down to First Avenue, something of a hike from Lexington Avenue when you weren’t saying a word.
Again Griffen was almost hit by a baby stroller.
There were a lot of baby strollers in my neighborhood. I’d never really noticed them before, except to want them out of my way. Now I wanted to peer in every single carriage and ask the mother questions.
Griffen stopped in front of my apartment building. The last time he stopped in front of my building was our first date.
“Do you know what you want to do?” he asked.
I wondered what he was thinking. Get rid of it. Say you want to get rid of it! I imagined him silently chanting.
Was he foaming at the mouth to tell me he’d pay all expenses?
“My doctor said I’m due on May fifteenth.”
He looked positively ill. Really. Like he was about to throw up on the street.
“That’ll make the baby a Taurus,” I rambled on. “My mom was a Taurus, and it’s definitely not true that Taureans—or is Tauri?—are stubborn, so…”
I trailed off as he stared down at the street. Now he looked as if he wanted to cry. “Are you really going to do this?” he asked, desperation in his voice. “I can’t believe you’re going to do this.” He covered his face with his hands, then shoved them in his pockets, then dropped down rather dramatically on the bottom step of the brownstone next door to my building. “Are you really going to do this?” he asked again.
I nodded.
He sucked in a breath. A deep, ragged breath. “So you’re going to do this. You’re really going to do this.”
Just remember the daze you were in when you found out you were pregnant, I reminded myself. That’s how he feels now. Be very kind.
“I am going to have this baby, Griffen,” I said. I laid a hand on his shoulder. He flinched, and I pulled it away. “I know it’s an incredible shock. I don’t know what else to say myself, other than that I’m pregnant and I’m having the baby.”
He let out a whoosh of breath and dropped his head between his knees. “I need some time to digest this. Okay?”
“Okay.”
“I’ll call you,” he added, and then he shot up and walked away. Fast.
I imagined him stopping just around the corner on Second Avenue, hyperventilating into his doggie bag.
I’ll call you. I’ll call you. I’ll call you.
A month ago, I’d gotten Astrid’s gold star raised eyebrow and a “Write it up” when I suggested “What He Really Means When He Says He’ll Call” as an article. I’d boldly stopped twenty-five guys on the street, from hot to very not, from early twenties to early forties, stuck a microphone in front of their mouths and asked the age-old question.
According to my own survey, the odds that a guy would call when he said he would were slightly less than fifty percent.
I considered those odds promising for my current situation.
Then again, I hadn’t exactly given the men hypothetical situations to mull over, such as: “Uh, a chick you’ve been seeing for a couple months tells you she’s pregnant, and you say you need some time to digest it and that you’ll call. Will you?”
Tape recorder in hand, I’d asked: “At the end of the evening, you tell your date you’ll call. Will you?”
Mark, 30: “If I like her, yeah. If not, no.”
Me: “Then why say you’ll call?”
Mark: “Sometimes I say it just to get away from the girl, you know?”
Me: “From the woman, you mean.”
Mark (rolls eyes ): “I wouldn’t call you if you said something like that on a date.”
Me: “Good.”
Jim, 34: “You just say it. It doesn’t mean anything. It’s like when someone says, ‘How are you?’ It’s like a rhetorical question. They don’t really expect an answer.”
Me: “But isn’t the woman expecting a call?”
Jim: Blank stare.
John, 29: “If I say I’ll call, then I’ll call. Guys who don’t give nice guys like me a bad rap.”
George, 21: “I’d definitely call you. I like older women. Seeing anyone?”
Me: Big
Again Griffen was almost hit by a baby stroller.
There were a lot of baby strollers in my neighborhood. I’d never really noticed them before, except to want them out of my way. Now I wanted to peer in every single carriage and ask the mother questions.
Griffen stopped in front of my apartment building. The last time he stopped in front of my building was our first date.
“Do you know what you want to do?” he asked.
I wondered what he was thinking. Get rid of it. Say you want to get rid of it! I imagined him silently chanting.
Was he foaming at the mouth to tell me he’d pay all expenses?
“My doctor said I’m due on May fifteenth.”
He looked positively ill. Really. Like he was about to throw up on the street.
“That’ll make the baby a Taurus,” I rambled on. “My mom was a Taurus, and it’s definitely not true that Taureans—or is Tauri?—are stubborn, so…”
I trailed off as he stared down at the street. Now he looked as if he wanted to cry. “Are you really going to do this?” he asked, desperation in his voice. “I can’t believe you’re going to do this.” He covered his face with his hands, then shoved them in his pockets, then dropped down rather dramatically on the bottom step of the brownstone next door to my building. “Are you really going to do this?” he asked again.
I nodded.
He sucked in a breath. A deep, ragged breath. “So you’re going to do this. You’re really going to do this.”
Just remember the daze you were in when you found out you were pregnant, I reminded myself. That’s how he feels now. Be very kind.
“I am going to have this baby, Griffen,” I said. I laid a hand on his shoulder. He flinched, and I pulled it away. “I know it’s an incredible shock. I don’t know what else to say myself, other than that I’m pregnant and I’m having the baby.”
He let out a whoosh of breath and dropped his head between his knees. “I need some time to digest this. Okay?”
“Okay.”
“I’ll call you,” he added, and then he shot up and walked away. Fast.
I imagined him stopping just around the corner on Second Avenue, hyperventilating into his doggie bag.
I’ll call you. I’ll call you. I’ll call you.
A month ago, I’d gotten Astrid’s gold star raised eyebrow and a “Write it up” when I suggested “What He Really Means When He Says He’ll Call” as an article. I’d boldly stopped twenty-five guys on the street, from hot to very not, from early twenties to early forties, stuck a microphone in front of their mouths and asked the age-old question.
According to my own survey, the odds that a guy would call when he said he would were slightly less than fifty percent.
I considered those odds promising for my current situation.
Then again, I hadn’t exactly given the men hypothetical situations to mull over, such as: “Uh, a chick you’ve been seeing for a couple months tells you she’s pregnant, and you say you need some time to digest it and that you’ll call. Will you?”
Tape recorder in hand, I’d asked: “At the end of the evening, you tell your date you’ll call. Will you?”
Mark, 30: “If I like her, yeah. If not, no.”
Me: “Then why say you’ll call?”
Mark: “Sometimes I say it just to get away from the girl, you know?”
Me: “From the woman, you mean.”
Mark (rolls eyes ): “I wouldn’t call you if you said something like that on a date.”
Me: “Good.”
Jim, 34: “You just say it. It doesn’t mean anything. It’s like when someone says, ‘How are you?’ It’s like a rhetorical question. They don’t really expect an answer.”
Me: “But isn’t the woman expecting a call?”
Jim: Blank stare.
John, 29: “If I say I’ll call, then I’ll call. Guys who don’t give nice guys like me a bad rap.”
George, 21: “I’d definitely call you. I like older women. Seeing anyone?”
Me: Big
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