Page 3 of Better Than Baby (Better Than Stories #9)

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“How’s Murphy?”

“He’s a maniac,” I reported with a laugh, nodding my thanks to the bartender and tapping my beer bottle to Curt’s. “Give me a sec, and I’ll bore you with the fifty thousand photos and videos we’ve taken so far.”

“Oh, boy, I can’t wait,” Curt deadpanned.

“Just kidding. Bring it. I love that little guy, but I’ve already seen the twenty-five thousand pics online, and what I really want is to see Jack attempt to teach him how to fetch a tennis ball in between getting slimed with puppy licks.

So I guess this is me inviting myself and my husband to hang out with Murphy. ”

I rolled my eyes. “Come by on Saturday.”

My buddy huffed with faux indignance. “Maybe we’re busy.”

“Don’t get your undies in a twist, Curtster. We’ve only had Murph for a month. That means thirty days of getting up multiple times in the middle of the night to let him outside. I’m exhausted.”

“I get it. No offense, but you look tired too.”

“Gee, thanks. I believe it, though. I almost fell asleep in a partner meeting this morning.”

Curt snickered as he reached for a handful of fries. “Ouch. Consider it practice for…you know.”

Yeah, I knew what he meant, and I appreciated that he didn’t feel the need to tiptoe around a potentially awkward subject. Our friends had supported us through some tough times, and Curt was probably the one I leaned on the heaviest.

We’d been best friends since law school. Curt was the first person I’d ever told I was bi and head over heels for a guy. He’d been my co-best man with my brother at our wedding, and he was the first person I called if I needed to vent about work or life.

We made an effort to meet up at least once a week—on the basketball court, if we could get enough guys together for a quick weekend game, or at our favorite bar for a beer and a plate of salty fries.

Sometimes our husbands would join us afterward for dinner, or we’d go to Curt and Jack’s and order takeout. That had been pre-Murphy, though.

Curt and his husband, Jack, had zero intention of becoming pet owners, but they were a thousand percent into being dog guncles. And…kid guncles. Maybe one day.

Honestly, I hadn’t thought much about kids lately.

I had a huge contract on my desk with a ridiculous amount of red tape and confidentiality clauses that, of course, was due yesterday.

And Aar and I had our hands full with a rambunctious puppy who stole socks and ate shoes, including the tassels on a pair of Aaron’s Prada loafers.

That hadn’t gone over well. I’d had to talk Aar off a ledge after that mishap. To be fair, he’d done the same for me when Murphy had gnawed a plank on our newly refurbished outdoor deck.

These days, we spent an inordinate amount of time comparing notes about what kind of mischief our Lab had gotten into.

“Matty, he ate a sprinkler head. Ate it. As in, tore it out of the ground, chomped his sharp fangs into the plastic till it was completely mangled, then played with it like it was a dead mouse. My fault, I know, but I was on a conference call and by the time I caught him, it was too late,” Aaron had groused a few days ago.

“The little turd. He’s lucky he’s so darn cute.

Did you see the adorable new pic I texted you? OMG. Adorbs!”

Or me.

“Murphy, let go of my tie. Now. Murphy! No, don’t—where are you going? I’m not chasing you. I’m not…”

It was near constant madness and mayhem at our house now, and we freaking loved it.

Being pet owners gave us a whole new rhythm to our days.

Long days in DC used to be the norm for me, but I found myself lingering to play with the dog or walk him.

Which led to random chats with neighbors I usually only saw on weekends.

There was something pretty cool about shooting hoops with Todd and his ten-year-old son, Billy while his preteen daughter, Kate threw a ball for Murphy before they left for school. It was all so…wholesome and life-affirming.

“ Hmm , maybe.” I eyed Curt over my beer and shrugged noncommittedly.

“I contacted the surrogate agency last month, but we haven’t been actively pursuing it.

Neither of us wants to waste time interviewing candidates we know aren’t a fit and…

I think we needed a break. I can’t tell you how nice it’s been. ”

Curt nodded. “I bet.”

“And Aaron’s in love with the dog. He’s happy, I’m happy, and neither of us is stressing about shit we can’t control. This may sound strange, but I feel like I’m more aware of my surroundings than I used to be.”

“What do you mean?”

“The neighbor on the corner painted his door a funky shade of yellow. I did a double take the other day and mentioned it to Aaron. He loves big colors. I was sure it was new, but no…turns out it was done three or four months ago. I never noticed. I want to say that’s totally weird?—”

“But it’s not,” Curt finished for me. “I wouldn’t beat yourself up about it.”

“I know, but…” I squinted, my gaze focused on a bottle of Johnnie Walker on the glass shelf behind the bar. “I don’t want to be the guy who measures the success of a day by how much work I’ve accomplished. That’s depressing.”

“You don’t do that.”

I swiveled on my stool and leveled him with a mock-serious look. “Curt, it’s the brightest shade of yellow you’ve ever fucking seen. As in…no one could miss it. Aaron laughs every time we walk by now. ‘Oh, you mean that door, Matty?’ ”

Curt howled uproariously. “I’ve seen that door. I know exactly what you’re talking about.”

“ You’ve seen the door?”

He snort-laughed, clearly enjoying himself. “It’s like a beacon. Couldn’t miss it if I tried.”

“ Hmph . Well, now I guess you know what I mean. I love my job. I just…don’t want it to define me.

It was a big deal to me to make partner, but I think I’ve probably gone overboard trying to prove the firm made the right decision.

Who knows if we’ll ever have kids. I like what I have now—an amazing sexy husband and a goofy-ass dog who reminds me to stop and smell the roses. ”

“And notice your neighbor’s butt-ugly yellow door,” Curt added.

I tipped my bottle in a mock toast. “You know it.”

We snickered like a couple of loons, turning our attention to the basketball game on the flat-screen behind the bar and grumbled about the ref’s calls while sharing lawyerly gossip.

My phone buzzed just as I pulled my wallet out and handed a card to the bartender. I check the caller ID to be sure it wasn’t Aaron, then stuffed it into my pocket. It buzzed again.

“Do you need to get that?” Curt asked.

I signed my name on the receipt, put my credit card away, and slid off the barstool. “Nah, it’s not Aar. Whoever it is can leave a message.”

Curt followed me to the exit, giving my shoulder a friendly punch on the sidewalk. “Tell Murphy his uncles will be there this weekend with chewy toys and treats. I’ll text Aaron too since I know you have no clue whether or not you have plans.”

I flipped him off and headed for my BMW. “Later, Curtster.”

“Later. Hey, Matt.” He waited until I turned to continue. “Don’t give up. It’s not over yet.”

He was gone before I could reply.

Buzz buzz

I fished my cell from my pocket and aimed my key fob at my car. Another missed call, but whoever it was had left a message.

Hello Matt. My name is Belinda Arrelia. I’m with Joyful Beginnings Surrogacy Center, and I’ve got a match for you. A perfect match.