Page 56 of The Surrogate Mother
“I just feel like this is a bad sign,” I say. “If she’s going to go back on our agreement about work, what else will she back out on? Giving us the baby?”
Sam opens the pot and peers down at his meatballs. “She won’t.”
“How do you know?”
“She said she wants to focus on her career right now. And maybe go back to school at night after all. Possibly to study graphic art or maybe math—maybe both. Either way, she can’t do that with a baby.”
I narrow my eyes at Sam. “And when did she say all that to you?”
Any trace of a smile fades from his lips as he quickly busies himself with the pot again. “What?”
“It just seems like you know a lot about her plans for the future, that’s all.”
Sam fiddles with the knob on the stove. “We had lunch a couple of days ago.”
Well, great. My husband is having lunch with a young, attractive woman who happens to be carrying his baby. And he’s lying to me about it. “Were you planning on telling me about it,Sammy?”
“It wasn’t a big deal,” he mumbles.
“Then why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because I knew you’d make a big thing of it.” He shakes his head. “Look, Monica is at a crossroads in her career and I want to help her, you know? That’s part of what I do—advise students.”
“Yes, but she’s not your student! She works atmycompany. Don’t you think if she really wanted advice, she’d come tome?”
He lowers his eyes. “I think you intimidate her a little.”
“Iintimidateher?”
“Yes, that’s what she said.”
“Oh, Lord.” I roll my eyes. “That’s the horseshit she’s been feeding you?”
“It’s not horseshit. Youcanbe intimidating, Abby.”
“Oh, really? Doyoufind me intimidating?”
“The first time I met you, I did,” he admits. He smiles crookedly. “You had on that power outfit of yours with the matching black skirt and short jacket and your hair up in that elaborate knot. It was so goddamn sexy. You got me so nervous. I didn’t even know what I was saying.”
I can’t suppress a smile. “You mostly started talking about math.”
“I know—that’s what I do when I’m nervous. I thought I’d made a complete idiot out of myself. I couldn’t believe it when you agreed to go to dinner with me. I almost didn’t bother asking.”
My anger from earlier is starting to fade. “I’m glad you did.”
“Me too.” He lifts the lid from the pot one more time and fishes out a meatball with his fork. “Want to taste?”
“Um, you first.”
He clutches his chest with his free hand. “Are you afraid to try my meatballs?”
I peer at the lopsided gray blob hanging off the fork. “What is in them?”
“Well, ground beef, obviously. Um… breadcrumbs, parmesan cheese, an egg…”
Bread crumbs, parmesan cheese, and an egg. How could he mess that up?
I lean forward and take a bite from the meatball on his fork. And…
