“I’ll have that,” I nearly scream, scaring Eli back into his chair. Clearing my throat, I calmly say, “French onion soup sounds good.” Gently, I rest my menu down and then pick up my water to take a sip.
Studying me with a curious eye, Eli asks, “Are you okay? You’ve been a little jumpy ever since the bookstore.”
“Do you realize you must ask me if I’m okay a dozen times a day?”
“Well, because I want to make sure you’re okay.”
“How about this? You assume I’m okay unless told otherwise.”
Just then, the server comes over, and Eli, the gentleman that he is, orders soup, a bread basket, and a side salad for each of us. The server, of course, asks for a selfie—which Eli kindly obliges—and then he takes off with our order.
When he’s out of earshot, Eli speaks lowly and says, “It’s my duty to make sure you’re okay, so if I ask, it’s because I care.” He winks. “Deal with it.”
“Deal with it?”
“Yup.” He grins. “Now, tell me, are you excited to fill out our pregnancy journals together?”
I twist my water glass on the table and shake my head. “I can’t believe you got one too.”
“I want the full experience.”
“Oh, do you now?” I smile. “Then does that mean we should hook the stim machine up to your undercarriage and reenact what childbirth will feel like? I’ve seen many influencer couples do that. Seems like fun.”
He shrugs. “If you want. My threshold for pain is quite high.”
“You say that now.”
“I mean it,” he says, his voice completely serious. “I once played a game with a torn ligament in my ankle. I can make it through pretty much anything.”
“Are you challenging me?”
“Let me put it this way, Penny. You’re carrying my child, which means I’ll do what you ask of me. If that means strapping a stim machine to my junk so I can experience a sliver of what you’ll be going through, fine, I’ll do it. If you want to strap a watermelon to my stomach and make me do everyday activities around the house, then that’s fine too. Whatever you want, you get.”
“It’s annoying how accommodating you are.”
He laughs out loud. “I’m sorry, would you like me to be more unaccommodating?”
“No, because then that will only irritate me more.”
“Glad you’re honest.” He lifts his glass of water. “Tell me another thing I might not know about you.”
I give it some thought, and tell him the first thing that comes to mind. “I had a pregnancy scare in college. And I know how that makes me look—”
“It doesn’t make you look like anything. There’s such a shit double standard in this world. If a guy has sex, then he’s the man, but if a girl has sex, she’s looked down upon. That needs to change. Don’t apologize for being a human with normal sexual needs.”
His comment doesn’t surprise me. Eli seems to be the kind of guy who roots for everyone. An open and honest man with good morals. But the seriousness, the irritation in his voice, now that surprises me. It almost sounds like he’s fed up and can’t take the negative talk anymore.
“Well, thank you for saying that. I appreciate it. So, pregnancy scare. I was dating a guy, Jamie. He was pre-med and very focused but also very sweet. He made time for me in his busy schedule, which I know was hard for him. We dated for a little over a year when I thought I missed my period. I was freaked out, of course, because we were juniors in college and having a baby at that time isn’t ideal. When I told him, he immediately, without even blinking, told me to get an abortion. Demanded it. I didn’t even know if I was pregnant yet. I was just hoping for him to hold my hand and take me to the store to get a test. But he wouldn’t even look at me. He got up and left. I never took a test because I was so nervous it would be true, and then three days after, I got my period. When I told him, he tried to pull me into a hug, but I ended things with him. During a scary time of my life, he abandoned me. I couldn’t forgive him for that.”
“Wow.” Eli drags his hand over his mouth. “What a fucking tool.” And then his eyes grow soft when he says, “I’m sorry that happened to you. No woman deserves such inconsiderate treatment, especially during such a sensitive and unknowing time. Where’s the loser now?”
“I think he’s a family practitioner in Pennsylvania somewhere. Last I saw, he was still single.”