Total pages in book: 61
Estimated words: 57866 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 289(@200wpm)___ 231(@250wpm)___ 193(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 57866 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 289(@200wpm)___ 231(@250wpm)___ 193(@300wpm)
“It’s not the right time in my cycle.”
Marlowe hummed. “You could still get in some practice and have a guy to call when it is the right time.”
I sat up and gave her an exasperated look. We’d become good friends, and one of the reasons we got along so well was that we always told each other the full truth.
“I’m not looking for a degenerate boyfriend with a name like Rock,” I told her. “I want my child to be fathered by a man with good genes.”
Marlowe sniffed and looked away, annoyed by my comment about Rock. “Well, you’re not going to meet anyone by pouting on the couch.”
“Hey, I had a lot of hours invested in researching Beau Fox. It’s okay that I’m disappointed it didn’t work out.”
“What kind of a name is Beau Fox, anyway? It sounds like a porn star name.”
“It’s the name his parents gave him.”
Henry and Claire Fox were the parents of five children; Beau was their third. Claire was a professor of Women’s Studies at the University of Colorado, and the picture of her family I’d seen in an online university magazine was like the template photo for a Christmas card. A beautiful family of eight, including their son-in-law Adrian, stood in front of a stream, snow on the ground and mountains in the background. They wore flannels and vests and boots that were expensive but broken-in; clearly not purchased just as props for the photo. All of them had hair in varying shades of brown, Beau’s hair among the darkest, and my favorite feature was the matching laugh lines around their eyes and their bright smiles.
The Fox family probably wasn’t perfect—no one was. But they loved each other, that much was clear. Beau was part of a big family, every member accomplished in their own right. The joy I saw in their faces was what I wanted for my own son or daughter one day.
“Can we at least go get dinner?” Marlowe asked. “I haven’t eaten since breakfast.”
I sighed heavily. “Just leave me and my empty womb here to wallow.”
“Is this all it takes to bring you down?” Marlowe stood up, rolling her eyes at me. “This is a long road, Shelby. There are going to be disappointments. You approached one guy. One.” She held out a single finger for emphasis. “And so what? It didn’t work out. I happen to know from seeing your color-coded charts that you have lots of other options.”
She was right. I knew she was right. I had too much hope wrapped up in Beau Fox, and I needed to let it go and move on.
“I’m waiting for the lunch I invited him to on Wednesday,” I said. “If he doesn’t show, I’m moving to the next guy.”
“Good. Because if this is your dream, don’t let anyone discourage you. Keep pushing. You’ll get there. Although, again, I don’t know what you’re thinking.” She scowled. “One afternoon of babysitting was enough to make me seriously consider getting my tubes tied.”
“I want a baby more than anything.”
It had become more than just a want; I yearned for a child of my own. I’d recently walked into a baby boutique and teared up when I picked up tiny white and yellow dressing gowns and caps. The smells of baby powder and lotion made me sigh dreamily and imagine rocking my own freshly bathed infant in the nursery I’d start designing the moment I found out I was pregnant.
Not only didn’t I need a relationship with a man to do this, I didn’t want one. At all. I wanted this baby to be mine and only mine.
“Can’t you want a baby and eat dinner?” Marlowe coaxed. “We can talk about baby names if you want.”
“Okay.” I took a deep breath, getting myself into a better frame of mind. “But we talk about baby stuff all the time. I’d like to hear about how your show went today.”
She grinned. “Girl, it was amazing! I interviewed a couple of women in their seventies about their sex lives.”
I furrowed my brow. “On second thought, I might not want to hear about that.”
“Don’t be ageist,” Marlowe scolded. “Grandmas like dick just as much as women our age do.”
Shaking my head, I went to grab my bag and keys. This was apparently the price I’d have to pay for yapping about fertilization windows and teething nonstop for the past month or so.
Picking up the wine glass I’d discarded, Marlowe downed the entire glass and carried it into my kitchen.
“Did you know pubes turn gray just like regular hair?” she asked over her shoulder.
Dear god. It was going to be a long evening.
I glanced at my watch and my heart sank. It was 12:35 p.m.—Beau was officially five minutes late to the lunch I’d invited him to in my letter.