Page 16 of The Surrogate Mother
He hesitates, then nods.
“So I’m assuming you like math a lot,” she adds.
“Yes,” he agrees.
I snort. That’s an understatement.
“So say you finished college and you weren’t allowed to keep going to school to learn math.” She takes a sip of her water. “And the cost of going to school to learn more math was more than you could ever hope to save in a reasonable amount of time. What then?”
“I’d take out loans.”
“Well, what if your loan payments werealreadymore than your rent?”
Sam is quiet for a moment. “There’s always a way.”
“Right.” Her eyes meet his. “There’s always a way.”
He frowns at her. He picks up the straw in his water glassand stirs the ice cubes around the glass. After a minute of silence, he picks up his pen again. “So when is the last time you’ve had a physical exam?”
I smile to myself. Monica may not realize it, but she’s swayed him. We’re that much closer to getting our baby.
7
“On a scale of one to ten,” Shelley says, “how much do you hate Denise?”
“Twelve,” I say.
“Might I remind you, this is a scale of one to ten.”
“A hundred.”
“I feel like you’re not taking the parameters of this question seriously.”
I signal to the waiter that we’re ready to order. We can’t spend very long at lunch today because Denise saw us walking out. And asked very pointedly where we were going. And when Shelley replied “to lunch,” she looked aghast. I don’t know if I’ve ever used the word “aghast” before, but the expression on Denise’s face when we informed her we’d be leaving the premises to eat lunch was a perfect personification of the word “aghast.”
The waiter approaches our table carrying a wine glass filled with dark red liquid and places it down in front of me. I suppress an urge to roll my eyes—poor service is something I have a low tolerance for.
“I didn’t order that,” I inform our waiter.
“I know.” He jerks his head in the direction of the bar. “That gentleman over there asked me to bring you a glass of pinot noir.”
I glance over at the bar, where a man with blond hair raises a glass and winks in our direction. He’s got a cocky smile and he’s wearing a gray business suit. Brooks Brothers—I’m pretty sure.
Shelley giggles. “Looks like you’ve got another suitor, Abby.”
I push the glass away from me. “It’s probably for you.”
“No,” the waiter, a baby-faced young man, insists. “The man said it was for the woman with black hair in the white dress. He said he hoped you would join him after your lunch.”
Shelley laughs harder. “I told you you’ve got a suitor.”
My cheeks burn as I push the glass more firmly away from me. “I’ve also got a husband. Please remove the drink.”
“And her husband is very hot,” Shelley informs the waiter, who I’m sure really cares.
As awkward as that encounter was, I can’t say it wasn’t a boost to my self-esteem. Sometimes I think Sam just gets more attractive as he gets older while my own looks slide away. I don’t get hit on nearly as much as I used to. It’s nice to know a handsome stranger at a Mexican restaurant saw me across the room and found me desirable.
I look down at my watch, cursing the fact that I didn’t make the waiter take our order while he was here. Shelley raises her eyebrows at me. “What time is that meeting you need to be back for?”
