That was then, this is now.
Wait—is that the name of a book? Never mind.
In any case, progress, right?
Still, I didn’t have to go. She’d given me an out.
All I had to do was pretend that Chloe needed me back at the agency, and I’d be off the hook. No questions asked. The world’s perfect lie. Perhaps for that very reason, I pulled my cell phone out of my purse and dialed Chloe’s number. It rang twice before she answered.
“Hi, it’s Lila. I was just wondering if I could take a twenty-minute break after I finish at FedEx?”
Unprecedented, I know.
Lila Moreno and Jennifer Hamilton. Having coffee—decaf or something for her, of course, since she was preggers. And yet, despite the fact that I’d agreed to meet up with my ultimate nemesis, and not for a rumble, the earth didn’t seem to be splitting in half.
At least…not so far. But I have to say, I kept my ear perked for the cracking sound.
The vulnerable way Jennifer’s face lit up when I walked into Mountain Lion Coffee shot a lightning bolt of guilt through me for even having contemplated blowing her off. She waved both arms with enthusiasm—as if I wasn’t capable of finding her in the small establishment. Duh. Her hair may have returned to its unobtrusive natural color, but those platinum blond-dyed roots reached straight into her brain waves, boy.
Be nice, Lila
, my conscience said. Actually, I think my conscience is a dead ringer for Meryl—no lie. It might even be Meryl, and without her I’d morph into some impulsive, politically incorrect sociopath.
I held up a finger, then pointed toward the front counter. After ordering a nonfat latte (extra hot, extra foam, double shot), I headed over to her table.
“Thanks for coming,” she said.
“You thought I wouldn’t?” The chair legs scraped on the polished concrete floor as I pulled it away from the table and sat down.
“Totally,” she said.
We both chuckled nervously.
She eyed my java. “I told you I’d treat.”
I shrugged. “Raincheck. I only have twenty minutes before I have to be back at work, and I didn’t want you to lose the table.”
She sipped her cocoa, nodding. “What’s it like working for your boyfriend’s mom?”
I averted my gaze.
Awkward, awkward, awkward.
She sighed. “Listen, Lila, if you think I’m fishing for info about Dylan, I’m not. Being pregnant? It forces you to examine your life whether you want to or not. He and I were never right for each other. Ever. Let’s just lay that right out on the table and be done with it, once and for all. I don’t have romantic feelings for Dylan. None. Pathetic as this may sound, I don’t know that I ever really did.”
A beat passed. “O-okay. So, why’d you date him?”
She twisted her mouth to the side. “Because he’s…Dylan.”
I nodded. Hard to explain, but it made sense.
“So?” she prodded. “The work gig. What’s it like?”
I sat back and relaxed as best I could. “I love it. I get to dream about all the places I want to visit one day. Plus, it’s fun, and the atmosphere at the agency is upbeat. High energy. You know?”
She nodded. “That’s why I love Inner Power. Well, for the opposite reason. It’s so serene there, so laid back and just…accepting. So unlike my heinous home life.”
We fell silent, concentrating on our drinks.
Awk-k-k-k-ward.
Finally, I cleared my throat. “So, uh, have you decided what you’re going to do? About the baby?”
“I’m not keeping her, if that’s what you’re wondering.” She hiked one shoulder and looked sad. “One part of me thinks that sounds so incredibly cruel, like I’m throwing her away—”
“No, it doesn’t. You’re just a kid yourself.”
She bit her lip, looking grateful. “I know. I’d be a terrible mom at this point in my life. Think about it: would you want to be raised with me as your mother?”
I accidentally snorted latte foam out of one nostril at the horrible notion, then coughed. “Uh, no way in hell.” I paused, wiping my nose. “But I wouldn’t want to be raised by any of us. We’re too young.”
“That’s it exactly. I know lots of women have babies at eighteen and raise them successfully. But not me. I still have a lot of growing up to do.”
I didn’t comment, because trust me, it would’ve been one helluva snark, and my inner Meryl would not have been pleased.
She smoothed her fingertips around her cocoa mug, seeming to chew on her next words. Finally, she peered up from beneath her lashes. “If I tell you something, do you swear not to tell anyone?”
Ugh! I cringed. “I don’t know if I can keep that promise. Sorry. Just being honest.”
She rolled her eyes. “Okay, do you swear not to tell anyone who might tell my parents at least?”
Yeah, like I know anyone who’d tell her parents. “Sure.”
Her face took on this excited yet apprehensive glow. Happy and terrified all at once, if you can imagine. “I’m thinking of asking Reese and Kelly to adopt her. Oh! It’s a girl. I had an ultrasound.”
My brain was in stutter mode from the first part of her confession, so I focused on the end part. “Cool. I grew up with four annoying, stinky brothers, so a girl rocks.”
“Boys stink?”
I rolled my eyes. “Way. I can’t even go into Luke’s room without gagging.”
“Huh,” she said, as though this were a revelation. “Miffany always bragged about how hot he was.”
Miffany, if you’ll recall, is Luke the Puke’s reprehensible ghoulfriend and Jennifer’s former BFF. “She doesn’t live with him. Besides, her name is
Miffany
, for God’s sake. That alone indicates a lack of brain cells.”
Jennifer snickered. “Anyway, I agree that a girl rocks. I was hoping for one.” She laid her hand absentmindedly on her slightly protruding belly again. “I’m sort of down on the whole male gender right about now.”
I arched an eyebrow. “Can’t say I blame you.”
“Guys suck ass.”
