“I’ve already ordered the best prenatal vitamins on the market. No additives, dyes, or anything fake in them. Youwouldn’t believe how many test positive for lead and other poisons. I just need an address to send them to.”
“I can get my own vitamins.”
“I know you can, but now you won’t have to worry about it. It’s one thing I can take off your plate.”
This guy can’t be real.
Glancing down at my agenda, I suddenly feel like it’s out of place. I came here ready to inquire about his medical history, lineage, and aptitudes. I didn’t expect Toxic to be so upbeat by the news of our now-growing child. That he’d see past the hardships and struggles that have just been laid at our feet.
A part of me wants to slap the smile off of his face because his utter grace in the situation belittles my doubts.
Seeing my obvious stress, Toxic says, “Sometimes you just have to look on the bright side and be positive.”
And now I know why he’s called Toxic.
It’s not because he’s poisonous, harmful, or lethal.
It’s because he’s the poster child for toxic positivity. Those people that demand you maintain a positive mindset when your house is literally burning to the ground.
No, thank you.
I take a business card from my purse and hand it to him. “I appreciate you meeting with me, Joe. My number and email are on this card. Over the next few months, we’ll have to iron out the details of visitation, among other things.”
When he doesn’t take the card, I force a smile to my lips.
He frowns.
Jesus Christ, he really wants to be involved.
“As I’ve previously said, I would like to accompany you to as many appointments as my work will permit.”
Fire storms my blood. I squeeze my eyes closed, hoping to tame my temper. What little good it does.
What right does he have to demand anything of me? He’s the one who got me into this situation.
With your help…
Sometimes I loathe the logical voice in my head.
“Thanks, but I think I got this,” I deadpan.
“I believe you do, and I understand you might not want to live in an RV, but that doesn’t mean I can’t help. I’m happy to pay for all your needs. I can assemble the baby furniture, I can send you a daily reminder to take your vitamin.”
“I can set an alarm for that,” I sling back.
“Yes, but you can’t set an alarm for everything. And besides, who’s going to take care of your needs when the mood strikes?”
“Myneeds?”
“Pregnant women have insatiable appetites, and I’m not talking about food. And knowing how you were in that bathroom?—”
“Hold up! We will not be mentioning that bathroom again.”
“See why we need a conception story?” he says, and for the first time ever, I hear a little bit of snark in his tone.
It makes me laugh.
“Let’s just say, for humor’s sake, I do have a voracious sexual appetite…don’t you think I have toys for that?”
