Reasons to Adopt the Baby
1. There is a baby who needs a mother
2. I would be awesome mom—would never yell at child and would feed her organic vegetables and hardly ever doughnuts
3. Am 34
4. Almost 35
5. May be only chance to be a mom
6. Could cross off #3: Change someone’s life in bold strokes
7. Taking action = getting what you want from life, i.e., Alison Freeman*
Reasons Not to Adopt the Baby
1. Being a single mom perhaps not all it’s cracked up to be
2. I want a baby, but do I want a baby now?
3. Could I love baby that wasn’t “mine”?
4. Possibility of suddenly meeting man of dreams, having fairytale wedding, and starting own family with own biological children sooner than expected, i.e., Alison Freeman*
As soon as I wrote the pros and cons, I dismissed #3 under Reasons Not to Adopt the Baby. Of course I’d love the baby. Look at Angelina Jolie. Would anyone ever believe that a woman who wore a vial of blood around her neck could form a maternal bond so deeply and so quickly? Yet she can’t seem to collect enough of the little tykes. Love wasn’t the issue.
There were decidedly more yeas than nays on the list. But that alone wasn’t enough to tip the scales. What was the weight of each argument? Was there any one that trumped them all? Was there a deal breaker in there? I couldn’t be sure. Perhaps I could call my old friend Linda who’d done the boyfriend spreadsheet for me to see if she could whip up a logical calculation determining what I should do now.
I sighed and tossed aside the list. This was not a decision I’d make logically.
It would be an act of the heart.
Whatever I chose to do—to adopt or not to adopt—my life would be forever altered. This could be my chance to make up for everything I’d ever let slide.
Then again, it could be the biggest mistake I’d ever make.
“SO AM I CRAZY for considering it?” I asked Martucci on our Monday morning run. I was running a nine-minute mile at this point. More important, what I was doing resembled running, versus the walking with spurts of gasping and collapsing I’d started out doing. Without a bathroom scale I didn’t know if I’d dropped any weight, but my skinny clothes were fitting better. That was a hopeful sign.
“Sounds as if you’ve more than considered it. Sounds like you’ve made up your mind. And it’s great you’re going to adopt this kid. Being a parent is the best thing that can happen to a person.”
I’d learned enough about Martucci from running with him to know that he didn’t have children himself. Or a wife, for that matter. Not sure about the girlfriend—I preferred to remain ignorant. “What do you know about kids?”
“With these Italian genes? I’ve got thirteen nieces and nephews. Two more in the oven as we speak. My brother in Pittsburgh’s got a wife that pops them out like toaster pastries.” He glanced at his watch. “Okay, let’s move it. Sixty seconds of sprinting…go!”
I hurled myself around the track. The 5K race was in two weeks. I wasn’t going to win it, but thanks to my training, I wouldn’t make a fool of myself, either. After the minute, which felt like an hour, I slowed to a jog again. “You plan to have any of your own?” I asked, huffing. “Kids?”
“Someday. I’m in no hurry. God favors us men. We can spread our seed even when we need a gallon of Viagra to get it up. A woman in her thirties, though…I’ll bet your clock’s ticking like a bomb.”
“It wasn’t before. I mean, I knew I wanted kids. But I was never panicked about it. Now all of a sudden I am.”
He mulled it over and then said, “Makes perfect sense. It’s like how sometimes you don’t feel hungry. But you go by a fast-food place and smell the food. Next thing you know, you’re starved. It’s not that you didn’t need food before. You just didn’t know how hungry you were until food came along.”
“Exactly!” Who knew Martucci was so wise? “But why is it,” I asked him, “you think I’ve made up my mind?”
“You told me point-blank when you got here that you were going to adopt a kid in a couple months.”
I stopped in my tracks. “I did?”
Martucci circled back around and stood jogging in place in front of me. “Yeah.”
“Just like that? I said it?”
He reminded me of the conversation, and he was right. I’d said it. Popped out of my mouth. I’m going to adopt a kid in a few months. It hadn’t been “I might” or “Maybe I will.” I’d said, “I’m going to.” That was when I realized. It wasn’t a decision of the mind. Or even of the heart.
