Baby Be Mine Page 8

  Clarice was having so much fun dining with Darcy that she almost didn’t hear the sudden screeching of a chair being pushed back from across the dining room. When she turned to look at the sudden commotion, she saw that Casanova had deserted the woman across the table from him and was now stalking toward her, his face a brewing storm about to erupt.

  Clarice felt sorry for the girl, getting ditched like that. She must be so sad and embarrassed by that Casanova’s actions. Her eyes were fully concentrated on examining the tablecloth, as if she were looking for staining. But then again, she felt a little relief because at least the girl didn’t fall prey to Casanova’s charm, unlike most women.

  Clarice was about to breathe a sigh of relief when Hunter stopped right at their table. Her body went rigid and she became aware of every single particle in her form. She felt him leaning in close to her, and not a breadth of hair was separating them when he spoke.

  “Have fun, Avocado,” he whispered huskily into her ear, making the hair at the back of her neck stand up and the nerves along her spine tingle. Then he strode past her, leaving her mouth gaping open, while Darcy just looked confused at the whole scene played in front of him.

  “Avocado?” Darcy asked. “Do you know him?”

  That beast of a Casanova, Clarice thought. How dare he embarrass her in front of her future partner? If she saw him again, he was going to get a taste of her medicine. Give him a shot of the strong local anesthetic to make sure he wouldn’t be able to talk. That would serve him right for being a smart mouth.

  “Ahh, no, not at all. I don’t know him at all.” Clarice tried to deny the truth.

  Well, it was the truth. She really didn’t know him. They’d only just met, even though it was three times in the span of a few weeks. But that still made them strangers. She didn’t know anything else about him apart from his name and that he was a playboy.

  “Oh, I thought he was a boyfriend or something, the way he was whispering in your ear and all that,” Darcy remarked leisurely, then returned to his plate of Cambodian pancakes.

  Clarice almost choked on her rice rolls. How could Darcy think he was her boyfriend? She would rather have all her teeth extracted without anesthetic than be called that Casanova’s girlfriend. Yes, she did admit he had attracted her in the beginning with the whole towel thing, but when she heard the first word that came out of his mouth, she had sworn him off. She and Hunter did not belong in the same sentence.

  “He must have saw us enjoying ourselves, whereas his date didn’t go so well,” she stated firmly.

  “I guess so,” Darcy said, then went back to his meal.

  Thank the Lord, because after this event, everything went back to normal again. Darcy questioned her about her occupation. She told him she was a periodontist. Darcy didn’t know what kind of profession that was, so she had to explain to him. Then he said he hadn’t had a professional cleaning since he arrived here in Auckland. They even had a bit of a laugh about flossing and interdental cleaning.

  Everything was great, Clarice thought as she dug into her noodles, savoring the flavor as she bit into them. Darcy was nice; the restaurant was nice; everything was nice. She couldn’t ask for a more perfect date. Just then, her phone rang. Must be Max trying to keep a tab on me.

  Clarice dug into her bag, trying to retrieve her phone hidden among the other junk. Her hand landed on her driver’s license. Meaning to put it in her wallet again, she placed it out on the table and continued to search through her bag, when an outcry from her date startled her, making her head jerk up to look at him.

  Darcy jerked up off his chair like a fire had been lit up his butt. He started pulling on his jacket, then slammed a fifty-dollar note on the table.

  “Do you need to be somewhere else? You look like you’re in a hurry,” Clarice asked, quite concerned when Darcy started acting so strange. It didn’t make sense. They got along just fine a few minutes ago. What changed?

  “Sorry, I have this rule. I don’t date any woman older than me.” Darcy said while placing his wallet back in his pocket.

  “What?” Clarice burst out, jumping from her chair, shocked that he would say something like that.

  “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done this. I should have ticked the age range group in the survey. I wasn’t aware the system would pair me up with you. Look, I’m sorry. But I can’t date you. I have to go now,” Darcy said, and then he left, just like that.

  One minute he was here and the next gone.

