"Did you know that there's a birth every seven seconds in the United States? The population of California alone is nearly 40 million. When I hear stats like that, I can't help but feel so fuckin'...claustrophobic... That's why I'm not having any kids. There's too many damn people on this planet taking up all the air... it just wouldn't be fair to them, right?"
-Aaron

SAN FRANCISCO, 2004

Aaron Whitman ran a hand through his long, dark hair and shuffled sleepily to the kitchen. Another long night hunched over his laptop had him exhausted, but somehow his body clock always woke him up at 6.30 in the morning to prepare him for the run around Marina Green Park. He stretched absently, hoping that the park would be nice and empty, so he could sweat out the frustration of the writers block he was currently suffering from.

That would mean a lot of sweat, because Aaron was in a world of frustration. At 30 years old, He was sick of foraging a living writing stuffy, uptight book reviews about, stuffy, uptight piece-of-shit books, for the stuffy, uptight readers of Senior Living magazine; so he'd cut down on his freelance work and had set about finishing his own as yet untitled work of fiction, an action adventure set in New York City.

It meant a foreseeable future of living off of Ramen noodles and handouts from his friends, but interest in the initial manuscript had been good.
He was right in the middle of his second draft, and the shit hit the fan.

The words had just ...deserted him. He'd sit and brainstorm on the sticking points of his plotline, but it was like passing a fucking kidney stone...

Leaning forward to grab his ankle and loosen up his hamstring, Aaron's boyish features formed an unconscious frown. It was no wonder he couldn't get his creative juices to flow when he had lost his muse so suddenly. Jasmine Green, his girlfriend of nearly three years, had called it quits with him about six weeks ago.

Well, six weeks, four days, nine hours to be exact...
Not that he was counting or anything.

After three years of putting up with his shit-his outrageous flirting, potty mouth, erratic income, and incurable weakness for partying, Jasmine had flipped out and packed her bags over Aaron accidentally setting off a smoke alarm.

A fucking smoke alarm!

"In hindsight, I probably shouldn't have tried to make eggs at two in the morning, especially after a night playing cards with the boys," Aaron thought, flexing his quadriceps slowly, " and especially not when Jazz had an early job interview the next day...which I would have remembered about if I had picked any one of the six messages she left on my voicemail... while she was waiting for me outside the movie theatre, in the rain..."

He winced at the memory of her quietly packing her suitcase while he drunkenly tried to tickle her out of her grouchiness.
"Lighten up Jazz," he'd slurred, "it's just a little bit of smoke. We can open the windows..."

"It's not just that, Aaron," she said, angrily, "I wanted a good night's sleep. I need to get this job tomorrow!"

"Why are you stressing?" he shrugged. "It's filing in an office, not brain surgery, you'll be fine..."

"Don't you get it? This job is going to help cover the bills. We have to have a realistic plan to keep our heads above water and you're just...floating along, getting tipsy with your roll dawgs on poker night!"

Aaron swayed a little, reaching into his back pocket, "But Jazz, guess what? We won, honey-200 bucks!"
He threw the bills into the air and laughed, an annoying, drunken snicker, "Having a high roller as a best friend is so awesome. Especially if he stinks at cards..."

Jasmine watched the money float to the floor. Her shoulders seemed to slump in defeat and she threw the last of her things into the suitcase.

"I have to get out of here, before I lose my mind," she'd said, shaking her head.

"Oh come on sweetheart," Aaron whined.

"Don't ‘come on' me! You don't even care that I'm trying to think ahead...that I'm trying for us! I've put my dreams, my career on hold to support you..."

"Ohhhh, now we're getting to it. Your script got rejected months ago but you put your career on hold for me??"

"Not rejected, returned with suggestions!"

Aaron spread his arms wide, "Yeah, ok... whatever makes you feel good, Jazz! Ya know, we decided that it was time to work on my book, you and me together, and you know it. I understand its fustr...frusta...it's tough, and money is a little tight now. But it will be worth it when I get published."
He hiccupped loudly for emphasis, and Jasmine eyed him with pursed lips.
"And when exactly are you working on your writing again?" She asked. "Tomorrow? Next week? Six months from now? Or are you just planning on taking money from Perry Thompson for the next five years?"

"Hey, hey...don't bring Perry into this! Ok, so... he has a little more bank than me right now, and yeah, he's spotted me a couple of loans - so what? I'd do the same for him in a heartbeat and he knows it. I'm not gonna apologize for having good friends, Jasmine."

