Page 14

Indi

A s I stuffed the incriminating letter back in Ambrose and Astrid’s recycling bin, my mind was whirling.

Astrid had gone to a sperm bank.

Her baby wasn’t Ambrose’s at all.

This news was so insane I couldn’t think about anything else. There was Ambrose all excited to be a father, but he didn’t know his balls were largely empty and his baby was another man’s.

For some reason, I didn’t tell Finn about it as the weeks went by.

I wasn’t sure exactly why. Why did I feel a little. . . protective of my stuffy old ex?

What should I do? What exactly was my responsibility here? Unless I went digging in their garbage again, I didn’t have any proof.

The day of my baby shower dawned bright and sunny, a perfect fall day for our low-key gathering.

I opened my window to breathe in the fresh air, only to hear the disharmonious sounds of my ex-husband and his now ex-fiancée yelling at each other.

Ambrose was not the kind of man who yelled, so I wondered what had gotten him so heated under the collar, but all I heard was his very angry, “ don’t call her that ever again ” before I banged the window shut again.

I wasn’t going to let him or Astrid ruin my baby’s big day!

However, I should have known there was bullshit afoot.

Somehow, I shouldn’t have been surprised when visitors began to stream into Astrid and Ambrose’s front yard, first Millicent and all of her horrible rich asshole friends in their Rolls-Royces, then Astrid’s friends from Pilates class, and Ambrose’s coworkers.

The hell ?

She had changed the date of her party to be the same day as mine, but starting an hour before, and before long all her guests had taken up the street parking and there was an enormous catering truck from Pumpernickel Princess Palace blocking my driveway.

The sound of a hired string quartet began to stream out of their spacious three-story, as Astrid’s guests gathered on the lawn.

Astrid was so jealous she couldn’t bear to let anyone else have any attention. Her party would always have to be the biggest, most luxurious, and most expensive.

But I had something they didn’t. And for once I decided to put aside my principles and be a little bit petty.

“Finn, do you want to come out here?” I asked, as innocently as I could, as he pulled a tight white collared shirt on and began to do up his cuffs.

“Sure, babe,” he said, rolling his sleeves up instead so his powerful forearms were visible, muscles flexing at his throat and wrists.

I led the way outside, Finn following me.

I knew he looked and smelled absolutely sinful, tall and built, like a dark Irish sex god, his hair wet from the shower and that absolutely criminally sexy aftershave.

But of course, I couldn’t help it that my baby daddy was this sexy, and if Astrid hadn’t moved her shower to the same day as mine, Finn wouldn’t have walked out at the exact moment Ambrose and Astrid were about to do their gender reveal.

Astrid was preening herself on being the center of attention, and she was just counting down to zero, holding one of those little exploding cannons that would burst out either pink or blue confetti.

Ambrose was standing beside her in a dove-gray suit. He was looking like something a cat would drag in these days—drawn face, haunted eyes, big dark circles under them.

I had never seen him look so knocked off his balance, off that kingly pedestal he had always seemed permanently affixed on.

But even if I could forgive what he had done, I didn’t think I could ever forget the sound of his voice, rough and gravelly, saying “You want a baby in this belly?”

Nope, couldn’t forget that.

“3. . . “ Astrid said, her jaw practically unhinging with how widely she smiled as she looked around at her audience.

Boy, she was really counting on this being a success.

But a few women had already started to look around at Finn, to grab their neighbors and start to whisper.

I tried to ignore how Ambrose was looking at me, a dark burning spark in his eyes, that something raw and untamed in him that he always tried to tamp down. . .

“2. . .” Astrid said, her eyes widening as she spotted Finn, and her grin was more maniacal than ever, as I saw her literally wiggling with lust to try and push her tits up higher in her gold maternity dress.

“ Is breá liom tú ,” Finn rumbled in my ear, and I didn’t know very much of the Irish language, but of course that meant I love you , and I smiled, but at his rumbly deep voice, even more people turned around, their eyes practically making big goo-goo hearts at Finn, and by the time Astrid said,

“1 and go. . .”

Her entire audience except for my former mother-in-law Millicent had turned around to gawk at Finn standing in my lawn, raking a hand through his hair as his shirt popped up a bit, exposing tanned skin and all those ripping side and back muscles.

Still staring at Finn, Astrid shook up the cannon vigorously and shot it out, all the blue confetti exploding directly into Ambrose’s face.

POW

“It’s a boy!” my ex said, choking on the millions of pieces of paper and spitting them all out one by one, but he was the only one to say anything. Even Astrid was looking jealously at Finn as he pulled the grill out and began to get our BBQ started.

