But tonight, we had each other—and that was already enough.
CHAPTER 5
Caland I sat side by side on a tweed-upholstered couch that squeaked every time one of us breathed. He was sipping chamomile tea like some kind of Zen monk, except for the fact that he was drinking it out of a Goldman Sachs thermos.
I was holding a clipboard with trembling hands, realizing I’d just listed “Sunday brunch” as one of our shared values.
“I think I might throw up,” I said.
Cal smiled without looking up. “Just aim for the plant in the corner. It’s already given up.”
There were inspirational quotes framed on the wall, like “Love comes in all shapes and sizes,” and “Family isn’t always DNA… Sometimes it’s just destiny,” and “Welcome to True Path… Your journey begins with a cup and a dream.”
Before I could try to calm myself down, I heard the entrance door down the corridor fly open with a bang.
“Right, then!” exclaimed a voice that could only belong to one person. “Where are my boys?”
I blinked. “Mrs. Mulroney?”
A split second later, Mrs. Mulroney stormed into the waiting room wearing a floral dress and a knitted cardigan. She had a totebag over one shoulder and wielded a Tupperware container like a weapon. “There you are. What the hell were you thinking? You didn’t assume for one moment you were doing this without me, did you?”
“I— what— how—”
“I knew something was up when you called in sick this morning. No -one’s had polio since last century.”
“I thought I sounded convincing.”
“And I thought you were having a mild stroke, you sounded so off your rocker. Then I thought, no—he’s probably trying to create life.” She plopped down in the chair across from us. “So I called the one person who always knows everything.”
“Rashida,” Cal and I said in unison.
“She told me the whole thing,” Mrs. Mulroney said, folding her arms like a general who’d just completed a military op. “You’ve got an appointment with the surrogacy woman. Tessa. Ten a.m. And let me tell you, if she doesn’t give you boys five gold stars and a baby on a velvet cushion, I’ll be chaining myself to reception with a sign that says ‘Wombs for the Willing!’”
“Mrs. Mulroney, we love you, but you can’t be involved in this meeting,” I said. “This is for me and Cal.”
“How very dare you?” she gasped. “I’ve been emotionally invested in your reproductive journey since beforeRiverdancehealed my sciatica… briefly, but still!”
“Riverdance?” Cal blinked. “That was before Matt and I even met.”
“Ifelt it coming,” she said ominously. “You don’t ignore the signs. Dreams, tea leaves, Rashida’s Christmas cards—there were clues. Besides,” she added, holding up the Tupperware. “I brought cake.”
I exhaled with relief. “Oh, thank Christ. I thought you were expecting us to fill that thing.”
“Sweet Jesus in a swear jar, Matthew! How many times have I told you not to use the Lord’s name in vain. Not to mention thefact that I went to the trouble of baking something appropriate for the occasion. This is a fertility-friendly pineapple cake. I found the recipe on a blog calledOva Easy.” She turned to Cal. “You’re supposed to eat pineapple for optimal… conditions.”
“I think that’s for the personcarryingthe baby,” Cal said gently.
“Well, you never know where modern science is headed,” she sniffed. “Might as well cover all your bases.”
She leaned forward then like she was about to give us the birds-and-bees talk. “Now listen, if you’re not going to let me sit in, then make sure they don’t push you around. You’re both very capable, sensitive men. You’ll make wonderful fathers, provided you get enough fibre and don’t name the child after an IKEA product. I’ll not be babysitting a toddler named Flörnbjörn.”
I buried my face in Cal’s shoulder. “Make it stop.”
Cal patted my knee. “You’re doing great, babe.”
“Here, I brought a blanket,” Mrs. Mulroney continued, digging into her tote bag. “In case you go into labor.”
I held up the clipboard. “I haven’t even finished filling out the application form.”
