Page 93 of Pregnant By the Playboy

“Say ‘phallic cactus!’” I snap a picture. When I put my phone down, I ruffle my niece’s hair. “That would have been a great time for your first word, Evie.”

The park is packed with people who have come to enjoy the Sakura trees for their brief bloom. As a group of Asian people taking pictures, we fit right in.

After a few more photos, we continue south.

“I’m glad you’re not such a workaholic stick-in-the-mud now,” I say to Julian. “It’s nice to take an afternoon off, isn’t it?”

He grunts. “Yes.”

I stop walking. I feel a strange urge to tell him something I’ve never told him before. “I was the one who put the idea in Mom’s head that you might burn out.”

“Really.”

“Yeah, and it was my idea for us to storm into your office—”

“Thank you for that.”

“—and demand you take a two-week break. Underneath my fun, charming exterior, I really was worried. Because of my own experience, although you’re more capable in many ways than I am.”

He puts a hand on my shoulder. “You never let on that you worked so hard.”

“I was trying to measure up to you. Not because I wanted to be more successful and beat you at life. Just because, well...” You’re my big brother, and I look up to you.

“So you started a company and sold it for two hundred million dollars.”

I shrug. “It seemed sensible. I would have held out for more money, but you know. I burnt out. Couldn’t do it anymore.”

He sighs heavily, as though he doesn’t know what the hell to do with me, and pinches the bridge of his nose.

I smile.

“You made more money than I ever did,” he says. “Then you ran in the other direction and started hanging out with Brian Poon.”

I experience a slight twinge, but I try not to show it. “Yeah.”

“Vince, when did you lose the ability to walk and talk at the same time? We’re impeding the flow of pedestrian traffic.”

Courtney laughs.

“Hear that, Evie?” I lean toward my niece. “Try saying ‘pedestrian traffic.’”

“Ba,” she says.

“Close enough.” I pat her head. “Anyway, Julian, you should thank me for my interference, because now you have a wife and daughter. If we hadn’t forced you to take time off—and if I hadn’t tried to make you attend an orgy—you never would have met Courtney. See, I’m a genius.”

“We’re still not walking,” Julian mutters, but he gives me a smile.

“And now I’m copying you again. Except, rather than being a successful businessman, I’m going to have a kid and wife. But don’t worry, I very much want those things. I’m not doing it just to be like you.”

“That’s good,” he says. “I’m glad you seem happier these days and less, uh, inclined to party until eight in the morning and throw up in my living room.”

“I only did that once.”

“Actually, you did it twice.” He begins walking again, and I hurry to catch up. When I reach him, he touches my shoulder again and says, “Thanks.” Then, “You’ll do great.”

“I know,” I say, all cocky, but I really do appreciate his words.

We continue through the park, passing more trees, more people. Courtney takes lots of pictures and tips her face toward the sun. I keep my eyes peeled for the perfect location.