THAT MAN 5 (The Wedding Story-Part 2) (20 page)

Jen smiled warmly and brushed her hand through my hair. “I want you to hang it in your new office.”

That was a great idea. At the age of thirty-five, I was now the head of Conquest Broadcasting. I’d inherited my retired father’s expansive top floor office suite and had more wall space than I knew what do with. I knew exactly where I was going to hang it. Right by the entrance so I could look at it all day. I gently set the painting down on the antique rug. Now, it was my turn to give Jen her present. I handed her a small Christmassy shopping bag to which I’d attached a large SpongeBob “Merry Christmas” balloon.

“I know it doesn’t look like much.” My voice trailed off as she took the bag from me and removed a bright red eight by ten envelope. My eyes stayed fixed on her as she unfastened it and slipped out a single sheet of paper. Her green eyes widened and her jaw dropped to the floor as she read the announcement. The paper shook in her trembling hands.

“Oh my God, Blake. You bought back Peanuts?”

Peanuts was the children’s network she’d hoped to work at when she was first hired by my father, but he’d sold it just before she came on board. Jen had always dreamed of working in children’s programming but was forced to work for the porn channel I headed up. SIN-TV. What a fine job she had done. With passion and perseverance, she’d created a mega-successful women’s erotica channel, MY SIN-TV. But now, it was time for her to move on. And to have a family-friendly career. I’d closed the top secret deal only yesterday. Peanuts was officially now once again part of the Conquest Broadcasting media family. And it was going to be part of our little family too.

I held Jen’s stunned face in my gaze. “And, tiger, you’re going to run it. Get used to your new title: President, Peanuts TV.”

She gasped. A hand flew to her gaping mouth. Finally, she found her voice. A stammer. “B-but, who’s going to run MY SIN-TV?”

“Don’t worry about it, baby. I’m promoting Myles.” Myles Harding was my gay head of programming for SIN-TV, but I’d learned he’d been dying to work for our women’s counterpart. It was all going to work out perfectly. My tiger was finally going to have the chance to live out her dream and create her very own SpongeBob. And a lineup of programs that would make me proud—and our children elated. She was going to be
our
superhero. With my thumb, I tilted up her chin.

“Do you like your present, tiger?”

A huge smile adorned her face. “Oh, Blake, it’s the best Christmas gift ever.” She flung her arms around me and crushed her lips against mine. Our tongues danced joyously, and I became lost in our passionate embrace. A little voice broke us apart.

“Mommy, I’m
hungwee.”

Jen flushed with embarrassment and excused herself to make breakfast.

While she toiled in the kitchen, Leo and I retreated to the adjacent family room where we cuddled together on the comfy over-stuffed couch. With Leo snug on my lap, I picked up the remote and clicked on the big screen TV facing us. Wouldn’t you know it…the SpongeBob Christmas episode was on—the very one I’d watched with Jen at her parents’ house—our fateful first Christmas together. Leo loved SpongeBob as much as Jen and I did. As was our ritual, the two of us sang the silly opening credits song together at the top of our lungs, shouting out SpongeBob SquarePants each time it was mentioned.

The episode began, and Leo instantly broke out into a cluster of giggles at one of SpongeBob’s hilariously endearing antics. His sweet laughter was contagious. Ruffling my little man’s unruly dark hair, I joined him.

My little cub. He was the spitting image of me. Except he had Jen’s incredible long-lashed green eyes. Every time I looked into them, I recalled the first time I set my eyes on Jen’s—the day I interviewed her for a job at SIN-TV. And how they’d mesmerized me and reduced me to a spluttering mess.

Grandma had said, “Blakela, you’re gonna get
vun
just like you.” She was right, and she
vus
wrong.

I was a holy terror as a child. But not, my Leo. I knew every parent boasted their kid’s the best kid in the world. But let me tell you, mine was. He’d been the perfect baby. Slept the night and was all smiles. And now he was the sweetest, smartest toddler in the world. Already potty trained. Number one in his pre-school. And definitely, the most popular kid too. Little girls fawned all over him. This kid was born a player. On the playground, he was already breaking lots of shovels
and
hearts. I was going to have to teach him a thing or two about love when he got older.

Leo was the perfect name for him. Born in July, he was definitely a lion. He ruled the playground; he ruled our lives. He roared when he cried; he roared when he laughed. His middle name was Ness, which meant miracle in Hebrew and indeed he was. A gift from God. Following Jen’s hysterectomy, Marcy had told us since Jen had been spared an ovary, she could still produce quality eggs. The problem was she couldn’t carry a child. Marcy turned us on to one of her colleagues—a top fertility doctor. And simultaneously introduced us to a very special surrogate who wanted to carry our child. On the very first attempt, one of my little swimmers fertilized one of Jen’s eggs via IVF—in vitro fertilization. The embryo was transferred to our surrogate and nine months later, we were a family.

Halfway through the cartoon, the tantalizing aroma of pancakes and sausage drifted in the air. I was famished.

Just as the episode wrapped up, Jen called out, “Guys, breakfast is ready.”

I set my little man on the floor. “C’mon, I’ll race you to the kitchen.”

Leo’s eyes lit up. It was another one of our rituals. I always let him win. I was raising him—or should I say, we were raising him to be a winner just the way my parents raised me. And instilling in him the value of going after what you want in life. So far, that was a lot of toys, cookies, and goodnight stories.

“Mommy, I beat Daddy again,” boasted Leo as he energetically ran into the large kitchen on his little pajama-clad legs.