It was pure gut.
And my gut said yes.
Yes, yes, yes!
“Oh, my God!” I said. “I’m going to be a mother!”
“Congratulations.”
“Thanks.” My mind swirled with endorphins and excitement. Even my elbows felt buzzy. Oh, I knew there was still much to do before anything was 100 percent certain. I’d need to get a lawyer that specialized in this sort of thing, or at the very least download legal forms off the Internet. I’d have to sit down with Deedee and her mom to work out the kinks. But there was no doubt in my mind, or in my belly, anyway: I’d do what it took to make it happen.
“So what’s your family say about this?” Martucci asked.
“I haven’t told them. I haven’t told anybody.”
“I’m the first to know?”
“Guess so.”
“Parker, I’m honored.” He grabbed me and engulfed me in a hug. I cringed as sweat poured off him, running down my neck and soaking through my clothes. Although, I reminded myself, I was about to be a mom (!), so I’d need to get used to dealing with bodily fluids as bad as or worse than this. “I had no idea you thought so much of me,” Martucci said, releasing me from the hug.
I used my shirt to wipe up his sweat. “Are you kidding? You’re my jogging buddy.”
No need to hurt his feelings. Martucci had been easy to tell. He was the flagpole I’d run it up, confident that he’d salute. I suspected the other people in my life might not be quite so easy to win over.
Chapter 16
#3
Change someone’s life
#5
Run a 5K
#7
Make Buddy Fitch pay
#15
Take Mom and Grandma to see Wayne Newton
#16
Get a massage
#19
Show my brother how grateful I am for him
#20
Make a big donation to charity
With seven weeks left until Marissa’s birthday, I called an emergency meeting at the Brass Monkey. A bar near work famous for its happy hour, it was also the scene of the crime, where I’d kissed the busboy months prior. Although today must’ve been his day off. Or he’d quit, tired of sexual harassment from the customers. Maybe he’d spotted me and was hiding in the back. At any rate, I didn’t see him.
I’d gathered the troops—Susan, Brie, and Martucci—promising I’d buy all the two-dollar margaritas they could suck down. Because I needed help. Desperately.
The cold, hard truth: I was getting scared. Marissa had started the list with two items crossed off. I’d completed eleven. Seven remained. Although I’m no math genius, even I could see that I had to pick up the pace if I was to succeed. And, true to form, I’d left the hardest for last. Sure, I could rally. But with so much of my focus now on adopting the baby, I feared I might not.
It was karaoke night, so once again the place was hopping. And for the record, there wasn’t enough tequila in my drink, and perhaps in the world, to make me sing karaoke. I gave a prayer of thanks to Marissa on a daily basis that she hadn’t put that on her list. Nonetheless, the singing served as a lively backdrop, and who doesn’t enjoy hearing “I Will Survive” being bludgeoned by two drunk Japanese ladies?
The four of us sat at a corner table, shoveling chips into our mouths and poring over the list. I cl
arify: not the list itself. To avoid the risk that drinks might get spilled on the original list, I’d written the remaining tasks on a separate piece of paper. Marissa’s list had become like the Declaration of Independence—a priceless document to be protected in a glass box (or in this case, my wallet) until such time as it was ready to be presented and toured about to the masses.
“We know what you’re going to do to change someone’s life.” Martucci beamed, riding high on the fact that he was the first to know about the adoption.
“I can’t believe you’re gonna have a kid,” Brie added.
Susan’s fingers tapped on the list. “Although a backup plan might be a good idea…in case the adoption doesn’t go through.”
“It’ll go through,” I said with more confidence than I felt.
Two weeks ago, after my revelation to Martucci, I’d hired a lawyer. There were so many factors to work out that I hadn’t thought about, such as paying for hospital extras, the birth father’s rights, and so on. But so far, so good. Deedee started crying when I told her I was going to adopt the baby—that was, after having Kip call her mother to make sure Maria was okay with the plan. On the couple of visits I’d had with Deedee since then, she’d chattered endlessly about how it was going to be so cool when she and I were both big sisters.
