head out onto the sidewalk and walk a few blocks, trying to
clear my head. Trying to figure out what the hell I’m supposed to
do now.
If you’re wondering why I don’t sound happy, it’s because I’m
not. You have to understand—I was never that girl. I didn’t play with baby dolls; I played with my parents’ cash register. When the other kids wanted to go to Toys“R”Us? I wanted to go to Staples.
Even before my craving for financial independence began, my
dreams revolved around office buildings and desks—not cradles
and baby carriages. It’s not that I don’t want children. I just don’t want one now . Now was not part of the plan.
And then there’s Drew. he loves me, I know. But pregnancy
changes things. It means stretch marks and saggy boobs and sleep-
less nights. No more spontaneous vacations. No more sex mara-
thons.
he’s going to freak out. Definitely.
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11/18/13 11:47 AM
t w i s t E d
65
I sit down on a bench and watch the cars drive by.
Then a voice to my right grabs my attention.
“Who’s a good boy? Andrew is! My sweet boy.”
It’s a woman with soft blond curls and dark eyes, about my age.
And she’s holding a doe-headed bundle of drool.
Do you believe in signs? I don’t.
But my grandmother did. She was an incredible woman—a
respected archeologist who did extensive study on the southern
Native American tribes. I worshipped my grandma. She once told
me that signs were all around us. Guides to point us in the right
direction, toward our fate. Our destiny. That all we had to do was open our eyes and our hearts, and we would find our way.
So I watch the young mother and her child. And then a man
comes up to them.
“hey. Sorry I’m late. Damn meeting ran over.”
I assume he’s her husband. he kisses her. Then he takes the
bundle from her and holds it up over his head.
“There’s my guy. hey, buddy.”
And his smile is so warm, so beautiful, it literally takes my
breath away. The golden couple lean against each other tenderly,
the baby between them, pulling them together like a magnet.
I feel like a voyeur, but the moment is so precious I can’t look
away.
And that’s when it hits me. I’m not just pregnant. I’m having a
baby . Drew and I made a baby . A whole new person.
And an image appears in my head. So clear. So perfect.
A dark-haired little boy, with Drew’s smart-ass smile and my
sparkling personality. A part of each of us.
The best parts.
I think about the way Steven looked at Alexandra last night
when they announced the big news. I picture the way Drew watches
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66
E m m a c h a s E
me when he thinks I’m not looking. And the way he cuddled with
Mackenzie when she fell asleep beside him on the couch. I remem-
ber how wonderful it feels to teach her to play the guitar.
And how amazing it would be to teach a baby . . . everything.
Drew would adore having a small someone to show things to—like
how to play chess, and basketball.
And how to curse in four different languages.
Drew isn’t Joey Martino. his family means everything to him.
I mean everything to him.
And I’m having his baby. Oh my God . The pregnancy hor-
mones must be on overload, because tears fill my eyes and stream
down my cheeks. happy tears.
Because it’s going to be okay.
Maybe I will have stretch marks, but this is New York—the
plastic surgery capital of the world. And sure, there are things I want to accomplish professionally. And I will. Because Drew will
be there to help me. To support me. Like he has since the day I
met him.
he’s going to be excited—like a kid getting an unexpected gift
on Christmas morning. It’ll be a shock at first, but can’t you just see him? Elated. Overjoyed.
“Excuse me, miss, are you all right?” I must be crying louder
than I thought, because Baby-Daddy is looking at me with concern.
I wipe at my cheeks, embarrassed. “Yes, I’m fine.
clear my head. Trying to figure out what the hell I’m supposed to
do now.
If you’re wondering why I don’t sound happy, it’s because I’m
not. You have to understand—I was never that girl. I didn’t play with baby dolls; I played with my parents’ cash register. When the other kids wanted to go to Toys“R”Us? I wanted to go to Staples.
Even before my craving for financial independence began, my
dreams revolved around office buildings and desks—not cradles
and baby carriages. It’s not that I don’t want children. I just don’t want one now . Now was not part of the plan.
And then there’s Drew. he loves me, I know. But pregnancy
changes things. It means stretch marks and saggy boobs and sleep-
less nights. No more spontaneous vacations. No more sex mara-
thons.
he’s going to freak out. Definitely.
Twisted_1P.indd 64
11/18/13 11:47 AM
t w i s t E d
65
I sit down on a bench and watch the cars drive by.
Then a voice to my right grabs my attention.
“Who’s a good boy? Andrew is! My sweet boy.”
It’s a woman with soft blond curls and dark eyes, about my age.
And she’s holding a doe-headed bundle of drool.
Do you believe in signs? I don’t.
But my grandmother did. She was an incredible woman—a
respected archeologist who did extensive study on the southern
Native American tribes. I worshipped my grandma. She once told
me that signs were all around us. Guides to point us in the right
direction, toward our fate. Our destiny. That all we had to do was open our eyes and our hearts, and we would find our way.
So I watch the young mother and her child. And then a man
comes up to them.
“hey. Sorry I’m late. Damn meeting ran over.”
I assume he’s her husband. he kisses her. Then he takes the
bundle from her and holds it up over his head.
“There’s my guy. hey, buddy.”
And his smile is so warm, so beautiful, it literally takes my
breath away. The golden couple lean against each other tenderly,
the baby between them, pulling them together like a magnet.
I feel like a voyeur, but the moment is so precious I can’t look
away.
And that’s when it hits me. I’m not just pregnant. I’m having a
baby . Drew and I made a baby . A whole new person.
And an image appears in my head. So clear. So perfect.
A dark-haired little boy, with Drew’s smart-ass smile and my
sparkling personality. A part of each of us.
The best parts.
I think about the way Steven looked at Alexandra last night
when they announced the big news. I picture the way Drew watches
Twisted_1P.indd 65
11/18/13 11:47 AM
66
E m m a c h a s E
me when he thinks I’m not looking. And the way he cuddled with
Mackenzie when she fell asleep beside him on the couch. I remem-
ber how wonderful it feels to teach her to play the guitar.
And how amazing it would be to teach a baby . . . everything.
Drew would adore having a small someone to show things to—like
how to play chess, and basketball.
And how to curse in four different languages.
Drew isn’t Joey Martino. his family means everything to him.
I mean everything to him.
And I’m having his baby. Oh my God . The pregnancy hor-
mones must be on overload, because tears fill my eyes and stream
down my cheeks. happy tears.
Because it’s going to be okay.
Maybe I will have stretch marks, but this is New York—the
plastic surgery capital of the world. And sure, there are things I want to accomplish professionally. And I will. Because Drew will
be there to help me. To support me. Like he has since the day I
met him.
he’s going to be excited—like a kid getting an unexpected gift
on Christmas morning. It’ll be a shock at first, but can’t you just see him? Elated. Overjoyed.
“Excuse me, miss, are you all right?” I must be crying louder
than I thought, because Baby-Daddy is looking at me with concern.
I wipe at my cheeks, embarrassed. “Yes, I’m fine.
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