Pipe Dreams

  “Elsa,” he laughed. “I don’t . . .”

  “. . . Know,” she finished. “Got it. There’s a lot you don’t know, though. Just saying.”

  He grinned up at her ceiling. “That’s always been true. Thank you for pointing it out, honey. I love that.”

  “Just doing my job.”

  Mike smiled. “Can we just take it a day at a time, kid? Planning has never really worked for me. But don’t slack off on the French homework because I’m counting on you to ask directions if we get lost in Paris.”

  “I can’t wait to see Cirque du Soleil, and visit all the cafes. And the shops. And the Tour Eiffel.”

  “We’re going to do that right after I win the Stanley Cup, okay?”

  “I thought you didn’t like to make plans,” his daughter teased.

  “Only for that.” He put his fingertips at the side of her ribcage and tickled her.

  She resisted mightily for a moment, until a giggle busted out. “Daddy stop it!”

  “Nope.”

  She shrieked, and he knew she’d be okay.

  • • •

  Two nights later, Lauren, Elsa, and Hans watched from seats just behind the penalty box as Brooklyn lost to Dallas in game three of the finals. Brooklyn took the game all the way into overtime with a 1–1 score, but Dallas got lucky with an unlikely bounce, disappointing all the local fans.

  Lauren missed the next game, because it was on the same evening as her graduation.

  I can’t believe I’m missing your graduation, Mike had texted earlier in the day.

  Honestly, I’d rather watch the game, she replied. But my parents are coming, as is my ninety-year-old grandmother, and I haven’t seen her for months.

  I’ll be thinking about you.

  Don’t! she quickly replied. Think about the puck instead. If you win, I’ll sneak into your house later to help you celebrate.

  And if I lose? :(

  Then you have to sneak into mine. And—hey—I need Castro’s autograph. It’s for the night doorman’s daughter.

  But not my autograph?

  Sure, honey. I’m sure she’d like yours too.

  You’re hard on my ego.

  Even when I’m moaning your name?

  Okay, not then. See you tonight. :)

  As it happened, Brooklyn won game four about an hour after the dean read Lauren’s name. The series was tied 2–2, and the giddiness Lauren felt made it easier to survive a late dinner with her parents.

  “You looked lovely, dear,” her mother said, “even if black isn’t really your color.”

  Lauren took another sip of her water glass, wishing there was Scotch in it. Or maybe tequila. Her mother’s greatest talent was missing the point. The color of her cap and gown couldn’t matter less. She’d put herself through college without their help.

  To celebrate her victory over their lack of generosity with tuition money, her parents had decided to take her out to an insanely expensive restaurant. Her father ordered a pricey bottle of champagne, of which she had three sips because she was not about to disclose her pregnancy. That conversation could wait until her clothes weren’t fitting anymore, or at least until she and Mike figured out how the next few months were going to work.

  After the dessert course, her Katt Phone buzzed with a message. Excusing her rudeness, she checked to find a text from Mike. Don’t come to Brooklyn, I’m coming to you.

  Her chest fluttered with excitement, and suddenly the evening became more bearable. Can’t wait! Good game tonight. Wish I could have seen it.

  You’ll get your own personal highlight reel a little later.

  She smiled and put her phone away. “Brooklyn won game four,” she announced to the table.

  Her father made a sour face. “Fucking miracle, then. The new guy is gonna drive that team right into the ground.”

  Lauren couldn’t guess who he meant by “the new guy” when there were so many possibilities: Nate, who’d fired him, Hugh who’d been promoted into his old job, or Coach Worthington. She didn’t bother to clarify because it was so obvious that her father was a bitter old man. The team had gotten further than anyone expected this year, and would likely kill it next year, too.

  “I’m quite tired,” she said instead of engaging him. “Thank you for this lovely meal, but I think I’ll head home.”

  “Well done, honey,” her elderly grandmother said, nodding sleepily from across the table.

  “Now if only we could find you a nice, available man,” her mother mused.

  “Thank you, gran,” Lauren said, ignoring her mother and rising to leave. “That means a lot.” And now it was really time to make her exit.

  “This is for you,” her father said, pulling an envelope out of his pocket. “Congratulations.”

  “Thank you.” She tucked it into her bag, where her cap and gown had been stuffed after the ceremony. She kissed her parents quickly and went home to wait for Mike.

  • • •

  An hour or so later they lay in a sweaty heap together, catching their breath after an enthusiastic romp on her bed. She kissed the slightly furry centerline of his chest, then laid her cheek on it.

  “When can I get you to marry me?” he asked suddenly.

  Her heart skipped a beat. “You want to get married?”

  “Of course I do.” His hand sifted clumsily through her hair. “But I know some women don’t want to walk down the aisle with a belly. What are your thoughts regarding weddings and baby bumps?”

  “This will be the second time you marry a pregnant wife.”

  He hauled up his chest so he could see her face. “The circumstances couldn’t be more different. I would have married you beforehand if I thought you would go for it.”

  She smiled down at him. “I know. And I don’t like weddings all that much, honestly. They’re so predictable.”

  He let out a bark of laughter. “What do you mean?”

