The Baby He Wants: A BWWM Pregnancy Romance (7 page)

"Stay,"
she said. She ignored Bob's amused snort and slowly pulled her hands
away. "Stay. Staaaaaaaaay."

The
kitten reached up one paw and batted at her fingers.

"That's
not staying."

She kept
one hand in front of the kitten to discourage it from trying to make
a run for it while she reached for her hair dryer. The kitten popped
up on its haunches and wrapped both paws around her thumb, and she
barely managed to restrain herself from yanking her hand away and
sending it flying across the room.

What the
hell. Didn't this thing have any survival instinct at all?

The
kitten sniffed at the tip of her thumb, licked it once with that
brilliantly pink tongue, then started gnawing on it.

"Son
of a bitch!" This time Ava did pull her hand away. The kitten
slid a few inches forward on the counter, but let go before it could
go over the edge. Ava examined her thumb for puncture wounds.

"Mew!"
said the kitten.

"Then
don't freaking bite me!" said Ava.

Bob
snorted again. Ava glanced back and saw her roommate had his cell
phone out.

"Dude,"
Ava said, not even trying to dodge the camera lens. There wasn't
enough space in the sink alcove, anyway. "Who are you even going
to send that to?"

"The
internet," said Bob.

Ava
rolled her eyes and looked back at the kitten. "I'm trying to
dry you off," she told it. The kitten sneezed. "Yes,"
said Ava. "Exactly." She picked up the hair dryer and after
a few moments examining the cat — it wasn't like she'd ever
really had a pet before, what with not trying to be the next Bindi
Irwin or nothin — she set the dryer to the lowest setting and
aimed it at the kitten.

It let
out another indignant little "mew!" and stood up again,
front paws batting at the blast of air.

"Sorry,
dude," Ava told it. "You can't kill air."

"Believe
her," Bob said. "She would know."

"That's
my idiot room mate Bob," Ava said, using a corner of the hand
towel to fluff at the fur on the kitten's belly. "First rule you
need to learn, other than don't bite me: never listen to Uncle
Bobby."

It
started as a snicker, then grew into a great whopping belly laugh.
"Dude," Bob finally managed. "Does that mean you've
just declared yourself that thing's
mother?
"

"Shut
up, Bob."

"Mew,"
agreed the kitten.

Speaking
of motherhood, it suddenly occurred to Ava that she couldn’t
remember when she’d had her last period…definitely
before that whole thing with…Ava cut that thought off with a
snap.

Tristan
Carrington slowed his late model sports car to a stop outside the two
story, sprawling mansion in one of the more upscale neighborhoods in
the city. He was buzzed in through the electronic gates after the
electronic cameras zoomed in on his face and parked in the driveway
in front of the mansion. He looked around, appreciating as always his
mother’s landscaping. She had an eye for beauty that surpassed
any he’d ever seen or known. Her garden was the talk of the
town; and that’s exactly how she liked it.

He used
a few moments to compose himself, checking his appearance in the
rear-view mirror and checking he had his briefcase and PDA with him
before he stepped out of the car and went to the front door. He
waited patiently as he rang the bell, hearing the faint musical
chimes as it rang indoors. Fighting down the nerves, Tristan coached
himself to be cool and confident, every inch the capable human being
she’d brought him up to be. He’d called ahead, made an
appointment to see her so she would clear her morning and they would
have time to deal with this uninterrupted. Come up with some sort of
plan. There were options that could be explored. Tristan had been
studying up.

The door
was soon opened by an older woman with rosy cheeks and an apron
around her waist, who smiled when she saw Tristan on the doorstep.

“
Good
morning Mr. Carrington. Your mother is waiting in the Blue Room,”
she said, stepping back to allow him to enter.

She led
him through the hallway and into another room bathed in shades of
blue. Jensen’s artistic senses keenly took in the interior
design of the room with approval, his eyes came to a stop on the
woman sitting on the lounge and he couldn’t help the way his
feet stuttered to a stop.