"And I'm not saying you should! I just...I want to know when you're going to grow up, Aaron!"

He had squinted his eyes, "God, what is with you?? These days it's like you're pissed all the time..."

She had banged the case shut angrily, "Because I am! I have to stay mad at you because it's easier than admitting how...sick and tired I am..."
She burst into frustrated tears, "And I truly am-I'm so tired of this..."

Aaron had to take a moment to process what was happening. He ran a hand through his hair, and knelt in front of her. "Baby? Oh come on, Baby....don't cry. I'm sorry, ok? I'm sorry..."
Jazz really wasn't a Cryer... was he really that terrible a boyfriend?

Her tears had alarmed him, throwing a jolt of guilt through his booze filled brain. "Come here sweetie," He soothed, "it's ok..."

She accepted his embrace reluctantly at first, but he knew eventually that, if he stroked the back of her neck just right, she would thaw out even more. After a few minutes of apologizing he was very nearly back in her good graces. But unfortunately the Hennessy was still controlling his speech.

"You know, if you're tired, daddy bear knows a way to get us both to sleep..." He whispered, his hands roving up the oversized tee that she wore.

"Whit! For God's sake!" Jasmine slapped angrily at his fondling.

"What?? You usually love the nookie, especially if you're a little mad."

"You're a real pig sometimes, you know that? But right now you're being a drunken, sloppy pig, which is even worse!"

"Alright fine!" he stood up, full of bravado; "I'm a pig - oink fuckin' oink! You wanna be all PMS-y about it, I'll take the sofa!"
Grabbing a pillow off the bed, he'd staggered towards the door, "And by the way, I didn't even ask you to go for that fuckin' job! I don't need you to baby me Jazz, so if it's stressing you out so much being here, maybe you should just go!"

Yeeeah. That had not been his finest hour...

Morning had come, he'd sobered up, and Jasmine had taken his advice. He had been so convinced she was bluffing that he didn't call her for a couple of days. When he did, she wouldn't speak to him, and the reality that she was serious began to hit home. he bombarded her cell with text messages, voicemails and phone calls trying to convince her to come back to him.
"Jazz you know I love you, and I didn't mean any of it. I really am sorry..."

His ardent pleas had gone on into the night. Eventually, her Mom picked up the cell and told him, chapter and verse, what she thought of his "Sorry, triflin' ways."

"No child of mine is gonna put up with your bullshit, Aaron" she finished. "Now, I'm gonna pray for you, like I always do. But, do not call Jasmine any more."

Aaron decided to try her parent's house phone instead, in the hope that she'd pick up. That was a fuckin idiotic idea. All he got was her big, bad, extremely protective father.
"Hang up the phone, Aaron," Mr. Green said, calmly, "Hang up and walk away, or you will find me at your door, where I'll have no problem breaking my foot off in your ass."

That had stopped him for a couple of days. By time he'd built his courage back up to try again, Jazz had called him to tell him it was definitely over.

*****************

Aaron would be the first to admit that there were times when he had just stunk as a boyfriend. If you wanted someone who could make you laugh till it hurt, could quote Chaucer, Mark Twain, Ice Cube, or Steven Segal with equal efficiency, was great eye candy and loved to kiss you on the lips that don't smile, (for as long as you wanted, by the way), then he was Man of The fucking Year.

But... he was kind of flaky about the other, small stuff; the stuff that seemed to annoy the hell out of his exes--like remembering anniversaries. Or falling asleep on the sofa playing Halo, after promising he'd be in bed to give them a back rub a few hours earlier. Or, insisting that he only wanted to go to Hooters for the fried pickles, then not even making eye contact the whole meal because he was mentally rating all the waitresses on a scale of one to ten....

In short, Whit was a guy's guy.
But, somehow he managed to walk the fine line of bad taste well enough to land the most amazing women as girlfriends. He was, by his own admission, cute, charming and well read; but the females seemed to zero in on a vulnerability that he wasn't even aware that he had.

Once, Jasmine had told him that the first night they met, she saw beauty and sadness in him in equal measure. "By the end of the night it made me want to love you, save you, and screw you," She had confessed.
Aaron was fucked if he knew what that meant. Sure, he'd had a little bit of a hard knock life-- absent Mom, drunken Dad, crappy foster homes and hand-me-down clothes, but shit, that didn't make him Edward fucking Scissorhands. As far as he was concerned that stuff was ancient history and life was great. Whatever it was that Jasmine and all his previous girlfriends had seen in his eyes, had to be partly in their own mind.
But he wasn't about to contradict her....so he'd just smiled his irresistible, innocent smile and gathered her into his arms...