“Honey, don't you think you ought to call the police about all that smoke?” Millicent asked shrilly. “Surely that’s illegal!”

But Ambrose shook his head. “Afternoon BBQs are permitted under the HOA guidelines.”

“It sure smells good,” Harold said, waving cheerfully at us, and some of Ambrose’s guests began to reluctantly turn back, wiping their drooling mouths.

But that didn’t last too long, as Astrid had unfortunately gone with a very diet-friendly platter my former MIL had suggested, very heavy on the wheatgrass and pumpernickel bread, and the lure of Finn’s BBQ was simply too much to resist.

“There’s plenty for everyone!” Finn called, and soon all Ambrose and Astrid’s guests had trickled over shamefacedly to our side of the fence, where Finn gave Harold a can of beer for each hand, and then Dr. González was offering to make some guacamole and chicken dip and Finn was turning up the music and there was no one left on the other side but a furiously glaring Millicent and Astrid, and Ambrose bending over trying to pick up all the confetti.

Our yard was still rocking with dancing and drinks hours later when I walked up to the fence.

“Congratulations on the boy,” I told Ambrose, who was sitting putting the cards for their new baby in a scrapbook.

His eyes looked haunted and miserable.

“Thank you,” he said, swallowing so hard his Adam’s apple bobbed up and down. “And, of—course, I’m sorry that what I did with Astrid caused you pain. I regret that more than anything in the world.”

“I’m not in pain,” I said cheerfully.

His smile was twisted as he looked at me. “I know you aren’t. But I am, though. You’re beautiful, smart, and kind. Everyone wants you. But me? I can’t move on. I thought I could, but I can’t. I’d only be deluding myself.”

I didn’t know what to say for a moment, and then Astrid was there, looking like a jump scare with her eyes all wide and her hair sticking out in all directions. The day had not improved her temper.

“I’ll get even with you for this,” she hissed.

I rolled my eyes. “You slept with my husband and now you’re complaining because it didn’t go the way you wanted. Instead of me pining away next door, I’m happy and thriving. Get over yourself, Astrid.”

She gasped, but it was so true that her face turned an unpleasant beet-red, and she opened her mouth, inflating her lungs so her words would carry all down the street.

“Indi and Finn are having A BABY GIRL!” Astrid screeched. “They didn’t want to find out but I bribed a nurse at her office! So that’s your surprise ruined.”

There was a moment of stunned silence and I heard Harold tut disapprovingly.

“Bitch,” Finn said with loathing as Astrid crossed her arms and stuck up her bottom lip at me.

For a moment she looked like a cat in cream, but Astrid didn’t get a chance to smugly enjoy her triumph when Finn said,

“I married you for your money. So you might as well quit fucking trying to get back together since I never loved you in the first place.”

There were gasps of horror all over the yard, someone helpfully turning the radio all the way down so all the guests could hear every word of her humiliation.

“No no no no no, it can’t be true,” Astrid begged, clutching at Finn’s shirt. “Take it back, take it back !”

“Astrid, you are only embarrassing yourself!” Ambrose said sternly, prying her fingers off his shirt one by one. “Stop this.”

But Astrid did not appreciate his advice.

“And you?” she spat with loathing. “You’ve got like no sperm.”

There was stunned silence in the crowd, everyone struck completely dead silent at this news.

Ambrose didn't look particularly concerned.

“Don’t be ridiculous. How did you get pregnant then?”

“I went to a sperm bank!” she shot at him, trying to shake him off. “The one off Fifth Street. Went and carefully selected a peak physical specimen. Couldn’t wait forever trying to wring some sperm out of your balls.”

“Why, that’s the one I go to!” Harold cried out jovially. “Lovely waiting area. They even give you a free cup of coffee afterwards.”

“Holy fucking hell and bollocks,” Finn rumbled Irishly in my ear and I clutched the fence in shock.

“Harold!” Millicent snapped, enunciating each word with awful, crystal-clear clarity. “Are. You. Telling. Me. You. Have. Been. Donating. EJACULATED MATERIAL to a sperm bank?”

“Just on Tuesdays,” he chirruped, the two beers Finn had given him clearly empowering him beyond anything I had seen in my life.

“Oh my god,” Finn said. “Is— Harold your baby daddy?”

“But—but, it’s not possible!” Astrid cried heatedly, looking pale. “I chose my sperm donor profile very carefully and, I can assure you, I would not have chosen a profile anything like him .”

“What did the profile say?” Finn asked.

“Powerful CEO—” Astrid began.

