Summer woke up to her boyfriend vomiting in the bathroom. This wasn’t the first time, but this was the first time she considered calling it quits. She lay there planning her exit —maybe crashing with her friend Sophia, maybe move back home. He had a habit of staying out late with his boys — sometimes sneaking out when she went to bed. She had the misfortune of having to go to bed early most nights to get up early and make a long commute to teach third graders, and he took advantage of this schedule far too many times, and on this particular night, she worried he’d done it again.
"Motherfucker," she said before rolling out of bed.
Summer busted through the bathroom door. He was doubled over the toilet.
"Really, Chris? Four in the goddamn morning on a Wednesday, and you're drinking?"
"Relax."
"Relax? Fuck you relax. I got work in three hours!"
"I’m sober."
"My ass you are. You swore you'd stop.” She sighed. "You know what? I don't need this."
She was on her way out when Chris jumped after her.
"Babe, I'm not drunk! I swear! Look!"
He pulled her arm back and gestured towards a pregnancy test on the counter. The window showed two lines.
"What the hell is this?"
He swallowed hard. "I'm pregnant."
"Oh, my God."
"I’ve been feeling off lately — I woke up nauseous. Maybe it was the paella, but I thought I'd just take a test to be sure, y'know, catch it early before things get real.”
He couldn't read her. She just stood there.
"Summer?"
She needed to sit. She stumbled towards the bathtub and sat on the edge to steady herself, and covered her face. Chris plopped down beside her. All was quiet. All he could do was offer a blanket statement of reassurance.
"It’s okay. We’ll get through this.”
In response, she lifted her head out of her hands, revealing teary eyes and a big, radiant smile. She reeled him into a forceful hug nearly tipping them in the tub.
"We're having a baby!" she screamed. "We're gonna have a baby!"
She was beside herself, completely giddy. Unbeknownst to Summer, Chris had a sunken expression hidden behind her.
"Yes," he said. "Yes, we are."
"God fucking damn it.”
"There goes the season."
"There goes my parlays."
"We just hit that ten game win streak too."
"Fuck."
It was Thursday night, and on Thursday nights, Chris hung out with the boys. The boys, or rather, the "pregger boyz,” as they called themselves now that they were all pregnant, were in the middle of their weekly book club meeting where they discussed books. They used to do it over six-packs, blunts, and whatever game was playing, but now that they were preggers, it was just the books and a game. They had just finished their Tom Clancy series, which they agreed was "fucking sick” and "totally bad ass.” This Thursday, they started their Chuck Palhniuk series with Fight Club. Unfortunately, the meeting was spoiled by the loss of their beloved Lakers. They not only lost their game against the Spurs, but also their star player for the rest of the season due to pregnancy.
"Our boys found their chemistry! Now, this bullshit?” said Knox.
"That motherfucker needs to keep his dick closed. Save the baby shit for retirement,” added Earl.
Friends since middle school, the boyz were close but were at different points in their lives and pregnancies. Knox was the manager of a weed shop and a self-proclaimed "bad boy” in his youth and still held onto that image even as he approaches his thirties. He was in his second trimester with his second kid and bulging out of his sagging baggy jeans and paternity wife-beater.
Earl was the balding, rotund IT specialist who was always getting himself into get-rich-quick schemes. Quick to fall in love with any woman who gives him the least bit of attention, he was pregnant with his third kid from a third woman.
Derek was the business professional working in fin-tech, who was due any day with his second daughter with his high school sweetheart. He was also a former coke addict. The other boyz dabbled in cocaine, but never had to go to rehab for their habit.
Lastly, there was our hero, Chris, an aspiring singer, a budtender at Knox’s shop, and currently wanting to do nothing more than chug a pint of cold beer to calm his nerves upon finding out he was pregnant.
"Well, anyways, fuck the Lakers, but how about that fucking ending to Fight Club?” asked Earl.
"That shit was so dope! The explosions and shit! Project Mayhem was the bomb!” added Knox.