A big smile beamed on Jen’s animated face as I feigned exhaustion with pants. What an actor I was! The one thing I never had to act out was climaxing with my tiger. Fortunately, Leo’s room was far away enough from ours so my tiger could still roar my name. And man, did she.

With breakfast already on the table, Jen swept Leo into her arms and smothered him with kisses. “That’s awesome, my sweetness.”

I eyed them proudly. Happiness filled every crevice of my body. I always knew my Jen would make a great mother and she was. And soon, there would be another cub to add to our den.

Joining them at the kitchen table, I couldn’t wait to dig into breakfast. I was ravenous. I reached for the bottle of maple syrup on the lazy Susan, and as I doused my sausage with it, my eyes met Jen’s. Ever since that breakfast over five years ago at Jaime and Gloria’s beach house, maple syrup made me horny as hell. It had the same effect on Jen. We read each other’s eyes. Yup, she was thinking what I was thinking. Right after breakfast, we’d have our live-in nanny take Leo for a ride in his new Wombatmobile down the street while we fucked our brains out and sent each other orbiting.

As Jen poured coffee from the French press into my mug, her cell phone, charging on the counter, rang. Her signature ringtone—the melody of Roberta Flack’s “The First Time Ever I Saw Your Face”—played. Setting the glass vestibule down, she leapt up from her seat and sprinted to the phone. My gaze stayed riveted on her great ass and taut legs that had become shapelier and more muscular from doing the Santa Monica Stairs with me regularly. Her ponytail bounced with her sprite gait.

Putting the phone to her ear, her eyes grew as wide as saucers. “Oh my God,” I overheard her say. “I’ll be right there.” She ended the call.

“Baby, what’s going on?”

“Marcy’s at Cedars.”

“Holy shit!”
Fuck.
I didn’t mean to curse in front of my son. I just couldn’t help it.

“I’m heading over. Get there as soon as you can.”

Not bothering to change out of her sweats, Jen grabbed her car keys. She brushed by the table, giving Leo and me each a big kiss, and dashed out the door.

It was time to break out another expensive box of Cuban cigars.

*

Jennifer

Libby wasn’t supposed to give birth for another two weeks. Her water had broken early, and when I arrived at Cedars, she was already in the delivery room. Marcy was hovering over her, in green scrubs and a facemask, similar to the ones I was forced to put on. A team of nurses surrounded them.

Libby was plopped up against a mountain of pillows, clad in a pink hospital gown, her knees bent and splayed.

“Lib!” I shouted out, running up to her side.

My bestie smiled faintly and managed to wave to me.

“Breathe,” Marcy commanded.

“How’s she doing?” I asked Blake’s sister, my voice laden with worry.

“Great.”

Libby blew out short, sharp breaths. Pants.

I squeezed her hand. Her fiery red curls were matted to her sweat-laced face.

“Push,” ordered Marcy.

“Fuck,” grunted Libby as she did as asked. Her freckled face turned as red as her hair.

“Are you in pain?” My voice was shaky.

Breathing as instructed, she shook her head. Her extended belly rose up and down.

Libby was giving birth to our second child.

Yes, my best friend in the world, now happily married to a great guy and the mother of twins (another story!), had offered to be our surrogate after I told her Marcy, our first surrogate, felt our chances for a successful pregnancy would be better with a younger woman.

Choosing not to remarry though she was contently involved with an older, respected doctor, Marcy was now close to forty-five. She was the best sister-in-law in the world. That day in her office two months after my surgery, she gave Blake and me a priceless wedding present. The gift of life.
A family
. As I watched Libby labor, I flashed back to that moment and then to the epic birth of Leo. After a long struggle, he came out roaring like a lion.

A shriek from Libby pierced the air and cut into my thoughts. My already frenetic heartbeat sped up.

“One more push!” urged Marcy.

My unblinking eyes stayed glued on my best friend as she grunted a loud breath, tears streaming down her scrunched up face, and then they widened as a tiny dark-haired head emerged between her bent legs. I bit down hard on my bottom lip as she continued to grunt and push out the tiny life form with Marcy’s gloved hands gently guiding it into the world.

The next thing I knew, the unmistakable wails of a newborn were filling my ears.

With a heavy sigh of relief, Libby fell back against the pillows. I hugged her.

“Lib, you did it!”

“We did it!” Libby beamed, her voice strong for a woman who’d just given birth.

Oh, my Lib!
Always there for me!
My eyes shifted to Marcy.

Smiling beneath her mask, she cradled the tiny baby in her arms while two of the nurses cleaned her up and then swaddled her in a soft pink blanket.

“Congratulations!” they said in unison as they transferred her into my arms.

Breathless and wordless, I gazed down at our little girl. Our miracle. Our beautiful miracle. I couldn’t wait for Blake to meet her.

*

Blake

It took all I had not to drive like a madman. Thank fucking God, the streets were empty. A rarity for LA but typical for Christmas Day. Jen’s father was seated beside me in the Range Rover (our family car), and in the backseat, Leo was strapped into his car seat with Mrs. McCoy planted on the adjacent cream leather seat. My heart was in my throat and beating a mile a minute. “Santa Claus is Coming to Town” was blasting on the radio, and Leo was singing along in his adorable pitch-perfect voice. Oh, yeah, Santa had come. That’s for sure. But I just didn’t expect
this
present today of all days. The plans we had for later were scrapped—to see an animated movie and then go to Chinatown with my parents, Grandma, and Luigi. I tried calling Jen. No answer. Clenching the steering wheel and my teeth, I could hear my palpitating heart in my ear and feel it beat in my throat. Libby was way early and I was fucking freaking.