Jasmine. Shit....how could make her see how sorry he was?

Releasing his ankle from the stretch, Aaron flopped onto the sofa and put his head in his hands. He realized he had fucked up, and he wanted her back. Despite the bumps in the road, they had a great relationship. Creatively and intellectually they were perfectly matched. They had time invested in each other. And, he had to admit it; he knew the beautiful planes of her body like the back of his hand.
Before Jasmine, African American women had not really been on his radar relationship-wise; Even though his best friend Perry had been praising their charms since they were both about 12 years old. But something about Jazz had stirred him up immediately from the very first time he saw her.

Aaron wasn't even aware that he heaved a sigh. Jasmine was out of town at her parents, not even sure if she would return to San Francisco. The thought that he might not see her again wasn't something that he cared to think about. They had big dreams to write the great American novel together. Or run away to a chateau in France and make making wine and live off the land. Or move to an island where they could contemplate their existence and run around nude like the kids in that movie... The Blue Lagoon...a pretty hot movie, if you didn't dwell on the incest...

Groaning, Aaron fell back on the sofa, "Come on, Whit! It's too early in the morning to be this fucking depressed! Besides, you've got a deadline to meet and if you don't get this book finished, you won't have a pot to piss in. you'll lose this apartment, and you sure as shit won't get Jazz back then..."

Even after the internal pep talk, he lay staring at the ceiling a moment longer. He was on the verge of giving up on his run and going back to bed, when someone pressed insistently on his doorbell.

"The fuck....?" He murmured.

He glanced at his watch, and the idea that it might Jasmine, coming back to forgive him, fleeted through his mind. But when the person began leaning on the bell again like there was a four-alarm fire, he knew it wasn't Jazz's style.

"Alright, alright! Jesus Christ..." He muttered angrily, as the annoying buzzer continued. At 6.45 there damn sure had better be an axe murderer chasing whoever it was, for them to be abusing his doorbell like that! He thumbed the deadbolt, knowing full well that only Perry would have the cojones to come calling at that time of the morning.
"This had better be good, you fucker," he began.

He speech was cut off. The dime piece that stood before him was definitely not Perry.

She was cute. In fact, she was beautiful - waif-like, with a latte-colored complexion and a halo of curly dark hair. Her large Bambi-like eyes widened a little at the sight of him.

"Hi...it's Aaron, right?" She said, in a breathless, Marilyn Monroe kind of voice.

"Yeah," he replied, grinning widely, the sleep suddenly banished from him.

A quick assessment of her body told him she was built like she had just stepped off the cover of King magazine; bubble butt, tig ol' bitties and a tiny waist. She wasn't very tall but that made her even more appealing-a real pocket rocket...

Very, very nice....

Instantly Aaron tried to tame his thoughts, and the awakening wood that was threatening to reveal itself through his sweats. Sometimes he rued the way his body betrayed him the minute he studied the female form for more than ten seconds. But he couldn't seem to help himself. Jasmine called it ‘The Whitman Wiring'.
"You are gonna be the dirtiest of dirty old men someday," She'd laugh.

"Yeah, Jasmine... your girl; remember her? I don't think she'd appreciate your drooling right now," the little angel on his shoulder reminded him. While he decided on a plan to win her back, the least he could do was not disrespect her by panting over every good-looking female that rang his bell, so to speak.

Fix up, Whit. Tie a knot in it and stop acting like a horny teenager...

"Uh, I mean yes, I'm Aaron," he said, a little more formally. "What can I do for you?"

The woman gave a light nervous smile through full lips. "My name's Destiny..."

On seeing his blank expression, she ploughed on; "We... met, about a month ago? I work at the Luna lounge on Sunset?"

"Oh? Oh....OHHH!" Aaron ran a hand through his hair again, this time sheepishly. Destiny... of course. She was the hottie that worked the bar. Yes, they had indeed ‘met' about a month ago, on her first night's work, when he had rolled into the Luna Lounge to drown his sorrows after the bust up with Jazz. Perry had been with him, along with his business partner, Bo Murray, and his twin brother, Spencer Murray.

