Page 59 of The Surrogate Mother

“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 waituntil 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 ridiculouslyorganized. 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.