage, especially because of the extra weight I’m carrying. “Why don’t you just admit there’s something there between you?”

I want to ugly cry, and I’m not an overly emotional person. I didn’t even cry when watching Steel Magnolias or even Beaches, and everyone cries watching those movies.

“I really want to drop this subject,” I say glumly.

Thankfully, they drop the subject at that, but not without offering to hang out with me for the night. I reassure them that I’m okay, because I have to be, and I carry on, asking them about their plans for the night.

Vicky was meeting up with Patrick, which no doubt will result in her coming back here two hours later in tears. Kate had a rendezvous planned with a mystery man. She’s dressed in a short, fitted leather dress and really high leather pumps, and I’m dying to ask if it’s at some underground bondage club. I also wonder if that mystery package that arrived earlier in the week from a place called Betty’s Sweet Things has something to do with tonight.

Alone and on the couch with a bowl of popcorn, I’m entertained by Reese Witherspoon in Sweet Home Alabama. As one of my favorite movies, it was normally a great distraction, but tonight I can’t stop thinking about what the Jerk is up to. No doubt, men surrounded by feral kitties and cheap booze won’t end well. Argh. I shove a handful of popcorn in my mouth, ignoring the images that taunt me. Vegas is a sleaze hole.