Memorable Date

I catch my reflection in the living-room window before I even reach the mirror.
Six months pregnant, belly round and high, I look like I’ve been a woman my entire life instead of… what? Half a year?

I stop next to the woven chair in the corner—right where the afternoon sun hits—and rest my hands under my belly the way I’ve seen real pregnant women do. The pose feels natural now. Instinctive. Which is wild, considering that not long ago I didn’t even have hips, let alone a uterus capable of producing this impressive curve.

The photo on my phone—taken earlier today—shows me in that model-ish side angle: long ivory dress, striped top under it, my belly pushing out like it’s proudly announcing itself to the room. My expression in the picture says it all: How the hell did I get here?

Well. I know exactly how.

And his name is Lucas.

Or as I like to call him when I’m annoyed: the reason I’m waddling.

I hear keys jingling at the door.

“Babe?” Lucas calls out.

“In here,” I say, rubbing a little circle along the side of my belly where the baby has decided to practice tiny ninja kicks.

He steps into the room, eyes going straight to my stomach—as they always do—and he lets out a low whistle.

“Wow. You look even more pregnant than you did this morning.”

I glare. “Stop saying that like I’m inflating on purpose.”

He grins, crossing the room with that smug saunter he does whenever he thinks he’s being charming. Spoiler alert: it works.

“You sure you didn’t hit the ‘enhance belly’ filter on MorphX again?” he teases, tapping my bump lightly.

I swat his hand. “Very funny. And you’re the reason MorphX got involved in the first place.”

He throws his head back dramatically. “Ah yes, the legendary bet. The bet that changed the world.”

I groan. “The bet that turned me into your very pregnant girlfriend.”

“Baby mama,” he corrects cheerfully. “Let’s be accurate.”

I want to be mad, but the truth is… I like how he says it.

Six months ago I was just a guy on a couch, talking smack during game night. He and I always did stupid challenges, but that night he got this glint in his eyes.

“Loser has to try MorphX,” he said.

MorphX—the transformation app. Hyperrealistic. Full sensory VR. I laughed it off, said sure. I lost. Obviously.

“Make me something ridiculous,” I’d told him.

He did.
He made me her.
This body. This face. This voice. Everything.

And then, because he’s Lucas and has no chill whatsoever, he said, “Your penalty isn’t done. You have to go on a date like that.”

I should’ve said no.
I should’ve deleted the app.
I should’ve punched him.

Instead I said yes.
And then the date… went very, very well.

“‘Very well’?” Lucas repeats now, reading my expression like he always can. He wraps his arms around me from behind, hands settling on the underside of my belly. “Sweetheart, it went spectacularly.”

I elbow him lightly. “Stop bragging.”

“Not bragging,” he murmurs near my ear. “Just honoring the historical accuracy. That date was… memorable.”

I blush, because even now, remembering that night sends a little warm ripple straight down my spine.

He laughs softly. “Look at you getting all shy. Come on, it’s not like you weren’t having just as much fun as I was.”

“I was a guy like a week before that!” I shoot back.

“And yet,” he says, kissing my neck, “you adapted shockingly fast. Almost suspiciously fast. Like you were born ready.”

I shove him away—but gently, because if I push too hard I lose balance. “Don’t start.”

“Start what?” he asks innocently. “Reminding you how you practically climbed me in the car before we even made it to the restaurant?”

“Lucas!”

“What? I’m just saying. Every great love story has a beginning.”

“You’re impossible.”

He points at my belly. “And yet, look at the results.”

I smack him again.

I lower myself into the warm yellow armchair with an ungraceful exhale. Every movement now is a negotiation between me and the watermelon I'm smuggling.

Lucas kneels in front of me, hands on my knees. “You doing okay?”

“Yes. Just… big.”

He grins. “You are big. And adorable. And glowing. And—”

“—And about to kick you if you finish that sentence with something stupid.”

He finishes anyway.
“—and very, very knocked-up for someone who was a dude half a year ago.”

I cover my face with my hands. “Why are you like this?”

“Because your transformation story is the hottest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“Lucas.”

“What? It is. Guy loses a bet, becomes a woman, goes on a single date, and boom…” He pats my belly like he’s congratulating himself. “Instant baby mama. Mythically efficient.”

“You’re awful.”

“I’m amazing.”

I try not to smile, but a grin sneaks out anyway.

He moves his hands to my belly, fingers tracing the curve.

“It still blows my mind,” he says softly. “Six months ago you had abs. Now you have… this.”

“Gee, thanks.”

He laughs. “No, I mean—look at you. You’re incredible.”

His tone softens, and my chest squeezes in that way I still haven’t totally gotten used to.

I place my hand over his. “I’m still me. Just… in a different packaging.”

“A very beautiful packaging,” he corrects. “A very pregnant packaging.”

I sigh. “Stop reminding me.”

“But it’s cute when you get flustered.”

“I’m not flustered.”

“You absolutely are.”

I pout. He kisses my pout. I fail to stay mad. As usual.

We sit like that for a while—him crouched, me sprawled, the baby occasionally tapping Morse code against my organs.

Finally he stands and stretches. “You know, my mom keeps asking when I’m making an honest woman out of you.”

“Oh my god, again?”

“Every phone call.” He nods solemnly. “She is relentless.”

“Well tell her not to hold her breath.”

He puts a hand to his chest dramatically. “Wow. Brutal. You don’t want to be Mrs. Carter?”

