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  She raised her head just the slightest bit, looking up at me through her lashes, and my breath vanished. I didn’t know where it went. It was just stolen from me. She looked like something out of heaven, or a fairy tale, something more than this world. I wanted to kiss her right then, desperately so, but we had a ceremony to get through first.

  My bride-to-be took her spot beside me and I tried hard to pay attention to what was being said rather than just staring at her like an idiot. I wasn’t sure that I completely succeeded.

  After we kissed and the audience applauded, I whispered to her, “I am so fucking happy that I answered Mary’s text.”

  Jessica grinned at me in response.

  The reception was held inside, since there had been a prediction of rain, and there was room on the dance floor for everyone. But first, there was dinner. Jessica had insisted on everyone sitting down and enjoying the meal rather than fending for themselves at the buffet, and I had agreed.

  Then, it was time for my speech.

  I stood up, clinking my knife against the side of my glass.

  “If you could all settle down for a second? I know, the cake’s going to be delicious, but you’re not getting any until I get to talk about how awesome I am.”

  There was laughter, and I relaxed a little. I had been worried about that—some of Jessica’s family were here that I’d never met before, and I was concerned that they would mistake my humor for genuine arrogance.

  “As you’ve probably figured out by now,” I began, “I’m madly in love with Jessica. But what most of you may not know is how we met, which was through a mistake. I used to have a side job showing women who needed to relax a good time. Mary knew about this, and asked me to work for her friend Jessica, who was experiencing some stress.”

  I had modified the details of our meeting a bit, just like Jessica had done with her parents, in order to protect Jessica’s privacy. I probably deserved to have all of my dirty laundry out in the open, but she didn’t. Although she was now happily getting orgasms on a regular basis, I knew that now wasn’t an appropriate time to bring that up.

  “Here’s where the mistake comes in—I said yes, even after Mary told me that Jessica wouldn’t know the real reason why I was meeting with her. Previously, all my other clients had known that I was being hired to spend time with them and show them all the best spots in the city. Jessica, however, thought I was just a nice guy who’d been stood up and needed a replacement date.

  “It was wrong of me to lie to her like that, and eventually, like all liars, I was found out. Those of you who know Jessica—and there are a great many of you here tonight—know that honesty is her first and best policy. So, you can imagine her reaction when she found out the truth.”

  There were some chuckles from the audience, mostly people who hadn’t been at Mary’s wedding that night and so were probably imagining a much more hilarious scenario where Jessica punched me or did something equally violent that I no doubt deserved.

  “But here’s the thing about Jessica—she is the kindest person I know. Did you all know that she got into the cosmetics business because she wants everyone to feel beautiful for who they are? Did you know that she promotes the idea that women should do themselves up for themselves first, and others second, and that you should love yourself no matter what?

  “Did you know that when she was told by previous boyfriends that she wasn’t good enough, she went out of her way to find all the ways that she could make the relationship better for them, instead of just giving up, like I know many of us would have?

  “She has forgiven me for what I did, the mistake that I made. That, I think—more than anything—shows her loving heart. She is always the one taking care of her friends. She organizes the parties, plans the trips, holds them when they’re sad, and, of course, celebrates fully with them when they’re happy. She’s the most giving person that I know, and that’s why I try to spoil her rotten, so that we can even the scales up a bit.

  “So, while you all will be toasting to the both of us—and I’d like to think that you should, because we work well together and make each other happy, and we’ll continue to do so for the rest of our lives—let’s take a moment to raise our glasses to Jessica.”

  I raised my glass and everyone followed suit.

  “To Jessica,” I said, “And the best mistake that I ever made.”

  Jessica stood up then, kissing me before I could take a sip of champagne.

  “I love you,” she whispered.

  “I love you too,” I replied, meaning it even more now than I had back when I had first said it.

  I hadn’t thought that it was possible for our love to grow even more, but it did, little by little, every day.

  I couldn’t wait to see how much more I loved her fifty years from now.

  The End

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  Lucky Baby

  Layla Valentine

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  Copyright 2017 by Layla Valentine

  All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part by any means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the explicit written permission of the author.

  All characters depicted in this fictional work are consenting adults, of at least eighteen years of age. Any resemblance to persons living or deceased, particular businesses, events, or exact locations are entirely coincidental.

  This work was previously published as Jay’s Lucky Baby

  Chapter One

  Lauren

  I tighten my hold on the railing and press myself against the hard metal. Hong Kong’s skyscrapers glint under the sun, seeming as if they were made out of fire themselves. A warm breeze hits my face and I close my eyes. With the cruise ship gaining speed under my feet, I’m flying.

  “Enjoying yourself?” an unfamiliar voice asks.

  I start and turn to see a middle-aged woman wearing a baseball cap and holding some kind of fruity cocktail. I feel my cheeks redden. Was my enjoyment of the moment that obvious?

  “Sure.” I grin sheepishly.