Fuckin Spencer...he was the one that had plied Aaron with all those Jaeger Bombs, and convinced him that approaching the tasty new bartender would help him deal with the anger over his Woman Trouble. Usually Aaron preferred to look but never touch; after all he was committed to Jazz. He might not have got her flowers every Valentine's Day, but he'd never cheat on her.

But...Jazz was freezing him out. And Destiny had been wearing this teeny, tiny, skirt. And seeing her sway around pouring shots and laughing, had taken him to a happy place. So he'd grabbed a stool, elbowed himself a space by her corner of the bar, and given it the full court press.
She had ended up being very, very sympathetic...
So in another insanely dumb alcohol influenced decision, he had ditched his friends and talked Destiny into taking him back to her apartment...

Aaron cringed inwardly. Had he really just asked what could he DO for her?? He could try remembering that the two of them had banged until the sun rose the next morning, and she had been his first casual hook up in going on five years. The beauty of the whole event had been the mutually comfortable way they had said goodbye - no guilt, and no recriminations. He had gone on his merry way and pushed the whole thing to the back of his mind...

So what the hell was this?

"So, uh... how are you?" Aaron asked her. Naturally that wasn't the first question that came to mind, but it was a good opener.

Destiny gave that ambiguous smile again, "Well...Could I come in for a minute?" she asked.
"Yeah...sure," Aaron said, slowly.

Nothing about the woman's tone, the early hour, or the twist of panic that was wrenching at his gut told him that this was a social call. She walked over the threshold composedly and with almost psychic clarity, Aaron's saw his second chance with Jasmine slipping through his fingers.

"Can I get you some coffee?" He asked blithely, as he led her to the living room.

"No thanks..."
Destiny paused, her face becoming ashen as she scanned the mantelpiece in his home, covered with pictures of him and Jazz, "But...maybe some water, please?"

"Sure..."
Aaron's feet remained rooted in place as Destiny dropped unsteadily into his Laz-y Boy chair. The silence screamed between them and he wanted to fall to his knees too. Oh God, this conversation could only be going in one direction. He knew it was bad news.
Fuck!
Just what had he caught a case of-Chlamydia? Gonorrhea? Or something even worse....HIV??

Aaron turned abruptly to the kitchen, cutting off the thoughts of doom and gloom. He might sometimes think with his little head rather than his bigger one, but he wasn't a complete idiot. He had always carried a pack of Trojans with him since he hit puberty-- like a fuckin' Boy Scout, he was always prepared--and when he got home from his night with Destiny, the box was empty.
Sure, things were a little fuzzy, but he was sure that they had practiced safe sex...

Until Destiny dropped the bomb. Then he wasn't sure of anything at all.

*********

10 minutes later, Destiny had finally clasped her hands together, and stopped speaking. Aaron wished she had never started. He wished, sincerely, that he had never laid eyes on her.

Pregnant.

She laid it all out pretty clearly. Her doctor had confirmed yesterday what she already knew. She was willing to take any test he wanted to confirm Aaron was the father. He was, according to her, the only man that she had slept with in over a year.

Pregnant. And she wanted to keep it.

"There was no easy way to tell you," Destiny said quietly, "I just thought it was right that you should know."

Aaron closed his eyes. "Just breathe deeply, Whit," he thought, "There's still a possibility that this is some sick joke."

Pregnant?

"I want you to know, I do not expect anything from you..." Destiny said, for what seemed like the tenth time.

"Just...do me favor, and stop saying that, please?" Aaron said quietly.

"She looked up at him, startled, "But it's the truth..."

"Look, no offence? But right now I don't know the truth of any of this; I mean you've gotta admit this is pretty fu...frickin, bizarre..."
He tried with all his might to keep the panic out of his voice. It was a struggle, and he knew why...

He believed her.

If asked, he couldn't have said why he did. Maybe it was just a gut feeling. Maybe it was the way that, if pressed, she had no trouble looking him in the eye. Whatever it was, everything about this chick screamed frightened, and knocked up.

If Destiny wasn't telling the God's honest, he was Mr. Fucking T. But he wasn't ready to let her know that.

"Aaron, I understand what this must look like," Destiny said.

He looked up from studying his hands, a mirthless grin on his face, "Really?" he said, in a tone dripping with sarcasm.
Like she had any idea...

She paused; long enough to catch his tone and to be offended by it.

