Page 60 of The Surrogate Mother
“Why were you calling Monica’s roommate anyway?” he asks.
“Because.” I shift on the bed. “Shelley told me that Monica is talking about the baby like she’s planning for after he’s born. She even has a name picked out.”
“Oh yeah? What name?”
“David.”
He grins at me. “Hey, she’s got good taste!”
I glare at him. “I feel like you’re not taking this seriously. This is ourbabywe’re talking about. It’s not funny.”
Sam sits down beside me on the bed, leveling his kind brown eyes at me. “I’m sorry. It’s not funny—you’re right. But I genuinely don’t think there’s any chance Monica will keep the baby. It’s all just talk.”
Just talk. He seems so sure of himself, but I’m not so confident.
“Hey,” I say.
He raises his eyebrows.
“Did you tell Monica you wanted to name the baby David?”
“Uh…” His ears turn red. “I guess I… must have mentioned it to her.”
“I see. I thought you said you only talk about herprofessional development.” I fold my arms across my chest. “So what else do you talk to her about?”
“Look, she’s carrying my baby. It would be weirdnotto ever talk about it.”
I drop my eyes. “Yourbaby.”
“I meantourbaby.”
“Then why didn’t you say that?”
“I don’t know… it just… slipped out.”
“Because that’s how you think of him. Asyourbaby.”
Sam rakes a hand through his hair. “Abby, I’m going to remind you again that this was allyouridea. I wanted to adopt, remember?”
“Actually, it was Monica’s idea.”
“Fine.” I can hear the anger growing in his voice as he stands up off the bed. Sam rarely gets angry. “Monica is the bad guy here. She’s the worst.”
I look up at my husband with his tousled hair and hissexy five o’clock shadow. We haven’t had sex in a week, which has got to be some kind of record for us. I’ve been so stressed out with work, and he hasn’t initiated anything. And when I look up at him now, I know nothing will happen tonight either.
“Do you want to have dinner or not?” Sam says impatiently.
I nod and follow him to the living room.
25
I’ve got to find Chelsea Williams.
Calling her is obviously out, given she no longer has a working phone. But she lives with Monica. As I head up in the elevator to my office, it occurs to me that I could look up her address on the computer and pay ol’ Chelsea a visit. Maybe I’ll do it during lunch, at a time I’m sure Monica won’t be around.
Except as I’m walking to my office, Denise is standing in the doorway, a grim expression on her face.
Christ, what now?