  She smiles knowingly. “Get it, girl. Live it up, while you can. One day you’ll be my age, wondering where all the good times went.” She gives me a wink and ceremoniously sips her drink.

  I try not to laugh. “You’re American.”

  “So are you.”

  “Yeah, but…did you know that before you talked to me? How did you know I would speak English?”

  With my black hair and pale skin, people have been coming up to me and speaking in Cantonese all week long.

  “I didn’t, hon. I just hoped you would.”

  I glance back at the shrinking city. With the sun getting lower in the sky, the blinding light seems to be getting even brighter. I blink and turn away from the railing.

  “I’m Lauren.”

  “Donna. From Florida. Nice to meet you.” She extends a tanned hand and I shake it.

  “You’re not here all by yourself, are you?” Donna asks. “Where’s your boyfriend?”

  I suppress a laugh. “I’m here with my parents.”

  “No boyfriend?”

  “No boyfriend,” I confirm.

  “But you’re so pretty.”

  “Thanks,” I say uncertainly.

  “You have a northern accent. Let me guess where you’re from…New York?”

  “Right on the first try,” I admit with a grin.

  “Are you here looking for a boyfriend? Because, you know, they call Ma
cau the Vegas of Asia. You could get yourself a rich boyfriend there.”

  “My parents would love that,” I reply sarcastically.

  Donna chuckles and swats at my arm.

  “Lauren!”

  I turn at the sound of my mother’s voice. Still yards away, she’s striding down the deck with her scarf billowing around her neck and her hips swaying. She could have been a supermodel, but instead, she went to school and became an accountant. Still, regardless of her job, she has gorgeous skin. We look more like sisters than we do mother and daughter.

  Mom places her hand on my shoulder. “Who’s your new friend?”

  “Donna Tuttle. Nice to meet you.”

  They lightly shake hands and I can see Mom studying Donna, trying to figure out whether she’s appropriate company for me or not.

  I suck in my lower lip and hold back a sigh. I’ve been out of school for only two weeks, and already, I feel like I’m ten years old again. My parents are always there, waiting to pass judgment, waiting to make decisions for me. Waiting to decide my destiny.

  Mom turns back to me. “It’s almost dinner time.”

  “Okay. I’ll be right there.”

  Donna looks confused. “Oh, goodness. I thought they weren’t serving for another hour.”

  Mom coolly smiles. “We like to freshen up beforehand.”

  She may not have ended up walking runways, but Mom always treats every event like we keep company with royalty. To her, this isn’t a little cruise between Hong Kong and Macau. It’s the Titanic, and we’re about to have dinner at the captain’s table. Retiring to our rooms and tying on our best pearls and diamonds pre-caviar is of utmost importance.

  I say goodbye to Donna, telling her I hope to see her again, and follow my mother to our cabins. It’s a short cruise—just overnight—but my parents managed to book us two separate cabins. I get dressed in the flowered cocktail dress and nude heels that I know Mom and Dad want me to wear, and freshen up my makeup.

  When I come out of my room, both my parents are in the hall, the perfect picture of a happy, middle-aged couple. They both look me up and down and give nods of approval.

  Mom beams in my direction. “I knew that dress would suit you perfectly.”

  I smooth down the pleats of the brightly colored dress and give her a smile. She bought it for me before I got home from college, and while I don’t know how much it cost, I’m sure it wasn’t cheap. I don’t follow fashion at all, but even I would be a doofus to not know the designer whose name is sewn into the collar.

  We make our way to the dining room, where dozens of white tablecloth-clad, circular tables are placed around the room. A string quartet plays on a small stage, and waiters in bowties scurry around with bottles of wine. I settle into my seat and lay my napkin across my lap. The number of utensils laid out next to my plate hints at a five-course dinner.

  I stay silent while my parents peruse the wine list and discuss the pros and cons of vintage bottles. I left my phone in my cabin, and I desperately wish I hadn’t. It’s only been a little over a week since I’ve seen my best friend, Willow, but I already miss her desperately. Just a quick ‘hey’ from her would be well appreciated.

  “We’ll have the Malbec,” Dad tells the waiter, who gives a nod and takes the wine menu from him.

  The bottle order and the soup on its way, my parents turn their attention to me.

  “So,” Dad begins, taking a moment to clear his throat before continuing. “How have you liked your graduation trip?”

  I don’t skip a beat in replying. “It’s been amazing.”

  I’m not lying. It really has. When my parents told me they wanted to take me on a weeklong trip to celebrate my graduation from college, I already had a list of destinations in mind—Hawaii, Italy, Costa Rica.

  Hong Kong had never crossed my mind. It was the land of my ancestors, the place my mom’s parents had been born. Though they’d left China when they were in their twenties, immigrating to America and having my mom in New Jersey, I’d never once thought of visiting where they came from.