Although the adoption smacked strangely of a business deal at this point, I knew it would feel real the moment I held the baby in my arms. Still, I was trying to stay on the down low in case everything fell through. I hadn’t even mentioned it to my parents. It was hard enough to keep my own emotions from spiraling out of control—it’d be cruel to tell them they were going to be grandparents only to snatch it away.
Of the handful of people I’d told so far, the only negative reaction was from Susan, which didn’t surprise me. She kept asking, “But why?” so many times that I started to wonder if I were actually talking to her five-year-old sons. About the hundredth time she’d said, “I never got the feeling that a baby was that important to you,” I’d turned to her and snapped, “That’s because it never felt possible before. I also don’t walk around talking about how I want to sleep with Orlando Bloom, but believe me: The day he shows up wearing nothing but a towel and asking me if I’ll rub lotion on his back, the answer, for the record, is, Hell, yes.”
“A backup plan’s not a bad idea,” Martucci said, shaking me from my thoughts. “In case you fail at changing this girl’s life. What else could you do?”
We sat silent. A beefy guy in a cowboy hat sang that country song about living like you were dying. A good choice since he was in fact dying onstage.
“Money,” Brie said. “I always say, ‘Money changes everything.’”
“Cyndi Lauper said it first,” I joked, only to meet a table of blank stares. “It was a song! Don’t make me go get that karaoke list and prove it!”
Martucci smacked the table excitedly. “Lottery tickets! You buy a hundred lottery tickets and hand them out to people you know. One of them hits, and boom, you’ve changed that person’s life.”
“Ooh, that’s a good one,” Brie said, and then turned to me. “I got Lotto numbers I play, so ask me before you buy mine. I always play my age, my birthday, the number of guys I’ve had sex with—”
“Lotto numbers only go up to forty-six,” Martucci said, and chortled.
“I know. That’s why I got to split it up.”
“It’s settled, then. Even though I’m certain that the adoption will work out”—here I narrowed my eyes at Susan as if daring her to challenge me—“the Lotto is the backup plan. So that’s one down, six to go. Moving things along…”
“What’s your rush? You may as well enjoy your nights out while you can,” Susan purred. “It’s the last you’ll have of them for a long while. That’s how it is when you have kids.”
I scowled at her. “You’re out. You have kids.”
“They’re home with my husband. Do you have one of those?”
Ouch.
My expression must have shown the sting because she said, “I’m sorry. That was out of line. I’m worried about you, that’s all. Being a single mother isn’t easy—believe me, I know plenty of them. But I’ll play nice. I promise.”
“All’s forgiven,” I replied, and I meant it. For every bit of haranguing Susan was giving me, I knew she’d also be the first to help me when the time came. Lord knew I’d need plenty of baby-sitting.
“Next: Run a 5K,” Martucci read from the list. “That will be handled this weekend, you stud muffin.”
“Martucci’s running with me,” I told Brie and Susan. “Anyone is welcome to join us. Brie…you run?”
“Depends.” She shoved a chip in her mouth. “Somebody chasing me?”
“I’ll take that as a no.”
Susan promised to bring Chase and the boys to cheer for me, and then it was on to one of the more troublesome on the list: #7, Make Buddy Fitch pay.
I reported to them how Sebastian had recently called me with an update. His private investigator had searched the United States and found three guys named Buddy Fitch. There was a sixty-eight-year-old retiree in Florida, a thirty-seven-year-old autoworker in Michigan, and a forty-four-year-old in Texas, currently unemployed. That was it. Sebastian explained that it had been particularly challenging, with Buddy being a common nickname. For all we know, he’d said, Buddy could’ve been a special name between him and Marissa. It might be a dead end. Crossing my fingers for luck, I’d called the Buddys. I’d told each one that I believed he knew a Marissa Jones and that he might want to know she’d passed away recently. And I’d turned up nothing.