  Poor Clarice sat back down in the chair while everyone eyed her. And here she had felt sorry for that girl that Casanova had left behind not half an hour ago, when she herself was now in the same boat.

  Argh, all men are the same. Clarice wanted to scream. First that Hunter guy and now Darcy. Jerks and Casanovas. I wish I would never see them again.

  And then she saw her driver’s license. So that was the cause of all the commotion. Her driver’s license again. Oh, how pathetic can life get? Clarice finished her meal, gloomily staring at her ID.

  Thirty, still single, and she’d just gotten ditched on her first date.

  Chapter 9

  Clarice woke one week later with an ultimatum for herself. She was going to have a baby. Forget about love. She had all the love she needed right here. What she wanted was a family, and what better way than to have a baby?

  Being a single mother was perfect. She could give all her love to the baby. She had enough to spare and enough laughter to share around the world. She didn’t need a man. What with every single man around her acting like jerks and Casanovas, she hadn’t time for the emotional rollercoaster of love and heartbreak. And thank the Lord, because when that glasses guy Darcy, or Rarcy, or whatever ditched her, there was no heartache. Yes, it was better to have no feelings involved at all, just a clean and sterile transaction, like her dental instruments.

  But where to find this sperm that wouldn’t involve relationships and heartache? Then the proverbial light bulb flashed above her head, and she scrambled off her bed in her pink pajamas and went straight toward the phone.

  A few minutes later, Clarice had an appointment for a consultation at the fertility clinic.

  “Yes, thank you. I’ll pop in at lunchtime. Thanks,” she said before placing the receiver down.

  At last, her first goal had been decided. By the end of this year, she was going to get herself pregnant by way of artificial insemination.

  Fluffy blue coats or fluffy pink coats? Blue socks or pink socks? To scan or not to scan? Which room should she put the cot in? How long should she breastfeed? What color should the blanket be? What name should she give her baby? Dorian? No, too Casanova-like, like that Dorian Grey from that movie. Dori? No, too much like Nemo. Sally? No, too simple. Cassandra? Hmmm, sounds nice.

  “Clarice?” A voice poked through her thoughts.

  “Yes.” Clarice jerked up her head, realizing she had just walked into the dental surgery.

  “Clarice,” Gracey said, shaking her head at her little boss who was once again daydreaming about who knows what. “Wake up from your daydreaming, dear. We have a new representative from the Silverton Hotel asking to speak with you about the upcoming hygiene conference being held in Queenstown this year.”

  “Conference? Queenstown?” Clarice asked, not registering what Gracey had said.

  “Clarice, my dear, are you getting any sleep at all? Where are you today? Off to La-la Land again?” Gracey asked.

  This was the usual case for Clarice. If she had a certain thought in her mind, it showed right on her face. She had never been good at hiding emotions.

  “Sorry, I was thinking about some things.”

  “Mind telling me? I’m all ears.” Gracey loved hearing gossip from her colleague, but Clarice wasn’t ready to spill the news yet. Well, not to Gracey anyway. No matter how good the woman was, she was like a wildfire. Give her one small piece of bacon, and she’d turn it into a full-on roast pork.

  “Ah, not at the moment. Still sorting stu
ff out. When I’m ready, I’ll let you know,” she said.

  “Great, darling. I’ll be waiting, then. Now for this…” Gracey turned her attention back to the information at hand, which was the Dental Hygiene Conference being held in Queenstown, and all the representatives. “The representative of the Silverton Hotel wants a word with you about the conference.”

  “Why would the representative of the Silverton Hotel want to talk to me? I’m only one of their guest speakers,” Clarice asked.

  “Because you’re the all-time important guest speaker, that’s why. He said he needed to go over some stuff with you about the layout and things.”

  “But the event is being held in Queenstown. Why am I going to the Silverton Hotel in Auckland, then?’

  “Because they also own the Silverton Hotel in Queenstown and it’s exactly the same layout. Plus, it’s just to meet the representative.”