  Just a week in the city had turned my world upside down. My parents had taken me on trips before, but never to somewhere so exotic. The sounds, the people, the food…even the colors, seemed different. Walking through Hong Kong’s streets, I felt alive in a way I never did in New York.

  The last seven mornings, when I opened my eyes, I actually saw what was in front of me. I wasn’t consumed by thoughts of school, work, relationships, or anything else. I was living in the moment.

  “I wish Pop-Pop and Ma could have come,” I sigh.

  Mom purses her lips in that way that says she’s having an emotional moment, but doesn’t want to show it. “The flight would have been too much for your grandfather.”

  “I know,” I agree. “I can’t wait to show him the sketches I drew, though.”

  Dad gruffly grunts. “Or you can just show him pictures.”

  The heat of oncoming anger flows through me. There’s an aggressive tone to his voice, and I think I know where the conversation is headed. Taking a moment to myself, I take a deep breath before responding.

  “Pop-Pop likes my drawings.”

  “He’s just indulging you,” Dad says dismissively as he busily rearranges the silverware on the table. He’s not looking at me, instead seeming overly-involved in getting his soup spoon exactly where it needs to be.

  I don’t know how to respond to that comment. My face is practically burning now, and my vision swims with tears as the waiter arrives and puts a bowl of some kind of creamed soup in front of me.

  My drawings are good. I know they are. And I’m not just being cocky. I’ve been sketching since the moment I could hold a pencil. My parents used to encourage it, too. When I was a kid—and even in high school—they always bragged to their friends about what a good artist their daughter was.

  But then, once I started college in Connecticut, things changed. It all had to do with my post-college plans. When art was something that I did for fun, everything was hunky dory—but once I started talking about making a career out of it, the shit hit the fan.

  “You have a business degree,” Dad sternly reminds me. “What would be the use in letting that go to waste?”

  I force myself not to laugh out loud over the absurdity of the question.

  “It’s a great degree to have,” I agree. “And it’s going to be perfect for starting my own illustration business.”

  My parents exchange a quick look.

  Dad works his jaw. “You’ve enjoyed this trip, right?”

  “Yes,” I dumbly say, though I’m pretty sure I’ve already said as much.

  “How do you plan on continuing to take these kinds of vacations? This is a graduation present, Lauren. It’s something fun for you to experience before you get serious again and go to grad school.”

  “Dad, I don’t need to go to grad school—”

  He barrels on with his speech. “You can’t make a living drawing pictures for kid’s books. I know that sounds like a great idea right now, especially with your friend Willow living out her ‘creative’ fantasy, but just wait and see what happens. Five years from now, she’s going to be a nobody, living in a shack in Queens. Do you want to end up like that?”

  I’m trying really hard to keep my composure. I am. But my dad just managed to insult not only me, but my best friend as well.

  “Willow is a talented actress,” I say slowly. “And her parents support her.”

  Mom clucks.

  “She’s spoiled,” Dad retorts. “That’s what she is.”

  I spread my hands wide in disbelief. “Why are we talking about this?”

  Mom twists her wedding ring around her finger, something she does when she gets anxious or upset. “Put yourself in our shoes, Lauren. What if you saw your own child going down a path that you know they’re going to regret?”

  I give my answer some careful thought. I don’t want to be disrespectful to my parents, but I also can’t just si
t here and take their belittling anymore. They were the ones who pushed me to go to business school. I was only trying to make them happy. I thought that college would be some kind of compromise. With a business degree under my belt, I could show them that I was focused and savvy enough to go into business as a book illustrator. I could show them that there was a way to incorporate what I wanted with what they thought I needed.

  Now, I see I was wrong.

  It’s bad enough walking through the world feeling like no one is on your side, but with your own parents against you, a somewhat-bad situation can become hell.

  I take another deep breath. Knowing this conversation would come up eventually, I have a monologue prepared.

  “I know it seems unconventional,” I tentatively say, looking from one parent to the other. “But a lot of other people have actually done it. Look at all of the children’s books that are out there, today. A real artist illustrates each one. There really are people making a living off of doing this.”

  My dad, of course, has a rebuttal. “And for every one of them, there are twenty others who aren’t ‘making it’.”

  I sputter in disbelief. “What? Where are you getting this statistic from?”

  “Look around you, Lauren. There are struggling artists everywhere. Our waiter is probably one of them.”

  “I have a plan,” I harshly whisper through gritted teeth. “You know that.”

  Dad drops his voice, as well. “Gallivanting around the world isn’t a plan, dear.”

  “It’s only going to be for a little while. And you know I’m not going to ask you guys for any money. I’ll save more than enough from my summer job. Then, once I’m done traveling some, I’ll come home and get to work on starting my business.”

  Both my parents gaze back at me with unmistakable looks of pity. A lump forms in my throat and falls into my stomach, dragging me down. I’m defeated. There’s nothing I can say. It doesn’t matter how many times I try to tell them that my plan is a viable one. They just don’t want to believe it.