“They claimed they’d never heard of her,” I moped.
“You should’ve said she left them something in her will,” Brie said. “I bet that’d jog their memories.”
My heart sank. “That would have been perfect! Like those police stings where they bring in a bunch of criminals and tell them they’ve won a prize. I blew it! Now I’m no further than when I started.”
“Not necessarily,” Martucci said. “The list says, Make Buddy Fitch pay. It doesn’t say which Buddy Fitch. So choose one of them and do something vengeful. I vote for the autoworker. Can’t pick on a retiree or some guy out of a job. That’d be low.”
Susan was appalled. “And arbitrarily playing a trick on someone because he happens to have the right name isn’t?”
“Susan’s right,” I said reluctantly.
“It doesn’t have to be real mean,” Brie suggested. “You could do something a little mean. Like short-sheet his bed.”
“Right. I’m going to fly to Michigan to short-sheet a guy’s bed.”
She shrugged. “All I know is that I’d hate it. Gotta stretch my legs at night. Otherwise they cramp up.”
“We’ll back-burner this one, I guess.” I sighed. “Sebastian told me his PIs would keep working on it. Plus I contacted Troy Jones to see if he’d ask around one more time. Somebody Marissa knew must be able to tell us who this guy is. Which now brings us to number fifteen on the list. I have to take Mom and Grandma to see Wayne Newton in Las Vegas.”
“Your mom and grandma or hers?” Brie asked.
“Hers.”
Susan’s brows furrowed. “Are you sure Wayne Newton is in Vegas?”
“He has a regular gig there,” Martucci answered, and then opened his eyes wide in protest. “Don’t all of you smirk at me. It’s common knowledge.”
“It is,” I agreed. “There are tickets still available for his weekend shows during the next few months.”
Brie guffawed. “That’s a shocker.”
“And,” I continued, “at my request, Troy checked with his mom and grandma. They’re going to make themselves available for whatever date works for me. He says they’re quite excited.”
“Really?” Susan asked. “I realize they’re grateful you’re doing the list. But I can’t imagine how they must feel…losing a child. Nothing could be worse. Aren’t you worried that it’s going to be…” He
r voice trailed off, searching for the right word.
“Weird?” I supplied. “Uncomfortable? Potentially the worst, most miserable trip to Vegas in the history of my trips to Vegas, and that includes the time somebody stole my purse and I got a sunburn so bad my eyelids swelled shut? Yes. I am worried about that. Thank you for reminding me.”
I had no clue how I’d pull it off. I’d met them only once, at the funeral, and I’d spoken as few words as possible. According to Troy, this list was such a bright light for them. How could any trip to Las Vegas possibly measure up to their expectations? Especially a trip on my budget.
I started to outline my idea—that I’d drive the Joneses to Vegas, we’d see the show, stay the night, and come back the next morning—when Martucci cut me off. “You can’t do it half-assed. From what you’re talking about, they probably had more fun at the funeral. This needs to be a party. Keep ’em busy and keep ’em drunk.”
“A party? I don’t know if I have what it takes to pull off something so—”
“Of course you don’t,” he agreed. “I’ve got it covered. I know a fellow at the Flamingo.”
“Is this like your friend who runs the gas station?” I asked. “The one who’s suing us?”
Susan shook her head. “He dropped the lawsuit. Bigwood wouldn’t go into details. I don’t know if the guy realized he didn’t have a case. Or maybe he was satisfied that an employee was let go. Either way, it’s a done deal. No lawsuit.”
I hadn’t realized how the lawsuit had still been nagging at me until I felt my body release the worry. It was over. Nobody else much seemed to care. It was as if the threat had never even happened, save for the fact that Lizbeth got fired.
“So as I was saying,” Martucci continued, “I’ll tell my buddy we might give away free trips to Las Vegas as part of a rideshare contest, and we’re on a reconnaissance mission to check it out. He’ll comp us rooms. Shit, Vegas this time of year? It’s so damn hot they’re giving away hotel stays in cereal boxes to get people out there.”
The Next Thing on My List Page 17