Keep
it together Carrington.

Now that
he was really looking at his mother, he noticed she looked older than
he remembered. She was a tall woman; her hair was a paler shade of
gold, her skin less smooth than it used to be but she was still an
elegant looking woman. She was dressed stylishly in a tailored cream
suit and matching low heeled pumps. She came to her feet gracefully
and came forward to meet him, tiny hand held out and a welcoming
smile on her face.

“
Tristan…it's
good to see you. I was expecting you for brunch on Sunday –
what happened to you? Come. Sit. We have a lot to discuss,” she
began.

Tristan
smiled weakly. Imagined telling her that he’d spent the weekend
with a roadie and internally shook his head. There were no words he
could use to make her understand that. Best to just keep quiet. One
crisis at a time.

“
Do
sit, you must be hungry. Did you even have breakfast this morning? I
heard about the Linden merger; good job,” she said with
motherly pride.

Tristan
awkwardly took a seat as he tried to figure out how to begin. His
mother was still talking though, something about Savannah and while
Tristan felt he should listen, he was too busy going over the facts
he’d read in his mind.

One
aspect that compounds the negative impact of a low sperm count is
that it is also frequently associated with reduced sperm quality.

One
article had said. It was crazy how much that was like a knife in his
gut. Still he had looked for solutions.

Today,
a single sperm is sufficient for fertilization if it is literally
injected into the egg using ICSI (intracytoplasmic sperm injection).

His
heart had perked up when he’d read that. There
was
hope. Until he’d gotten to the next part.

ICSI
fails more often than it succeeds, is hugely expensive and creates
considerable psychological and other stresses for the couple.

Yeah.
Were he and Savanna ready for that sort of stress; especially with
everything else they were dealing with right now? Did he present it
to her and let her decide?

“
Tristan?
Are you listening to me?” his mother’s voice cut in on
his musings and he started.

“
Yes,
of course,” he replied sitting up straight. He needed to tell
her.

“
I
invited Savanna to join us. I thought it would save us a bit of time
if we were all on the same page,” his mother was saying and
Tristan’s face paled. In the distance, he heard the slam of a
door and footsteps approaching the room.
Shit,
time’s up

He
turned to watch the arrival of his erstwhile girlfriend and had to
bite back a curse. She was as elegant as always. Tall, shapely,
devastatingly attractive with a genteel smile and well groomed hair.
She even walked with a genteel stride, every step graceful and
calculated. Her white, even teeth flashed as she smiled at him.

Savannah
Leicester in the flesh. Wife to be. Designated woman of his dreams.

They had
met when they were both thirteen years old; when they were sent to
boarding school in England. Both naïve, scared and lonely;
they’d clung to each other like limpets. When holidays came
around, they would request their parents to let them spend them
together. There had been skiing trips to Gstaad and summer hikes
across the Himalayas. When they got old enough, there were hunting
safaris in Namibia and chasing the Great Buffalo Migration at the
Mara. They spent great times together, thrill seeking around the
world. It was the every day small stuff that tripped them up. Being
Savannah’s boyfriend was a high maintenance job and sometimes
Tristan fell short. And now…was he to tell her he couldn’t
give her babies?

Thinking
back, Tristan cringed to think how naïve and trusting he had
been, how much he’d thought that their shared history was all
they ever needed. He had been the shy, awkward teenager trying to
live up to his mother’s expectations, Savannah had been the
devil may care between them, who was just living life as it came.
Tristan had fallen head over heels for her because of that. He wished
he could be more like her, so carefree, so confident in her ability
to negotiate their world. He’d been a blushing uncertain piece
of meat for Savannah to play with and mold to her image. He’d
exchanged one role model for another. His mother for Savannah.

