I’m in the ladies’ room, dabbing extra concealer under my eyes. I’m absolutely exhausted because I haven’t been taking my sleeping pills for the last week. They’re doing the annual drug screens today and I didn’t want there to be any chance that stuff would show up. I’ve got a note from my doctor and all, but I can’t give Denise any ammunition to get rid of me.
I look really tired. Like I’m ten years older than I actually am. Sam came into the bathroom this morning while I was brushing my teeth, and when he kissed me, I couldn’t help but wonder how he could be attracted to me when he’s got a younger, prettier version of me texting him every five minutes. But I’m not going to say that to him. Don’t need to give the guy any ideas.
Shelley walks in on me mid-dab. Her eyes widen. “Abby,” she says. “Are you okay?”
I snap my compact closed. “Yes, I’m fine.” “You look really tired.”
“Gee, thanks a bunch.”
She winces. “Sorry. I didn’t mean it that way.”
My shoulders sag. “No, I’m sorry I snapped. It’s just… it’s been a rough month.”
That’s an understatement. Monica’s belly has really popped in the last few weeks, and everyone is oohing and ahhing over her. Only a few people know the whole story about her being my surrogate—I’ve noticed she’s not volunteering that information, which is just as well. I’m sure I’ll get lots of weird looks when the truth comes out.
But the good news is, Monica’s pregnancy will be over soon. And then I won’t have to deal with her anymore. I’ll leave the company if I have to— it’s not like I’m getting anywhere fast with Denise as my boss. Maybe I’ll just stay home with the baby. At least money won’t be an issue.
“It’s okay,” Shelley says. “I get it. And Monica… well, she’s acting weird. I don’t blame you for being worried.”
I frown. “Acting weird?”
“Well…” She hesitates. “I didn’t want to say anything…”
“Oh my God, please just tell me.”
“It’s just… I know it’s uncomfortable for her to admit she’s giving the baby up. But if you talked to her, you’d never guess in a million years. She really acts like she’s keeping the baby.”
I feel a lump in my throat. “What do you mean?”
She lowers her voice a few notches. “Like I overheard her having a long discussion with Mia about baby names. She told Mia she was all but decided on David.”
That one hits me like a punch in the gut. Especially since David is one of Sam’s favorite baby names—it was his father’s name. He’s been pushing hard for the name, even though I told him I dated a guy named David who was a bit of a jerk.
“And then she was asking for advice from Lucy on cribs,” Shelley continues. “Like, they were really getting into it. They went to a website and everything.”
“Do… do people think she’s married?”
Shelley shakes her head. “I heard her telling someone she has a serious boyfriend.”
A serious boyfriend? No way. One thing I know for sure is Monica doesn’t have a serious boyfriend. For starters, her roommate Chelsea told me she didn’t have one and…
Chelsea.
An idea takes root in my brain. Maybe I should call Chelsea. She seemed nice enough and clearly she knows Monica really well. Maybe I could get an idea from her what the deal is with her roommate. Like she could tell me if Monica’s apartment is filled with baby apparatus or if she’s saying inappropriate things about Sam. Chelsea might be reluctant to betray her roommate, but I can be fairly persuasive. I can put it in the context of trying to help Monica.
“I’m sorry.” Shelley winces at the look on my face. “I probably shouldn’t have said all this. You’ve got enough to worry about without my putting ideas in your head.”
“No, it’s good to know,” I say. “If Monica plans to back out on us, I want to know in advance.”
I’ve got to give Chelsea a call.
I wait until I get home to try Chelsea’s number, remembering how Shelley told me she’d seen Monica listening at the door to my office. Plus I don’t have her number handy. Thankfully, Sam files all our paperwork away in the second drawer of his desk, and he’s ridiculously organized. He has everything about Monica in a file labeled “Monica Johnson.” Chelsea’s number is still in there.
I go into the bedroom while Sam is cooking dinner and dial Chelsea’s number on my cell phone. My heart is pounding as I hit the green button to send the call.
Before the phone even rings on the other line, I hear an automated voice: “You have reached a nonworking number.”
I stare at the phone. Chelsea’s number is no longer functional. That’s… interesting.
Sam comes into the bedroom in his “I ate some pie” apron, which is dotted with pesto sauce. He’s also got some pesto on his chin that I’m guessing he doesn’t know about. He looks very proud of himself.
“Dinner is served,” he says. I don’t budge.
“I tasted it this time,” he assures me. “And it’s definitely edible. I swear.”
I can’t even manage a smile.
Sam frowns and looks at the phone in my hand. “Who were you talking
to?”
“Monica’s roommate Chelsea,” I say. “Or at least, I was trying to. Her
phone was disconnected.” “Oh,” he says.
“Don’t you think that’s odd?”
He shrugs. “Maybe she forgot to pay her phone bill.” Maybe. But somehow I don’t think so.
“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 our
baby we’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 her professional
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 weird not to ever talk about
it.”
I drop my eyes. “Your baby.” “I meant our baby.”
“Then why didn’t you say that?”
“I don’t know… it just… slipped out.”
“Because that’s how you think of him. As your baby.”
Sam rakes a hand through his hair. “Abby, I’m going to remind you
again that this was all your idea. 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 his sexy 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.