  “White dress. Pachelbel’s Canon in D. Tiered cake. They’re all the same, and yet you can just feel how hard everyone labored to try to make it special.”

  “I love cynical girls.”

  “You must.”

  “What’s the solution, then? You don’t want to get married?”

  “I’d love to be married to you,” she whispered. “I don’t care about the wedding. There’s always Vegas.”

  “God, you’re fun,” he chuckled. “We could do that.”

  “We could let Elsa pick the venue. The fake Eiffel Tower, or in a helicopter, or by Elvis.”

  He snorted. “The power would go right to her head.”

  “I don’t mind. The venue isn’t important to me.”

  “Elsa told me in no uncertain terms that we have to get married.”

  Lauren lifted her head. “Really? Why?”

  His handsome face broke into a smile. “I don’t know her angle, exactly. But I wasn’t going to argue until I spoke to you about it. If you want to elope to Vegas, I’m down with that. Or we could invite our parents.”

  “No.” She snuggled against him again. “Let’s just go the three of us. Right before training camp, maybe?”

  “The four of us,” he corrected, placing a hand on her belly.

  “Aw.” She relaxed against him.

  “Seriously, Lo. I can’t wait to make this promise to you and slip a ring on your finger. It means a lot to me.”

  Her throat got tight. “It will mean a lot to me, too.”

  “I wonder if I’ll be as good at picking out rings as I am at picking out blue dresses? Maybe you should help me. Nobody is more stylish than you.”

  “The design isn’t important,” she said quietly.

  “Aw, I know you love me, Lo. But if you’re wearing it every day until you die, maybe you should approve of the design?”

  “
When you put it that way.” She grinned against his warm skin, and he gave her a pat on the rump. “Hey—you won’t believe what my father gave me for a graduation gift.”

  “What?”

  “A hundred thousand dollar check.”

  Mike made a choking noise. “Your father is such an asshole.”

  “Thank you!” She knew she sounded like the worst stubborn brat on the planet right now, but the man was the worst sort of control freak. “If he’d given me the money when I was eighteen, I would have graduated a decade sooner.” Thinking about it almost made her feel twitchy with anger again. Almost. She couldn’t quite muster up the outrage while Mike stroked her skin with patient hands.

  “You know . . .” He cleared his throat. “That vile man did me a favor, though. If it wasn’t for your long tenure in the front office, I might not have found you.”

  Now there was a freaky idea. “Yes, you would,” she said quickly. “I would have been the manager’s daughter who hung around at home games, instead of the manager’s daughter who ran the front office.”

  “You’re right,” he said sleepily. “That would have been enough.”

  The next sound he made was a snore.

  THIRTY-ONE

  The next morning Lauren woke up to a flurry of texts from Nate. The investment bankers had found a third bidder for Nate’s router division. Nate—and therefore Lauren—was going to see a presentation from the new bidder first thing that morning.

  “Shit,” Lauren said, perched on the edge of the bed.

  “Whassamatter?” Mike asked into the pillow.

  She took a moment to appreciate the geography of his back muscles before answering. “More top secret dealings at the office tower. There goes my idea to ask Nate for a day off so I could fly out to see game five.”

  He lifted his chin and squinted at her. “Bummer, honey. I’ll miss you, but you gotta do what you gotta do.” That handsome face dropped into the pillow again.

  She crawled onto the bed and kissed the back of his neck. “It’s been fun to be your fan girl again.”

  “I’d love to see your pretty face in Dallas. But I have a weird job, babe. It’s not always going to be convenient.” He reached out and took her hand in his warm one. “I’ll take what you can give me and be happy.”

  She lay down beside him again, if only for another minute.

  He rolled and curved his body around hers. “When are you going to tell Nate you’ll need a maternity leave?”

  “I don’t know. Soon, I guess?”

  “Are you worried about his reaction?”

  “Not at all. I just want to be sure the pregnancy takes before I talk about it. Telling Nate will be fine. He’ll stop trying to transfer me to California.”

  “What’s that?” Mike lifted his head off the pillow.

  “Nate offered me a pretty cool job in Silicon Valley. I keep putting him off.”

  “Are you thinking about taking it?”

  “No! Not happening.”

  “Is that a problem, though?”

  She shook her head. “I was never going to California. I want to be here. There’s you, there’s the pretty damned good job I already have. And my family, not that they’re at the top of my list. But even when I was planning to have a baby without you, I knew I’d need my family nearby.”

  He was quiet for a moment. “You never told me about the California job.”

  “That’s because it’s not interesting to me unless I’m both single and childless.”

  Mike kicked a leg over her hip, pulling her closer. “I don’t want you to be either of those things.”

  “Me neither, then.”

  • • •

  She had a long day at work, which stretched into the evening. Lauren had been assigned the task of “bullshit-proofing” the new bidder’s claims about its company.

  “Didn’t the bankers do their due diligence?” she asked Nate.

  “Yeah, up to a point. But they want the fee, right? I want you to go over their claims of market dominance and see if anything looks too good to be true. I’m going to take a look at their technical specs.”