"Literally.” said Earl. "But did the narrator really have to get an abortion to get rid of Tyler Durden?”
"Yeah, that shit was gay as fuck,” said Knox.
"For real. Be a fucking man, make a baby, and make a fight club for babies.”
“Hell yeah. That shit would be dope as fuck. Knox Jr. would totally fuck a baby up,” said Knox laughing as he dabbed up Earl.
"Yeah, but I think the narrator had to abort the baby or else his baby would also have a Tyler Durden situation because of genetics and shit,” said Chris. "It was about sacrificing his life of being a dad to a special-needs kid to continue his independent lifestyle free from commercialism. He didn’t want to be a slave to his family because then he would have to buy shit from Disney and McDonald’s, but he was over capitalism and stuff.”
"Oh, word?” said Knox. "Well, the whole time I was reading this shit, I just kept thinking about how I wanted to go all out like Tyler Durden and eat ribs and drink sake bombs like we used to. That’s my Project Mayhem.”
"Amen to that. But let’s hear some other voices. What the fuck, Derek? Get off the phone.”
Derek was preoccupied, his phone glued to his ear.
"Sorry, it's Michelle," he said before putting his phone away.
Knox made a whipping gesture. The boyz laughed.
"You tell her it's book club night?" asked Earl.
"You think she gives a shit?"
"My fucking bitch too. She can have her girl’s night and get fucked up, but I can't spend one fucking night talking books with my boyz when I gotta carry this load?" asked Earl, gesturing at his very pregnant belly.
"Girls are so privileged," said Knox.
"I'll drink to that," said Earl.
The boyz laughed and drank their zero-percent Heinekens with a heavy groan acknowledging the lack of alcohol in their drinks.
"You ready for all this, Chris?” asked Earl.
Chris replied, "I think I am. I mean, Summer's the one I wanna be with, so why not start a family?” The other pregger boyz shared a knowing glance then snickered.
"What's so funny?" asked Chris.
"It's easy to think like that, but being in the middle of it is a whole other animal," warned Earl.
"What do you mean?"
"Your life as you know it is gone."
The boyz glared at Chris with foreboding until Chris laughed to break the tension.
"I can't say I believe that. I mean, look at us. We still fuck around. We still have a good time."
"Are you fucking serious, bro?" asked Knox.
"What?" responded Chris.
"What the fuck are we drinking?" asked Knox, holding up his bottle of non-alcoholic beer.
"Why aren't we smoking like we used to?"
"Or snorting lines?" added Derek. "Although I still do that shit when I'm on business trips."
They laughed.
"We gotta give that stuff up eventually," said Chris.
"Yeah, but not now. We're still in our primes, baby!" said Earl.
"You still want to be a singer?" asked Derek.
"Of course. I told you, right? I got an audition to be on The Voice," said Chris.
"Well, you better kiss that dream goodnight," said Derek.
"I can do both at the same time.”
"Yeah, sure, but... you won't. You'll get tired. You'll get sick. All your time will be spent on the kid. That is, if you wanna be a good father, and that's what you want, isn't it, Chris?"
"Yeah. I mean, yeah," said Chris unconvincingly.
Derek stared off into the distance, lost in a thought. "Did I ever tell you I was this close to being VP?” he asked, pinching his fingers close together. "It was between me and Franklin Vasquez. We were neck and neck. In fact, I was probably a little higher — then Pamela knocked me up, and Vasquez got the fucking bump. Now, I gotta wake up every morning feeling like crap while he gets the corner office."
Derek drained the rest of his non-alcoholic beer.
"It’s a bitch, man. It’s a bitch.”
Chris swallowed, nervous.
"Hey, stop depressing him. It’ll be okay. Sometimes you gotta give up on your dreams and just keep doing shit to distract yourself from the goals you set out for yourself when you were young, dumb, and full of cum. That’s a part of growing up,” said Earl.
“Amen to that,” said Derek and Knox.
Earl sat his book down and leaned in with a scheme.
"Fuck this self-loathing. Let’s get our Tyler Durden on. If we can’t get fucked up proper, let’s get fucked up pregger boyz style.”
The boyz stormed into 7-11, scooping up chips, cookies, jerky, ice cream bars, slushies, and pizza slices to satisfy their cravings. They brought their loot into the car and went to town. Chris stared at them with disgust as they shoveled processed foods down their mouths. He was in the best shape of his life to look his absolute best on The Voice. All that work to act just like a pig. After Knox downed a bag of mini Oreos, he passed them to Chris to partake. Chris took an Oreo from the bag and stared at it anxiously when he was suddenly interrupted by Earl shouting, "Hey! What the fuck!”
The boyz saw what had Earl’s attention to the front of the 7-11 where a very pregnant man was drinking a handle of whiskey.
"Get him!” ordered Earl.
The boyz followed Earl outside the car, pulling the man’s booze away from him.
"What the fuck you doing, bro?” asked Derek. "You fucking bitch-ass baby killer.”
"Let’s kick his ass,” said Knox.
The boyz trounced on the man, shoving him around.
"Chris, take his bottle!” ordered Knox.
With all his might, Chris pulled the bottle away from his grip while the others twisted his arms back.
"Fuck you, bitches! Fuck you! Give me my medicine!” shouted the man before spitting in Knox’s face. "I don’t wanna be a dad! Let me die!”
Knox slugged the man in the face as retribution.
"Hey! Careful. Don’t hurt the baby,” warned Derek as he held the man back.
"Don’t worry, let me get one in,” said Earl before giving him a few punches to the face.
Earl only stopped when Knox grabbed the man by the collar and said, "Oh, fucker pissed on me!”
Knox pulled his fist back for another punch when Derek noticed that might not be piss.
"Wait, no. Motherfucker’s water broke.”
"Oh, fuck! Let’s take him to the hospital.”
The boyz’ mood shifted as their rage transformed to concern.
"Bro, you’re gonna be okay.” Since their car couldn’t fit all of them comfortably, Earl made a suggestion. "We got this, Chris. Take a Lyft back. Go home to your girl.”
The boyz carefully put the pregnant man into Derek’s car, and they peeled out of the parking lot and headed off to the hospital despite the man’s protestations.
Chris stood there all alone in the empty lot with the tiny Oreo in one hand and the handle of whiskey in the other. He requested a Lyft, then sat down on the curb imagining himself having a fight like the narrator and Tyler Durden. He wanted their freedom — to engage with the brutality of their manhood, but he was all alone. He tossed the Oreo into his mouth and stared at the bottle in his hand.
On the living room sofa, Summer set aside her parenting book to check the time on her phone — 3:43 AM turning to 3:44 — just as Chris stumbled into their apartment with an unsteady stagger, a greasy bag of tacos, and a can of Coke. Upon seeing Summer, he greeted her with a hello as he struggled to kick off his shoes. She ignored him and turned the page of her book.
"What?" asked Chris.
She didn't respond, so he asked again. "What?"
Summer closed her book and lay down on the sofa facing away from him.
“I'm sorry I'm late. We were in deep discussion about Project Mayhem, and—”
He stopped talking when he noticed Summer sniffing the air.
"It's tacos. You want one?"
She sat up and sniffed more intensely.
"Asshole!" she screamed.
"What?"
"You drank!"
"Yeah! Heineken Zero!"
"That's not Heineken. That's the hard stuff!"
"Oh, for Christ’s sake, it was one drink."
"One drink? Are you fucking insane? You're killing our baby! You want that?"
Chris stayed silent. Summer decided a slap would be an appropriate response.
"What the fuck?! You're slapping a pregnant dude?!"
"You just admitted you're trying to kill our baby!"
"I didn't say shit."
"What the hell's the matter with you?"
"Nothing. I just... I can't do this, Summer."
"Fine, we’ll talk tomorrow."