“I did put that,” Harold said, almost apologetically. “I did own my own company before I retired, you know. I’m rather proud of that.”

Ambrose was looking green about the gills, but Astrid went on.

“Piercing blue eyes—”

“That could also have been mine,” Harold said.

He pushed his spectacles up and opened his eyes as wide as he could.

“My eyes are very blue. Some people have even said they are lovely, but I don’t know about that . I’m a modest man, really. But perhaps I did say piercing.”

“The description said fit and in the prime of his life,” Astrid said, desperately now, her eyes starting to look wildly about the yard as if there was another option.

“I put that as well,” Harold said proudly. “Life doesn’t end at 70, y’know. Why in some ways I feel as young as any buck of 55.”

Astrid screamed.

“Am I to believe your fiancée is carrying my husband’s child?” Millicent cried to Ambrose, brandishing her parasol like she was going to spear her husband. “Harold, of all the worthless imbeciles in this world, you are the most—”

“Mother, that’s enough!” Ambrose said sternly.

She looked as if she’d been popped in the mouth.

“Ambrose, you— dare to talk to me in that manner?”

“ Silence , Mother. This is your fault for being so hard on him that he felt he needed to sell his sperm to get any money of his own. I hope this is a lesson to you in the future.”

Millicent’s mouth opened and closed, and for once, I noted with satisfaction, she had nothing to say.

“I don't want this baby!” Astrid wailed. “I don't want to give birth to your little brother. My god. I’m suing that sperm bank. This is false advertising. After I give birth, you’re up, Ambrose. It’ll all be on you. I’m out.”

At this juncture, I deemed it prudent to break up the party, and after our wide-eyed guests had left, Finn and I went inside.

He made me a hot tea and we settled down on the sofa. I rubbed my belly, feeling unsettled.

Finn pulled me into his arms, still laughing at the events of the afternoon. “You think Ambrose would really raise a baby that wasn’t his?”

I chewed my lip.

“Yes,” I said slowly. “I think he would. He has always wanted kids. He will feel responsible for the baby. I think he’ll want to raise him. It doesn’t sound like Astrid has any interest now.”

Finn laughed heartily.

“What’s so funny?” I asked, feeling a bit annoyed.

I myself felt raw inside, a little upset. It wasn’t my baby. Or anything to do with me. But my heart hurt thinking of what Astrid had said and what Ambrose must be feeling.

“Just the thought of Ambrose raising a baby that isn’t his, doing all this work, and—not even his! His father’s virile sperm instead! You really think he’ll raise his baby brother?”

“Yes,” I said after a moment, “I think he will.”

Finn wanted to talk about it more, was definitely not done laughing until the tears streamed down his face, but I felt pensive.

The next morning, Finn’s limo driver had just arrived to take him to the airport when I got a text from Harold.

“Astrid’s gone into labor,” I told Finn.

”Well, that’s my cue to go,” my baby daddy said regretfully.

“Text me and tell me all about it, baby girl. I’m off to Las Vegas to start my next tour.

But I’ll do my damndest to get back for our baby’s birth.

And just say the word, a chroí, and I’ll hire a whole army of midwives to be there in case I can’t make it back in time. ”

He looked so glum at having to leave that after I had kissed him goodbye, I elbowed him affectionately and tried to make a joke.

“Remember, you’re a free man. Now you can get pussy-deep in some groupies.”

He sighed.

“I’m feeling very depressed that you won't marry me, angel. I don’t do that groupie shit anymore. I used to, when I was first starting out and. . .it was a mistake. A long time ago, before I met Astrid, I lost some. . .pretty important things just fucking any pussy I saw so it’s soured me on that.”

He raked a hand through his hair but tried to smile at me.

“When I’m depressed I can get a little reckless at the gambling table. I’ve made an account for you and the baby and put $20 million in it.”

“20 million? Finn, you didn’t have to—”

“Just to make sure I don’t gamble it away, lassie.”

“Finn, be careful,” I warned, almost in tears at his generosity, “Astrid is getting, in her words, desperate to impress you . Just be careful.”

“I will,” I said, and I watched him drive away, spotting that dark flash of his hair out the window as the limo went down the road.

I had just put my long hair up in a bun and sat down to the table to plan my day when the phone rang.

“Yes?” I asked.

“It’s the Orchard Grove Hospital,” a clipped professional voice said. “I have you listed as Ambrose Hargreaves’ emergency contact?”

“We are divorced,” I said in exasperation. “I shouldn’t still be on those forms.”

“Ma’am, you are still listed as his emergency contact and I’m going to need you to come down to the hospital.”