"Yeah, really. You think I don't know what you see right now? you see the worst kind of stereotype. Some hood rat trying to pass off her mistake on the unsuspecting white boy, while the real baby daddy's doing 5 to 10. "

She rolled her neck a little, her eyes flashing angrily.
"You know what? I could have taken my mother's advice and cut you out of the picture; just gone on with my life and never looked you up again. But for some strange idiotic reason, I thought you might want to know that you had blood out there in the world. I'll admit, I barely know you. I'll admit, that all we have in common is sex. But something about you brought me here. Something...made a connection with me, and I hoped you were different. I wanted to afford you some respect because of that. That's the reason-the only reason--why I came here! But now? Now, I see that you're just another asshole. You've got me pegged as some chickenhead that picks up her customers to get extra tips...and that's what you're seeing now, too. Did I miss anything out?"

Aaron was so taken aback he didn't reply. Her rant bordered on poetry, and she was so, well...arresting. Everything she said hit home in a way that was hard to describe. Maybe it wasn't exactly the words but the feeling behind them. The feeling of wanting to rise up and prove another person wrong.
Aaron could relate.
In that moment he felt for her, and all that she was and could be, and he opened his mouth to tell her so.

"Destiny," He murmured, "I was really bombed that night..."

Oh...crap.
In seen words he'd managed to turn from a man into a cockroach. Where the fuck did he manage to pull theses gems from, his ass???

Destiny's face suddenly reddened. Tears stood out in her eyes, "Forget you, then," She murmured, standing up and storming to the door.

"No...Destiny, wait...."

Mentally kicking himself again, he ran behind her, closing the door as she opened it and turning her around.
Confronted with her huge doe eyes glistening with tears, Aaron melted.
Damn, she could bend any man to her will with eyes like that. You could imagine never, ever wanting to make her cry.

"That didn't come out right," he said, softly.

"Yeah it did," she replied. "You're absolutely right. You don't know me or anything about me...."

"Maybe, but I don't need to be a fuckin' jackass to you."
He searched her gaze; "I don't think you're any of those things that you said. I'll admit, I was...a little intoxicated, when we met, but not too drunk to know that you seem like a good person. I mean...you listened to me, when I needed someone to talk to...that makes you alright in my book."

Destiny bit her bottom lip, and a few tears spilled over, "Thank you."

"You're welcome..." He straightened up a little; still a little spell-bound by her eyes.
"Can... can I get you anything? Can I ...do anything for you? I mean...you're pregnant. Any kinds of stress, can't be good for you...right?"

His words managed to bring a hint of a smile to her face. "Thanks, I appreciate that," she said, quietly. "But I think I'll just go. Look... I'm not pushing this situation to be anymore than it is right now. I understand that you need to do whatever you need to do; see a doctor...tell your girlfriend..."

She paused as his hands dropped back to his sides. He'd been trying not to go there mentally. Not yet.

"This is...pretty intense news," Aaron said. "I think I just need time to get my head around what you're saying," Aaron replied. "I'm not trying to pull away from any responsibilities, Ok? But can I just...let this sink in, before we do anything, or tell anyone else?"

"Yeah...Of course," Destiny said wiping her eyes and giving a firm nod. "You do what you have to, and then...I guess call me, about the test." She hesitated, looking at him with wide eyes again. "I feel like I should be saying sorry, or something..."

Aaron ran a had through his hair, "Ah, no...I'm guessing that would be my job."

"No. No matter how it came about, don't ever be sorry for this."
She lowered her eyes, and Aaron wondered when would be an appropriate time to ask why a young thing like her would want to be saddled with a kid.

She opened the door and stepped over the threshold. And turned to him once more.

"So, I guess I'll....talk to you." Aaron said.

"Yeah," she replied.
There was an awkward moment where it seemed like neither one of them knew how to end the meeting. "How the fuck is someone supposed to say goodbye to the stranger they've just impregnated? Do I hug her?"

Eventually, Destiny stuck out her hand. Aaron dazedly grasped it and shook.

"I promise you, I'm not coming in here to mess with your world, Aaron," she murmured, before turning away.

Aaron watched her walk down the path to her car, and drive away. He stared at the spot where her car had been long after she was gone. Eventually he closed the door and leaned against it, breathing heavily.

Pregnant. And she didn't plan to mess with his world.
Three words clanged in Aaron's brain in response.
Too.Fucking.Late.

"Oh, Jazz..." he murmured.

Aaron abruptly doubled over, running to the sink and puking up until his stomach couldn't yield any more.