I’m halfway through typing a response when her next one comes through.
April:
Can I ask you something and get a real answer?
Me:
Yes.
April:
Why don’t you just fuck a model without protection and pop out a baby that way?
Me:
Language. I’m still your boss, April.
To answer your question, that would be complicated and messy. In case you were unaware, most models care a great deal about their bodies and wouldn’t want to have a kid until they retire.
April:
Okay. That makes sense.
But, like, for clarity’s sake:
… If I said yes
And I’m not saying yes, Anthony
But if I said yes, it would be my baby, right? Not someone else’s egg? That’s how it sounded.
Me:
Yes. Yours and mine.
There’s a pause so long I think she might not respond at all.
April:
Hypothetically, I say yes. I’d have conditions. Money upfront, a raise, full benefits WITH DENTAL.
And for you to stop calling my work “fine.”
I’m serious about the last one
For once, I struggle to hide the smile spreading across my face. She’s considering it. She’s genuinely, properly considering it.
Me:
Demanding.
I like that. It’s a good quality.
April:
That’s the least surprising thing you’ve ever said.
Me:
