And a script to go along with it.
A script I had practiced at least 20 times throughout the day yesterday.
I was going to tell Mr. Fix-It about my baby making agenda. I really did have the perfect plan. But unfortunately, doing it my way would have been too easy.
Because as per usual, nothing went according to plan.
You see, after showering and putting on my cutest “hanging around the house” outfit in preparation for his arrival, I got a text.
From Mr. Fix-It himself.
Asking how I would feel about scrapping our plans for a quiet night in, in favor of going out drinking with Drew Barrymore.
Yes, that's seriously what his text message said.
There’s a movie filming in town right now. A movie starring Drew Barrymore, John Krasinski, and Kristen Bell.
The whole town just might be a little bit excited about these stars hanging out in our bars and shopping in our stores.
When we went out last week, Mr. Fix-It had revealed to me that his roommate was actually working on the movie. I in turn; squealed like an 8 year old about to meet Justin Bieber.
It’s possible I may have a girl crush on Kristen Bell.
I love me some Veronica Mars.
(Courtesy of Google Images)
When we later found out that Drew Barrymore was actually at that same concert we had been at, I expressed my regret over missing her.
I mean, how is it even possible that we missed Drew Barrymore?
And was Kristen Bell with her?
Yes. These were actual questions running through my head.
So when the option was presented to go out drinking with his roommate (who had promised up Drew Barrymore on a platter) I did not have to think long about my answer.
In fact, I’m pretty sure I shoved that nightly shot of mine into my tushy in record time and was dressed and ready to go before I had even hit send on my response.
Coming clean would just have to wait for another night.
After all, this was Drew Barrymore we were talking about!
And possibly (hopefully/maybe/fingers crossed) Kristen Bell!
Yes. I sold out my good intentions in favor of hanging out with movie stars.
Wouldn’t you have done the same though?
The funny part of this story is that we never did see Drew Barrymore. Or Kristen Bell for that matter.
It was a total wash.
Or, maybe not a total wash. We hung out with his roommate (who was a cool enough guy) and a few members of the crew.
We spent the night talking about anything and everything and laughing far too much.
And really; there is something to be said for a guy introducing you to his friends on a second date. There has to be some sort of test involved in that.
A test which I, as the only girl hanging with the boys, am pretty sure I passed.
His roommate seemed to take a particular interest in me, and I still can’t pinpoint why. It’s possible he was hitting on me, but it’s just as possible he's just an extremely friendly guy.
I wasn’t really able to figure that one out for sure.
During our conversations, the roommate was discussing all the traveling he had done, and I expressed my ridiculous jealousy.
Because some days, there isn’t much I wouldn’t give to be able to get rid of all my belongings and just leave. Leave the country, leave the continent, leave this life.
In search of finding anything and everything that may be out there for me to find.
It was in expressing this interest that the roommate asked me why I didn’t do just that. Why I didn’t just pick up and leave.
And in my attempt to explain without really getting into it, I said that I had an “illness” and that health insurance was kind of a big deal in my life.
Yes, I used the term “illness”.
Because apparently I felt the need to make myself sound like an invalid.
To that he replied “So… what are we talking about? Do you have, like an expiration date?”
Thinking we were discussing my biological clock, I responded with the affirmative. To which he said “No shit? Really?”
I again replied “Yes.”
And so, he cheered me and my attitude.
At which point I realized; this guy thinks I’m dying.
I basically just told him I’m dying.
Hilarity ensued, as I backtracked and attempted to explain what I meant about having an expiration date.
All the while, with Mr. Fix-It by my side listening in.
Because that wasn’t awkward at all.
As the night wound down, Mr. Fix-It let me know he was ready to go home, and asked if I wanted to see his house for the first time.
After a night spent engaging in conversation with all his friends, I hopped at the chance for some alone time.
And so, there we were – in the same position we were last week. Lying in bed, talking all night, and not letting each other get any sleep. There was a moment where we were making out like teenagers, but rest assured; we both remained fully clothed.
I definitely feel the need to clear up that little misconception after some of the comments in my last post!
There was making out, but nothing more. Which was kind of nice. Kind of like I was 14 again.