  “All right. Sure.” It was the second time in as many weeks that she’d been asked to perform a task above her pay grade. She was glad Nate had begun to trust her with more interesting work, but the timing was a little dicey. If he wanted to talk about the California job again soon, she’d have to spill her secret.

  There had been many nights when Lauren worked late, assisting Nate and an analyst or two. This time she was the analyst. They didn’t leave the office until ten, and Lauren went in at seven thirty the next morning because she knew Nate had to leave early.

  He took several meetings that morning, then sat following up with Lauren in his office. “Let’s go over the financials before I go. I called a car to take me to the airport at two thirty.”

  “Okay.” Lauren felt a pang of jealousy. A big one. Nate was flying out on his Gulfstream just in time to see game five, and coming home again in the morning. And she wasn’t. Her tentative plan to surprise Mike in Dallas had been sidelined by the new bidder.

  “If we can’t get through it all now, we could talk on the phone before the game starts. Or we could Skype tomorrow morning,” her boss suggested.

  “Or . . .” She spoke before she could second-guess herself. “. . . on the jet. I could ride along to Dallas.”

  Nate’s eyes widened.

  “Never mind,” she said quickly. “We can Skype.” She and Nate were close but it was a little audacious to invite herself along on his charter jet.

  “No,” he said, rising from his chair. “I love this idea. I’m just surprised. Didn’t think you were still watching hockey. I haven’t seen you in the box lately.”

  “What? You mean you don’t know every gossipy detail about my personal life?” she teased. “I flew to Detroit for game seven with Mike’s daughter. And I’ve been watching from his comp seats.”

  This drew a Nate smirk from her boss. “Reallly.”

  “Go ahead and gloat.”

  “Oh, I will. You don’t have a change of clothes for Dallas, though. I know how that goes against every fiber of your being.”

  “It will be fine.”

  He snapped his laptop shut and shoved it into its case. “Let’s go now. We’ll swing by your place and then hop onto the FDR.”

  “You really don’t have to . . .”

  “I know. But this gives me even more time to gloat. Let’s go, hockey lover. Don’t forget to bring some face paint. I could help you put Beacon’s jersey number on each cheek.”

  “That is not happening.”

  “You want a lift to Dallas or not?”

  “Fine, but you’re getting painted, too.”

  “Am not.”

  “Are so.”

  They argued all the way to the elevators.

  • • •

  When they reached the charter terminal, Lauren was astonished to see Becca waiting there. “Hey! If we’re both here, who’s minding the team in Dallas?”

  Becca gave an oddly self-conscious shrug. “The intern Nate stapled to my hip is surprisingly competent. We sent her ahead because I had a therapy session this morning.”

  “How’s that going, anyway?”

  Becca dropped her voice. “Really well, honestly. I feel so much better. I don’t tire as easily, and my headaches have stopped. These new doctors are amazing, but don’t tell Nate I said so.”

  “He’ll gloat.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Ladies? Shall we?” Their fearless leader escorted them onto the sleek little jet. There were only a few seats, as well as a conference table.

  “Where shall I set up?” Lauren asked. “You want to finish our debrief, right?”

  Nate frowned. “Sure. Let’s take the table.” Lau
ren sat down on one side, with Nate opposite.

  Becca set herself up in one of the plush chairs and pulled out a copy of Vanity Fair. Lauren didn’t quite understand the purpose of Becca’s trip to Dallas. But, hey, it made her own hitchhiking a little less weird.

  She and Nate worked for a good hour and a half until the lone flight attendant announced that she would serve dinner soon. Lauren had been smelling food for the past half hour, and it was strangely unappealing. Her stomach felt sour, which was odd. Flying had never bothered her before.

  “To start I can offer you Caesar salad or gazpacho,” the flight attendant said. “Then, would you prefer the crab cakes, the chicken parmesan, or the Thai beef?”

  Nate and Becca ordered, but Lauren tried to wave her off. “I’m really not hungry this evening. Thank you.”

  “We won’t get to the rink until it’s ten P.M. New York time,” Becca pointed out. She and Nate were staring at her.

  “Um, I’d love a roll with butter,” Lauren said slowly. Bread was the only thing that appealed to her at the moment. Even the salad sounded wrong. “And maybe I’ll try the gazpacho.”

  “Certainly.”

  Becca sat down at the table beside Nate, who put away his computer. The flight attendant offered everyone wine, and nobody accepted. Lauren was glad that she rarely drank at work functions. It would make her pregnancy-induced sobriety seem less peculiar.

  Unfortunately, when the food was delivered, Lauren’s queasiness did not improve.

  Nate had asked for the Thai beef. It looked beautiful—slices of meat over a bed of noodles, bright green snow peas mixed in. But the scent just hit Lauren all wrong. She broke off a bite of bread and buttered it. She put it in her mouth and chewed.

  A moment later, the flight attendant opened the door to the little galley kitchen and all the food smells intensified.

  Suddenly there was too much saliva in Lauren’s mouth. With shaking hands she shoved her seatbelt off. Bile began to climb her throat as she slid out of the seat and dove toward the jet’s bathroom.

  She made it just in time, slamming the little door and sliding the lock which activated the lights. Miraculously, she hit the toilet dead center, vomiting up what little was in her stomach.