  “Right, fine then. Where do I meet him?”

  “At the Silverton Hotel,” Gracey told her again. “Dear, where has your head gone? It feels like we’re talking around the table here. Get back to Earth, dear.”

  “Yes, Gracey. I’m sorry for being away with the fairies.”

  “Well, I blocked you out for the afternoon so you could suss out all the details involving the conference. Happy?”

  “Yes, happy, Gracey. Thank you,” she said, then walked into her surgery room with the patient’s files in her hand while her head was once again swimming with her baby thoughts.

  The afternoon rolled around faster than Clarice could say cheese, and by one p.m. straight on the dot, she was at the entrance to the fertility clinic.

  Nervous and palms sweating, she held on to the doorknob and drew forward. No backing down now, Clarice, she told herself. You are ready to become a mother. You are ready for this.

  “What?” That was her first reaction when the consultant came back to her. “You mean to say I can’t even see the man that donates the sperm?” she asked when the consultant outlined their guidelines.

  “Yes.”

  “Why not? How do I know he looks nice if I can’t see his face?”

  “I’m sorry. It’s part of our policy here. We value our donors’ privacy, so to show their pictures to potential clients would pose a risk to their lives.”

  “I don’t understand how seeing the man would make me go out and kill him.”

  “Well, let’s just say if you don’t like the look of your baby, you might feel differently.”

  “I wouldn’t do that. Isn’t that why I asked to see his face first? If he’s handsome, then surely my child would be handsome too.”

  “That’s not generally the case with babies.”

  “Ah, this is so frustrating. This is so not happening.” Clarice wanted to scream. Here she was thinking that everything was going the way she had planned, but now this. Was God trying to stop her from having a family? She tried reasoning with the consultant one more time. “If I can’t even see his picture, how am I supposed to decide whether he would be the right one for me? After all, I am bearing his child. What if you lie to me that he’s intelligent, gentle, and sensible, then I ended up getting the wrong sperm from someone else? How do I make sure that doesn’t happen?”

  “We always make sure it does not happen again.”

  “Again? Are you saying it happened once?”

  “Yes, just once.”

  “This is crazy. I’m going crazy.” Clarice felt like tearing her hair out of her head.

  “Miss, please calm down. Why are you so flustered?”

  “Why am I not out of my chair, screaming right now would be a better question. Have you any idea how old I am? Thirty. I’ve never had a baby before, and I am scared if I wait any longer, I won’t be able to conceive at all. And right now I want a baby. One good, healthy, and beautiful baby that has all the traits I’ve listed on that piece of paper there. Smart, intelligent, kind, etc. And now you tell me I can’t even see the person who will donate the sperm. I want a baby. I want a family. I want a companion when I grow old.” There, she lashed out everything that was bearing on her chest.

  “You could always get a dog,” the consultant suggested nervously.

  “I don’t want a dog. I’m scared of dogs.”

  “How about a cat?”

  “I’m allergic.”

  “A goldfish, then. They live in the water, have no fur, and aren’t as scary as a dog.”

  “No, no goldfish, no cats, and no dogs. I want a baby.”

  “Perhaps you need a sedative to help you relax?”

  “I am not mad and screaming at the top of my lungs!” Clarice went mad and screamed at the top of her lungs. “I am merely frustrated with my life right now. So you don’t need to give me any sedatives. I’m leaving.”

  After a good long, aimless walk around the area, munching on chocolate chips, Clarice calmed down a bit. Her mind was still bogged deep in thought when she heard the blast of a horn jolting her awake.

  “Why you no-good bastard of a son. You’re making me crazy,” Clinton shouted, newspaper in hand, running around after Hunter like they were playing chase.

  “Calm down, Dad. You don’t want the whole department to know you’re fighting with the future heir,” Hunter said when his father stopped to rest on the armchair, out of breath. Hunter came to comfort his father, patting him on the back to help him with his breathing.

  “Future heir? Hunter! What am I going to do with you?” Clinton said once he recovered, swatting his son’s arm as a consequence for defying him yet again. “That one simple task and you couldn’t even do it for me.”

