Page 39 of The Surrogate Mother
My shoulders relax. He’s making her leave. Thank God. But I don’t even have a chance to celebrate before he adds, “Let me give you a ride home.”
The other night he didn’t want her near his car, but now he’s apparently willing to drive her homedrunk. I’ve never seen him try to drive before when he’s had more than one drink.Never. What has she done to his brain?
“You’re not getting in the car,” I say through my teeth. “You’re way over the limit, Sam.”
Sam’s ears get red as he realizes what he was about to do. “Yeah, Abby’s right,” he mumbles. “I shouldn’t be driving. Let me call you a taxi.”
“Thank you.” Monica grabs her purse from the end of the couch. “And Sammy, I’ll text you the time for the ultrasound appointment, okay?”
He gives her a thumbs-up, and all I can think is,When did they exchange phone numbers?
And also,Why does she keep calling him Sammy?
I take a deep breath. I need to calm down. It’s not Monica’s fault I got delayed at work by Miss Oxford. It’s not Monica’s fault Sam drank too much and is acting like an idiot. And it’s not Monica’s fault that she’s more attractive than I thought she was. It’s also not her fault that she’s pregnant with Sam’s seed.
That last one is entirely my fault.
God, I can’t wait for this pregnancy to be over so things can get back to normal.
15
If there were any justice in the world, Sam would have a whopping hangover the next morning. But maybe he didn’t have as much to drink as I’d thought, because he seems fine. So fine, actually, that I catch him whistling in the bathroom while he’s shaving his face.
What the hell is he so happy about?
I say as much to him while he’s putting on his tie, and he blinks a few times, surprised. “Uh, I don’t know. It’s a nice morning.”
“I thought you might be hungover.”
He rolls his eyes. “I told you I didn’t drink that much.”
“You were acting like you did.”
He doesn’t respond to that, but while he’s putting on his shoes, he starts whistling again. I’ve never known Sam to whistle before, but after one evening with Monica, suddenly he’s a goddamn teapot. Did he whistle like this when we were first dating?
“Do you think Monica is pretty?” I blurt out.
“Pretty?”
“Yes.”
“No way.” He smiles crookedly. “She’s not pretty at all. Just the opposite. She’s really horrible to look at. I didn’t want to be mean or anything, but I had to squeeze my eyes shut all night like this.” He scrunches his eyes closed in a demonstration. “I hope she didn’t notice.”
“Haha, very funny.”
“I don’t know much about women, but I know there’s only one right answer when your wife asks you if another woman is pretty.”
Fair enough. “You just seemed to be having a really good time with her last night.”
He lets out an exasperated sigh. “Abby, you’re the one who wanted to have her over for dinner last night. And you’re the one who showed up two hours late. You made me promise to be ‘well-behaved.’ So she shows up and I’m nice to her, and now I’m in trouble?”
“Well, there’s nice and there’snice.”
“It’s not like we were making out, Abby. We were just talking.”
He’s actually making some reasonable points. So why can’t I get rid of that tight, awful feeling in my chest?
“She called you Sammy,” I say.