"No, you don’t understand,” he said. "I mean, this. I'm not about to abandon my dreams for a kid."
"Singers have children all the time. Look at Jay-Z. Elton John."
"They've already made it big. I'm at the beginning. Then it's nine months of hell plus recovery plus raising the freaking thing—how am I going to have time to go to gigs? Or make a record while I'm still in my prime?"
"You spend your time wisely. No more book clubs. Certainly, no more drinking."
"So, I can't let loose with my friends now?"
"I'm saying you have to make compromises."
"Then I compromise this kid."
"Jesus, Chris!”
"What?”
"Fine. You want that, fine."
"Really?" asked Chris.
"Look, I'm not against abortion, but I swore I'd never be with someone who'd get one with my child."
"So, you're saying I can't decide what I want to do with my body?"
"You know I can't do that."
"Then what are you saying?"
"I'm saying it's either me and the baby or just you."
Chris took a moment to consider. Seeing him conflicted, Summer couldn't help but reach for him. She rested her hand on his cheek.
"You're just scared, Chris. And it's okay. Pregnancy is a scary fucking thing."
"But I don't want to be scared."
"That's why I'm here. To help you through this."
He stared into her loving eyes, considering her words, but couldn't hold her gaze.
"You have no idea. No fucking clue," he said.
"Chris—"
Not wanting to hear another word, he slapped her hand away.
"I'm serious. You have no idea what it's like to be a man. All the sacrifices we have to make!"
"Sacrifices? A woman gets paid 80 cents for every dollar a man makes. Every President has been a man. Phones are designed for men. Did you know women are 50 percent more likely to suffer a severe injury in a car crash because safety features are designed for men?"
"Yeah, because we give birth!"
"No, Chris. It's because we live in a male-dominated society where women are second-class citizens."
"What do you expect? If you were able to conceive, it'd be the opposite."
"Right."
"I'm serious! There's no doubt in my mind that women would get all the benefits men get if they had to endure the pain and suffering men have to. But you have to wake up, Summer. These are the cards we're dealt. I was born a man with the biological ability to reproduce, so please don't give me that crap about women being second to men."
Summer couldn't take it anymore. She feld to the bedroom.
All Chris could say was, "Fuck me."
In their bedroom, he found Summer digging through the drawers and stuffing clothes into a duffel bag.
"Hey, look. I'm sorry," he said.
"Don't be," she responded, and she didn't seem all that mad. "You know, my dad... He almost made it pro, but my mom knocked him up, and he had to hang up his spikes."
"You never told me that."
"Why would I? I ruined his life."
"Don't say that."
"It's true," she said. "How could a pregnant man be an NFL middle linebacker?"
Chris nodded, knowing it was true.
"Chris. If I could carry our baby instead of you, I would. A million times out of a million."
"I appreciate the sentiment, but that won't ever happen."
"I know," she said. "But I can't help imagining it. Having a baby inside me. Being close with it until it comes out and makes me the happiest person in the world."
Chris smiled at the hypothetical situation.
"That sounds kind of nice," he said.
"It can be," she said. "For you."
Chris gulped, hoping it would swallow up his nerves. Summer took his hand in hers.
"I know I'll never truly understand what it's like to be pregnant or all the sacrifices you have to make. But I want you to know that I love you more than anything, and I'll support you no matter what you decide."
Chris teared up—probably for the first time since he was a kid. Sheepishly, he asked, "Have you thought of any names?"
She smiled. They shared a deep, loving kiss.
After, Chris stared into her eyes and said, "You know, maybe your dad chose to raise you because he loves you. Because he knew you were worth more than a dangerous career like football."
This made her cry.
"You're going to be a great father."
"You're going to be a wonderful mother."
They both looked down at Chris's belly, hands clasped together over it. Chris took the moment to speak to the baby for the first time.
"I hope you'll love us as much as we love you, baby."
Chris sang a lullaby to his baby with the most beautiful angelic voice that would easily make The Voice judges turn their chairs around to face him.