Not that I was ever making out with boys when I was 14 of course! Don’t worry Dad; I never would have done that to you. Certainly not in your own home.
(Beloved readers – I just lied to my father. It’s for his own good.)
As we drifted off to sleep, again wrapped up in each other’s arms, it dawned on me that I had never spilled the beans.
But there had never really been a right moment. Never a segue where it seemed appropriate.
I fell asleep composing the e-mail I would send him later this week in my head.
It was at 6:00 am that we were awoken by my phone ringing. Mrs. King, checking in to see how the night had gone.
I did not answer.
But we did somehow wind up making out again.
And it was after a good 15 minutes of that when his hand drifted to my stomach.
My stomach, which is covered in estrogen patches.
I froze, sucked in a deep breath, and blurted out “Ummmmm…. Yeah. My stomach is covered in estrogen patches. That’s really not hot.”
To which he simply broke out laughing and replied “Sure it’s hot! I want an estrogen patch!”
And he just kept kissing me. As though finding 4 patches on a girl’s stomach (and the remnants of many, many others) wasn’t anything bizarre at all.
Another 15 minutes passed, and he had his arms around me. With my back to his chest, we had stopped kissing and were simply lying there peacefully.
Which is when it hit me. There would likely be no better opportunity to come clean.
After all, in getting to know this guy I wasn’t sure how he would react to an e-mail of this caliber. Without my tone and humor behind it, I wasn’t sure an e-mail would accomplish anything at all beyond freaking him out more than necessary.
Suddenly, in that moment; telling him in person seemed easier.
And so, I inhaled again and started “I have something to tell you. I think it might be a deal breaker, but I have to tell you anyway. And for the record, if it is a deal breaker – I get it. So you don’t have to worry about hurting my feelings.”
He wrapped me up tighter and said “You’ve got to love a conversation that starts like that!”
I laughed, and then I said it:
“I was born a man.”
Followed by complete silence.
You see, this had always been part of my plan. I learned somewhere along the line that if you have bad news to give someone, give them worse news first. That way when they hear your actual news, it won’t seem nearly as traumatic.
I'm pretty sure I heard it’s scientifically foolproof.
But when I turned around to see his face, I could see that he didn’t believe me for a second. He was holding back the laughter and let it loose when I started cracking up as well.
The perfect ice breaker I tell you.
Then I launched into the truth.
And he let me tell him. Without interjecting much at all, he let me get it all out there.
Until I was finished, at which point he said (with arms still wrapped around me) “I’ve just got to tell you; I honestly don’t know if I see myself being a dad… ever.”
I stopped him there. Reiterated that I was not looking for a baby daddy at this point. That I had this all just fine on my own. I reminded him that we had only known each other for a week, and that for all I knew he bred goats or liked to pee on people (to which he responded “I do – on both counts.”) I made sure he knew that at this point though, I wasn’t looking for any lifelong commitment.
That I was just having fun getting to know each other.
That I liked him.
And that in reality, there were no guarantees that I would actually get pregnant at all. So until I had those 2 lines, there really weren’t any decisions he needed to be making.
I also reminded him that even if I do get those two lines - I won't be fat for at least a few months, so we could still play it by ear until then.
He asked a few questions. About who the “father” was going to be, and how this all worked. He mentioned that he was glad I wasn’t actually asking him to be the father, and then he said, “You realize you could have totally slept with me and told me it was mine, and I wouldn’t have known any better, right?”
To which I had to laugh… It would appear the men in my life all have the same twisted brains.
I assured him that wasn’t something I would ever do though. That in reality, I was painfully honest. To a fault. That I couldn’t even keep this from him for more than a week.
I told him I felt like I had been lying to him.
And then I said it again. Told him that I understood this was a lot. That I would get it if I never heard from him again. That I wouldn’t take it too personally.
I got up at that point and started to get ready to leave. Throwing on clothes that I had left neatly folded on the floor when I’d put on his shorts and a tank top before bed.
He stopped me, said I didn’t need to bolt. I told him that I kind of felt like I did. Like I had laid a lot on him, and I needed to just leave him with that.
It was becoming more and more obvious that I was coming undone after the build-up of telling him the truth.
