Elizabeth Bevarly - The Perfect Father

“No fever that I can detect,” she told Zoey. “So it must be some kind of psychological trauma.”

“It’s neither,” Sylvie assured them, pushing her sister’s hand away. “I am going to have a baby. In late December. And I don’t know yet who the father is.”

“I’ll get Dr. Clifferman on the phone,” Zoey said as she turned her attention to Olivia. “He’s the best shrink in town. You get the straitjacket. Just don’t make any sudden moves around her.”

“Will you guys knock it off?” Sylvie said. “I’m not crazy. I’m not pregnant yet, either. But I will be soon.”

The other women looked at her again, but this time their commentary was a bit more subdued.

“Why on earth would you want to get pregnant?” Olivia asked. “Trust me, I know what I’m talking about. Those nine months are no picnic in the best of circumstances—let alone when you’re single and have no idea what to expect.”

Sylvie shrugged. “But I want to have a baby.”

“Don’t you think it might help to find a father for this baby first?” Zoey suggested. “And fall in love with him first? And marry him first? That’s the way things traditionally happen, even in this, the very late twentieth century.”

“I’m not a traditional person,” Sylvie said.

“Well, that’s certainly true,” her sister agreed.

“And I have no interest in attaching myself permanently to a guy. They bring nothing but trouble. You, Livy, above anyone, should know that.”

“Hey, what I know is that I’m now married to the most wonderful man in the world and can’t wait to make his children Simon’s siblings,” Olivia told her. She held up a hand to ward off her sister’s objection as she added, “Oh, I won’t deny I made more than a few mistakes before Daniel entered the picture, but... That’s all the more reason to be reassured there’s some perfect guy out there for you, too. Just give it time, Sylvie.”

Sylvie shook her head. “Daniel’s one in a gazillion. There aren’t any others like him in the world. And there certainly isn’t a man in the world who could make me change my mind about staying single. I like being single. But I’d also like to be a mother. Being around Simon has stirred up something inside of me I’ve never felt before. It’s a wonderful feeling, Livy. I know—way down deep in my heart I’m absolutely certain—that I’m destined to be a mother. And I’ll be a good mom, too. I just know I will.”

“We’re not disputing that,” Zoey said, her voice softer now. “You’ll be terrific with kids of your own. It’s this father business we’re worried about.”

Olivia nodded her agreement. “You know how I feel about this, Sylvie. Mine and Daniel’s situation after Simon was born could have filled a book. You have to be careful. Having a child isn’t something you can go into without considering all the repercussions in advance.”

Sylvie lifted her chin defensively. “You did.”

“Yeah, and look how much grief it caused me.”

“But everything turned out with a ‘happily ever after,’ didn’t it?”

She knew Olivia couldn’t dispute that. She and her husband were two of the happiest people Sylvie knew. But there was another, stronger reason she was in such a hurry to become a mother. And, she decided as she thought about it, she supposed Livy and Zoey deserved to know.

“There’s something else,” she finally said quietly. “Something more that makes me eager to have a baby now, as soon as possible. I really don’t have much choice.”

Olivia and Zoey eyed her warily. “Why not?” they asked as one.

Sylvie sighed. She still hadn’t quite come to terms with it herself. “I don’t have much time left to make a baby,” she said.

“Why not?” the other two women repeated.

“I went to the gynecologist last week, and she verified something that she’s suspected for a long time. Evidently I’ve been having some problems with my reproductive plumbing. Dr. Madison seems to think that I’ve only got about a year left that I can truly count on being fertile. After that, it’s going to be increasingly difficult for me to get pregnant. If I’m going to have a baby, I have to do it now. Otherwise, there’s a chance I might never be able to conceive.”

“Sylvie, we need to talk more about this,” her sister said. “And you need to think more about this. Think long and hard before you make a final decision.”

“I’ve already thought about it long and hard,” Sylvie assured the other women. “And I’ve already made my final decision. My baby will arrive just in time for Christmas.”

“And the father?” Zoey asked in a tone of voice that indicated she was no more enthusiastic about Sylvie’s decision than Olivia was.

Sylvie smiled. “I have two whole months to decide who among the men I know will make the best father.”

“Two months,” Zoey repeated, her expression illustrating how crazy she thought the whole idea was.

“Two months,” Sylvie echoed with a decisive nod. “That’s all the time I’ll need to find the perfect father for my child.”

Cosmo’s Bar and Grille had been a downtown Philadelphia fixture for decades, a five-star restaurant known for its continental fare, its soothing peach-and-gray art deco atmosphere and its continual showcase of good jazz music. But those weren’t the only reasons Chase Buchanan liked to frequent the place. As he made himself comfortable at his usual spot at the bar, he caught the bartender’s eye. Without even asking him what he was drinking, she reached for a bottle of expensive single-malt Scotch and splashed a generous portion over ice in a crystal tumbler.

“Hi, Mr. Buchanan,” she said as she placed the glass before him with a cheerful smile.

“Hello, Sylvie,” he replied.

“I was beginning to think you weren’t going to show up tonight. I should have known you were just working late. Again.”

“Sometimes that’s what it takes to get the job done.”

She shook her head slowly, chin-length blond tresses shimmering with the motion. “You work too hard,” she told him bluntly. “People should work to live, not live to work. You ought to stop and count your blessings sometime.”

“Thanks, but I’d rather stop and count my change.”

Sylvie shook her head at him again and simply repeated, “You work too hard.”

Chase could hardly contradict her, not that he wanted to. Ever since he’d left his position as a junior architect of Bulwar-Melton-Jones Associates to start his own firm, he couldn’t recall a moment when he hadn’t had some major project commanding virtually every scrap of his time. BMJ had been a company without foresight, a bunch of old men with absolutely no imagination. He’d joined them immediately after receiving his college degrees and left them less than five years later. In the fifteen years that had followed, he’d made an excellent name for himself in the field of architectural design. His own company was known for its savvy, its cutting-edge timing and its farsighted vision. He had enough going on at any given moment to demand his complete and utter attention.

Buchanan Designs, Inc. meant everything to Chase. He gave 110 percent to his company. And dammit, he didn’t expect any less from anyone who worked for him.

“Yes, well, that’s easy for you to say,” he finally told Sylvie after an idle sip of his drink. “You don’t have to run this place.”

Her smile broadened. “You couldn’t pay me enough to run this place,” she countered. “You couldn’t pay me enough to run any place. I don’t want to be in charge of anything. I don’t want that kind of responsibility. Too much stress. That’ll send you to an early grave faster than anything else will, you mark my words.” She slung a linen towel over her shoulder and reached into the garnish bin to pop an olive into her mouth. “Not only that,” she added carelessly, “but it eats up way too much of your time. There’s a lot more to life than working, you know. And I intend to enjoy every moment of it I can.”