  “What do you want me to do, Dad? She was practically a mannequin. She didn’t even speak to me for fifteen minutes. The only time she said anything was when the waitress came to order our meals.”

  “She’s shy,” Clinton explained.

  “Shy my ass.” Hunter snarled.

  “Don’t you speak with that tone, young man!” His father rang his ear.

  “Ahh, Dad, I’m sorry,” he yelled until his father let his ear go. “But why are you so persistent in matching me up with some random girl anyway? You know I don’t like it.”

  “She’s not random. She’s the daughter of the CEO of one of our most important client’s here. And I am sick and tired of you behaving like a Casanova. Get real. This girl, she would be good for you.”

  “Why does it have to be her?” Hunter asked. Surely his dad could pick up someone better than the jukebox, aka Caroline. Caroline was more his cousin’s type. Quiet, mature, tall, skinny. Yep, it was everything Anton would desire in a woman.

  “Because she likes you.” His father gasped.

  “But she doesn’t even know anything about me. And for the record, I don’t like her,” he declared.

  “What don’t you like about her?” Clinton asked. He couldn’t understand why a girl as beautiful as Caroline would not catch his son’s eye. She was the epitome of beauty, the perfect wife for his wayward child.

  “Because she’s too quiet. Too boring. She doesn’t hold my interest. She’s not my type. And the list goes on. You get the gist, Dad.” He listed his dislikes of Caroline to his father.

  “You have a type?” Clinton asked, astonished that kids these days had types they went for.

  “I do, Dad,” he said to his father, whose cheeks were puffed up like a helium balloon. “Look, stop. You might have an aneurism, and then what’s Betty going to do?”

  “The question is what are you going to do if that happens?” Clinton asked. He wasn’t sure if he could rest in peace if his only son continued to behave like this, like a boat without a sail, floating on the sea, being carried by the wind in any direction it blew.

  Clinton didn’t like the thought of his son having no prospects ahead of him. But looking at the past twenty-three years, his son hadn’t improved at all; in fact, his behavior was getting worse. All day, his son played around, having no responsibility, only increasing his horrible attitude. He was sure Caro
line would be his savior. He got so mad when Anton informed him of the outcome, that his son had just left the table without as so much as a proper explanation. How could he make his son be a gentleman? What could he do to make him learn? His son needed to take responsibility.

  “I’ll become the heir of the company, of course,” Hunter stated simply. Actually, he should have said Anton would be the heir, but he just wanted to piss off his father, since his ear was still throbbing.

  “Hunter, you’re going to make me die early here.” Clinton smacked his palm against his forehead in frustration.

  “Oh, Dad, calm down. Look, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to just up and leave her like that. I did tell her I had some business to attend to.”

  “That’s the same thing as ditching the girl.”

  “I said I’m sorry,” Hunter whined like a little kid.

  “Yes, you should be,” Clinton said. “I had to ring Caroline’s father and apologize on your behalf. Do you know it could cause a strain between our companies?”

  “It’s that serious?” Hunter asked.

  “Damn right, it’s serious, Hunter.”

  “Sorry you had to apologize on my behalf. I hope I didn’t cause a rift between you two.”

  Saying sorry doesn’t pay for what’s already been done, Clinton thought. His son would still be a playboy, ditched on the side of the road, where no one in high society would acknowledge him. Why couldn’t he be like Anton? Reserved, intelligent, and a good team leader. Clinton had to think of a way to reform his son. And that must include Caroline.

  Then an idea struck him.

  “Look, all is forgiven, but you must pay me back,” Clinton said to his son.

  “Pay you back?” Hunter asked, his face a mask of confusion. “Dad, I live off your money. You’re basically saying you’re using your own money to pay yourself.”

  “No, I don’t mean payment in monetary terms. I mean in the form of action and consequences,” Clinton said, smiling, as the plan formed inside his head. He couldn’t wait to see his son all grown up and responsible.