Page 72 of Without You, Scotch and Sammy 2

Lily lies in her travel crib, staring up at me through the mesh sides, and looking adorable in her own little ‘important meeting’ outfit.

“Are you ready? This is the first step to the rest of our lives.”

I step forward and scoop her up, grab my diaper bag and shove my purse inside, then I open the bedroom door and walk into the living room. Sam’s introspective gaze comes up to mine as he sits in the recliner with his acoustic guitar in his lap and a pen between his lips. He’s wearing nice dress pants and his own crisp white shirt. His hair, although still wild, sits nicely on his head as the long curls hang loose and tickle his lashes.

Leather bands decorate his wrists, his nose ring glints in the morning sun filtering through the curtains behind him.

And my heart lurches painfully at the glinting wedding band on his left hand.

He watches me watch him for a long minute. His long lashes flutter slowly, then eventually, his gaze travels down my body and stops on my hand. “Our story is that we’re married, right?”

I nod.

“Better put your ring on. It won’t look good if you forget it on our first day on the job.”

On the job.

I cough away the nerves that threaten to choke me. “Yeah. Are you ready to go?”

“Yup. Just waiting on you guys. Lily’s all set?”

“Yeah. She’s been fed. I’m hoping she’ll just sleep the whole time we’re in there.”

He nods slowly, then setting his guitar aside, he stands with a grunt. “Well, as your husband and her future daddy on paper, it’s my responsibility to help rock her if she gets mad during the meeting. Don’t worry. We’ll get through it in one piece.”

He holds his hands out for her, then taking her against his chest, he walks away without another word. I follow them into the kitchen and watch as he expertly clips her into the carseat, then popping a pacifier in her mouth, he looks up at me. “Let’s get it done.”

***

“Good morning, Mr. and Mrs. Turner. Please, take a seat.”

We sit down in a minimalistic boardroom, with grey chairs and a grey laminate table. A water dispenser sits in the corner, with plastic cups thrown haphazardly on top, and watermark stains on the carpet in front.

Like the perfect gentleman, Sam holds my chair out for me, then as I sit, he slides it in and drops the perfect husbandly kiss on the top of my head.

Our interviewer is a sixty-year-old portly man who reminds me of Ed. With a balding spot spreading from the crown of his head, and a grey suit that matches the blandness of the room, he clasps his hands on the table between us and looks back and forth between Sam and me.

It’s like he knows we’re frauds, and he’s waiting to strike.

I nervously fumble in my bag and pull out a manila folder full of paperwork I knew we’d need.

“How are you guys today?”

I swallow nervously. “We’re good, Mr. Clay. Thank you.”

“Just call me Joseph, please.”

I’d rather not. “Okay.”

He smiles and claps his hands together. “Okay. I can tell you’re nervous, so we’ll just start. You needn’t worry so much. We’re all friends here, and we’re all looking out for baby Lily.”

I nod, then jump in my seat when Sam clasps my hand under the table and squeezes gently. He winks quickly, then looks back at Joseph. “We’re ready.”

“Alright. Today, we’ll be discussing you guys. I’ll need to discuss your financial stability. Medical history. Living arrangements. That sort of stuff, okay?”

We both nod as Joseph takes out his own notes and starts shuffling. “You’re listed as Ms. Ricardo, is that correct?”

I nod nervously. “Yes, sir.”

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