From
that day forward, they had been inseparable. Savannah would initiate
adventures around London. They would visit pubs and bribe someone to
buy them beer then sneak back into the school. It didn’t take
long before Tristan lost his virginity to Savannah and he realized he
had fallen for her. Tristan had thought he’d found the love of
his life, that this was his happily ever after.

It
hadn’t lasted long though. Their relationship was not all
smooth sailing. There was the Italian race car driver that had turned
Savannah’s head the summer they were seventeen. She had said
that she just wanted to be friends. She’d broken his heart and
he’d drowned his sorrows in women and booze. After the Italian
had got bored with her, Savannah had come crying back, saying she’d
made a mistake.

Tristan
didn’t hold that against her though. They had both been young,
sheltered in their own ways in the belief that things could work
between them. In his heart, Tristan had always had the belief that
things were too good to be true, that someone like him could deserve
someone like her. Savannah had been like a shining star, attractive,
confident, smart and popular with her own wealth to boot. Tristan had
been shy, awkward, unsociable and lacking in confidence. People like
him didn’t end up with people like Savannah. Of course they
traveled in the same circles but before he hit that growth spurt and
filled out his shirts, he was a gangly socially awkward mess. The
fact that Savannah even spoke to him was a source of great wonder to
him for many years.

Tristan
was broken out of his reminiscing and brought back to the present as
Savannah enfolded his mother with a quick kiss on the cheeks before
she turned to greet him. He wasn't the gangly boy he was before, and
he was certainly a lot more attractive now; but Savannah was also
still a huge catch and Tristan knew it. Trying to sell his plan for
their future might not be as easy as they might hope.

Tristan
would have wished that his mother hadn’t called her to join
them for this meeting but he could see why she did it. She had no
idea of the bombshell he was about to drop. He decided to do this by
way of presentation. He was going to present his case as if it was a
new business venture they were going into. It was a language they
would both understand.

*****

“
Savannah?
Mama? I have something to share with you. If you would kindly watch
this short presentation I’ve made before we continue; I’ll
be very grateful,” Tristan said as he set up the projector. It
was the coward’s way out he thought, but it was the only way he
felt able to do this. His stomach sank to his toes at the thought of
disappointing his mother. And Savannah. This was his last chance. He
had to get it right. He started the presentation as Savannah and his
mother settled on the couch, cups of tea in their hands.

A blonde
man in a white lab coat appeared on the screen. He wore thin framed
spectacles and had a kind look on his face. Savannah and Mrs.
Carrington listened as the man talked.

We
all exist because of our parent’s fertility; yet in the grand
scheme of evolution, fertility is a crucial selection factor that has
determined the future of our own and many other species. By animal
standards, humans have remarkably poor fertility.

His
mother cast him a surprised glance at the topic of the presentation
but Tristan kept his eyes on the screen. Savannah was still and
silent, back straight, watching impassively.

Only
one study has so far sought and found evidence that declining sperm
counts are impairing conception rates. For example the study found
that during the six-month period of the study of 430 couples, 65% of
men with sperm counts >40 million/ml impregnated their partners,
while for men with counts 20 or <20 million/ ml were 65.0% and
36.4%. Therefore, having a low sperm count makes you less fertile,
although it does not exclude the possibility that you will impregnate
your partner over a span of time, unless your sperm count is zero.

Mrs.
Carrington sighed deeply looking from her son to Savannah and then
back at the screen.

Therefore,
irrespective of whether sperm counts have decreased, a substantial
number of young men in the next generation have sperm counts within
the ‘sub fertile range'. Yet even the relevance of this has
been challenged, despite the fact that one in seven couples
experience ‘infertility' problems—that is, no pregnancy
after 12–18 months of trying—and that in at least half of
these cases, the problem is identified as a ‘male factor': most
commonly a low sperm count.

This
raises the frequently overlooked point that infertility involves two
people. Male factor issues such as low sperm count have to be seen in
the context of female fertility, which is unarguably also on the
decline for social and career reasons; this is reflected in the
progressive increase in age at first pregnancy across the developed
world.