“Not yet.” I tilt my head. “I mean, Lucas… maybe slow down a little? We kinda skipped a few steps.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Skipped steps? Sweetheart, we skipped the entire staircase. We hit the fast-track. We’re speedrunning romance.”

“And whose fault is that?”

He gestures to me. “You. You’re the one who got pregnant on the first date.”

I cover my face again. “Why are you like this?!”

“It’s a statistical miracle. A cosmic achievement. A legendary display of—”

“If you finish that sentence, I swear—”

“—chemistry,” he concludes, very proud of himself.

I throw a pillow at him.

He dodges. Of course he does.

He sits on the arm of my chair and strokes a lock of hair behind my ear.

“You know,” he says quietly, “you don’t have to be anything you don’t want to be. A wife. A fiancée. Whatever. I’m not rushing you.”

I lean my head against him. “I know. I just… I want us to choose things on purpose. Not because we accidentally made a tiny human.”

He glances at my belly. “A very active tiny human.”

As if on cue, the baby kicks hard enough that he feels it. His eyes widen.

“Oh! Hey there!” he says to my stomach. “Already calling the shots, huh?”

I laugh. “Wonder where the baby gets that from.”

He presses a hand to his chest again. “Are you implying something?”

“Just saying. The bossiness runs in the family.”

He smirks. “Is that why you were so… enthusiastic the night of the date?”

“Lucas.”

“What? If we’re listing traits, we should be thorough.”

I stare at him. “I swear you get bolder every trimester.”

“Maybe,” he says, kissing my cheek, “but you’re the one who started this whole thing.”

“Me?! You made the bet!”

“Yes, but you accepted it. And then you got all cute and flirty and—”

“I was not flirty!”

“Oh really? You weren’t the one batting your lashes at me, tossing your hair, giggling at everything—?”

“I didn’t giggle!”

He smirks because he knows I totally did.

“And,” he adds, “you were the one who said, ‘Well… this body feels kinda fun… maybe we should go back to your place just to see how it goes.’”

I groan loudly. “Stop quoting me!”

“It’s adorable.”

“It’s embarrassing.”

“It’s how we got the peanut.” He taps my belly again. “Teamwork.”

I throw another pillow. He lets it hit him this time.

I shift in my seat again, trying to get comfortable. My belly is heavy tonight, pulling at my back.

Lucas notices instantly. “Lie down on the couch. I’ll rub your lower back.”

I give him a look. “Last time you said that, the back rub turned into… other things.”

He smiles way too innocently. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“You absolutely do.”

He pats the couch anyway. “Come on. I promise not to pounce.”

“You always say that.”

“And sometimes I even mean it.”

I roll my eyes but move to the couch because my back is killing me and he knows exactly how to massage it.

He kneels beside me, warm hands pressing into the small of my back. I melt immediately.

“See?” he says. “Totally innocent.”

“Uh-huh.”

He leans down, whispers near my ear, “Though… you being all soft and round like this is very distracting.”

I elbow him again. “Stop being horny for my pregnancy.”

“I can’t help it,” he says, not even pretending. “You’re gorgeous. And the story of how you got like this is… ridiculously hot.”

“It is not!”

“Oh come on. If our friends knew the full story, they’d assume we made it up.”

“Because it sounds insane.”

“Because it sounds amazing.”

I sigh dramatically. “I swear the universe punished me for losing that bet.”

He kisses my shoulder. “Pretty sure it rewarded me.”

“You’re impossible.”

“You love it.”

Unfortunately… he’s right.

A kick thumps against my belly again, making my dress jump.

Lucas lays a hand there, grinning. “This kid is going to have your attitude.”

“My attitude?!”

“Yep. Stubborn. Dramatic. Very expressive.”

I gasp, feigning offense. “I am not dramatic.”

He just raises an eyebrow.

“Okay fine,” I admit, “maybe a little.”

“And stubborn.”

“And stubborn.”

“And you’re definitely expressive.”

“Lucas.”

He laughs, kisses my forehead, and pulls me gently so my head rests on his lap.

“You know,” he says softly, running a hand through my hair, “if someone told me a year ago that I’d have a pregnant girlfriend who used to be my best friend… who used to be a guy… who turned into a woman because of a stupid bet I made… I’d say they were out of their mind.”

“Same,” I say. “I still think it sometimes.”

He smiles down at me. “But I’m glad it happened.”

I touch his hand. “Yeah. Me too.”

The baby kicks again, harder this time. I wince.

“Want me to talk to them?” he asks.

“Sure. Maybe they’ll listen to you.”

He leans in close to my belly. “Hey. Baby. Be gentle with your mom. She’s new to all of this.”

I laugh. “You’re the one who made me ‘new to all of this.’”

“That’s true,” he says. “And, for the record… best bet I ever made.”

I roll my eyes, but I kiss him anyway.

“Just promise me,” I say, “no more bets.”

He smiles. “Deal.”

“And no rushing me about anything.”

“Of course.”

“And no more jokes about me getting pregnant on the first—”

“Oh no,” he interrupts, “I absolutely will not be letting that go.”

I groan. “I knew it.”

He kisses my forehead. “You love me.”

“Yeah,” I admit softly. “I do.”

He strokes my belly gently. “And I love both of you.”

And somehow, impossibly, I’m exactly where I want to be.

Pregnant. Exhausted. Emotional.
But happy.

And wildly, ridiculously in love with the guy who won a bet… and ended up winning me too.