It wasn't him who was reacting poorly to this confession; it was me.
And so, he grabbed me. Pulled me back into bed fully clothed (jacket and all) and wrapped me up in his arms. Started rubbing my temples and telling me to calm down. That everything was going to be OK. That even though he had never known anyone who would do something like this, he understood why I was doing it. He kept encouraging me to breathe.
Until I was again. Until I was calm.
He reiterated that he wasn’t sure how he would feel about dating a pregnant woman. But then he said “If you do get pregnant though, I would totally come over to your house and fix stuff for you. Because you probably wouldn’t be able to do much with a big belly.”
Yes, he said that. And even though I knew all he was promising at that point was a friendship, I still kind of swooned.
Because he was trying. He was trying to understand. He was trying to put me at ease.
I let him know that if this round didn’t work, I would be in a pretty rough state and probably in need of a distraction for a while.
And to that, he was able to commit.
So there is something.
Then I let him know again, that I would understand if things just fizzled out. If I never really heard from him after today. If from here on out, he kind of just blew me off.
But (and this was a big but) I did let him know that blowing me off would only be acceptable until he got an actual invite to hang out with Drew or Kristen.
Because the day that happened, I needed a call to tag along. Pregnant or not, I was counting on him to introduce me to my future BFF.
I’m that convinced Kristen and I would hit it off.
I left shortly after that. He walked me to the door, kissed me goodbye, and told me good luck.
With everything kind of in the air, but not really in a bad way.
In the driveway pulling out, I ran into his roommate.
Who was just coming home.
I rolled down the window and started cracking up. In my awkwardness, I blurted it all out to him as well. Let him know he should go up there and console his buddy, because I had just dropped a bomb on him.
He stood in the driveway laughing at my ridiculousness.
Then he asked me for my number… It was a weird morning.
I called Mrs. King as soon as I drove away, more concerned over the fact that I had randomly word vomited to his roommate. Because who does that?
He really didn’t need to know the whole story.
At least not from me.
Mrs. King just started laughing though and said “I’m not surprised.”
She said I’d kept the secret for a week, and we all knew it was eating away at me.
She was surprised I hadn’t called his other co-workers I had met to tell them too.
I love how well my friends know me… How completely and totally they get my need to be an open book.
Even if it means the occasional (or far too frequent) bouts of over sharing.
Because I’ve got to say, one way or the other, I feel a million times better just knowing that he knows. Knowing that I’m not hiding it from him. And that he can decide how he wants to proceed with me based on the facts, rather than some fairy tale version of perfection I’m putting on and can’t possibly maintain.
Also, if this does turn out to be a deal breaker, I have a feeling it would have turned out exactly the same way even if I had waited another month (or two) before telling him.
The only difference is, it would have ended up being something I had been dishonest about for that much longer.
I have no regrets over putting it out there now.
About half an hour after I left his house, I got this text message:
Thank you for the conversation this morning. I just wanted you to know I appreciate the honesty; thanks for trusting me with all that. It was cool of you. Nice to wake up next to you. :) Safe travels!
And I smiled. Because it wasn’t the reaction I had expected. He didn’t freak out and run away. He didn’t even make me feel bad about any of this.
Perhaps he’ll take the next few days to contemplate this and decide it’s all just too much for him. Come to the conclusion that we should probably just be friends. That there isn’t any more he is willing to put into a relationship with me.
It’s possible. And if I do find myself pregnant next week, I think it’s even more possible.
But the truth is – it doesn’t really matter. I’m feeling like I’m in a good place with Mr. Fix-It. He knows the truth, and he didn’t flip out. I’m in Seattle now with that burden off my shoulders, and however it turns out from here is exactly how it was meant to turn out.
And if my choice is between Mr. Fix-It, or those two pink lines; I think we all know what I would choose.
I would take a baby any day over a man I have known for only a week.
But I’ve got to say; in a time when I am frantically accumulating plan B’s in order to protect my heart should the worst happen; there's something kind of nice about knowing I’ll have Mr. Fix-It to land on if things don’t go according to plan.
Because really; when has anything ever gone according to plan?