A true statement if I’d ever heard one. Except Dylan, of course, not that I was going to voice that. Ismet was cool, too. I sipped and a hideous thought entered my brain. I had to ask. “Is that why you’re thinking of Reese and Kelly as adoptive parents? The no guy aspect?”
“God, no. That would be lame.” She grimaced. “Not to mention stereotypical and patronizing.”
“Right-o,” I said, relieved, but trying to hide my astonishment that those words had come from Jennifer Hamilton’s mouth. People, can you even grasp the hugeness? If High School Homophobia held a pageant, the former Jennifer would have a curio cabinet full of tacky tiaras.
Her face morphed into a pensive expression. “It’s just”—she flipped her hand—“they’ve been trying to conceive through artificial insemination, and it isn’t working. And they’re having trouble adopting because they’re lesbians and we’re not exactly a progressive state.”
“Oh.” Startled. “I didn’t know that. I mean, about them wanting kids.”
She eyed me sideways. “Well, the subject came up just because of my own pregnancy. That’s all. I feel so bad for them, because they deserve to be parents. Homophobia sucks.”
I must’ve looked stunned, because she blew out a dejected sigh. “Yeah, yeah, I know. I was a total asshole about the gay thing before I started hanging out with them.” Distress seemed to age her features. “I just…didn’t know any lesbians.”
“So? You knew Mark Bartlett and never cut him any slack. They’re regular people like us. Love is love.”
“I get that now. I do. And, for the record, I’ve apologized to Mark.”
“Seriously?”
She nodded. “But Reese and Kelly, man, they’re more than just ‘people.’ They’re special.” She widened her baby blues at me. “Wouldn’t you have loved having them as your moms?”
An unexpected wave of sadness rocked me, and I gripped my coffee cup. “I would’ve loved having my mom,” I said softly.
Jennifer inhaled sharply and covered her mouth with one hand. “Oh, shit,” she said, muffled. “I forgot that your mom…you know—”
“Died,” I said, in a flat tone. “It’s okay to say the word. It’s not as if she did anything wrong. She just…got sick and died. Cancer’s impartial that way.”
Anguish pulled lines between her brows. “I shouldn’t even be talking to you about this. I wasn’t thinking.”
“That’s ridiculous,” I said. “My mom died a long time ago, practically when I was a baby. I want to know.”
Her turn to look thrown. “Really?”
Surprisingly, the answer was yes. Why the answer was yes, I hadn’t figured out, and I didn’t want to examine it too closely. “So. Reese and Kelly. Do they know?”
She tilted her head from one side to the other. “We’ve talked about it a little, in an abstract what-if kind of way. But I get the feeling they’re excited by the prospect. Not getting their hopes up, you know.”
“I think that would be really great. But”—I pressed my lips together, choosing my words carefully—“wouldn’t it be hard for you? I mean, to see her around town like that?”
“No. Maybe.” She threw her arms wide. “Okay, truth? How the hell do I know? I’ve never had a kid before. I’ve never put one up for adoption. I’m clueless.”
I snorted. Very unladylike, but who the heck cares? There’s something so satisfying about hearing someone admit to a blatant character flaw you’ve recognized from day one.
“The only thing I’m sure of is that I can’t raise this little girl the way she deserves. I don’t even want to and, ashamed as this makes me feel, I’m not totally sure who the father is.”
What the hell do you say to a comment like that?! “Oh. That…um…sucks.”
“Sorta,” she said, nonplussed. “But, now that I’m on this adoption track, knowing would just cause more problems.”
“How?”
“The father could try to take her, and trust me”—she shook her head—“I wouldn’t want her raised by any of the possible suspects.”
I wondered why she hadn’t thought about that before she’d had unprotected sex with these disreputable yokels, but then I remembered, oh yeah, she’d been on a one-way trip down the drunk-and-irresponsible road when the whole thing occurred.
“Every time I think about keeping the baby, my chest tightens up and I panic,” Jennifer said. “But I can’t imagine two better adoptive parents than Reese and Kelly. If they want her. I’m not saying they’re perfect, but they’re pretty darn close, as far as adults go.”
I glugged my joe, taking all this info in. “What will your own parents think, though? I mean, aren’t they card-carrying members of the anti-gay movement, or something?”
“Screw them.” She flicked her hand, her expression hardening. “I’ll be eighteen on August third. After that, I can make my own decisions.”
True again. Side note: my birthday is in early September. Weird that she and I were born right around the same time yet share utterly no defining personality characteristics whatsoever (please, God, make that true). “Will they fight it, though? As the biological grandparents?”
“Truthfully? They’re so worried about their image, I think they just want the baby to be gone.”
I nailed her with a stare. “This isn’t the decision you would’ve made a year ago,” I pointed out. “I mean, I’m just saying.”
She huffed. “A year ago, I wouldn’t have had to make it, because I wasn’t a totally irresponsible dumbass who slept around with scumbags.”
My glance slid away and I flipped my coffee stir stick between my fingers, index to pinky and back. “Well, no offense again, but you were kind of a dumbass.”
A pregnant—no pun intended—pause ensued.
“I’m really sorry, Lila,” she said, sounding sincere. “I know I ridiculed you and Meryl and Caressa, even when you didn’t deserve it.”
Cue astonishment background music again.
I eyed her as unsuspiciously as possible, which was difficult. “Apology accepted. As long as you acknowledge the fact.”
“I do. Believe me.” She blew out a breath. “I’ve done a lot of soul searching in the past few months. I’ve had to. Plus, Meryl’s amazing.”