“No,” I fib, wondering why I always deny being asleep or drunk.
He asks me what’s going on, and I tell him I’m in New York, visiting my sister. I haven’t spoken to him in a few days, and have yet to tell him about my decision to use Gabe as my donor. I feel bad, having gone so far down this path with Pete, especially given his generosity throughout. I don’t want to hurt his feelings or seem mercurial. But these factors just can’t override the bigger picture. Contrary to what Meredith might think, I have no illusions about how serious this undertaking is, that we are talking about a child’s life here. Anyway, Pete might even be relieved to be off the hook. Surely, he’s had his share of doubts and second thoughts, too. But at the same time, I’m more than a little worried that it will extinguish any romantic possibility between us, and maybe even end our odd, fledgling friendship. And I have the sad, sinking feeling that I’m really going to miss him.
“Oh. Cool,” he says. “I didn’t know you were going up there.”
“Yeah. It was kind of last minute….My sister and I really need to sort some things out….” I say, as it actually crosses my mind to tell him everything. As in, everything. Instead, I stick to the broad strokes about Sophie and our plan to see her this evening.
“It’ll be the first time we’ve seen her since my brother’s funeral,” I say.
Pete whistles. “Wow. That sounds intense.”
“Yeah. It’s probably going to be pretty awkward….” My voice trails off.
“Is she married?”
I tell him I don’t know, that her Facebook page is vague. She mostly posts articles or random, funny, Seinfeldesque observations. “It looks like she has a son,” I add. “There’s one little boy on there a lot. But I guess it could be her nephew or a family friend…you know, like you and Fudge.”
“Right,” he says with a laugh. “Good ol’ Fudge.”
“So anyway…what’s going on with you?” I ask, mentally refuting Meredith’s accusation that I’m self-absorbed.
“Not much,” Pete says. “I was just kinda missing you.”
I smile, pleasantly surprised by his answer. “Really?”
“Yeah,” Pete says. “I mean not a lot. But a little.”
“A little, huh?”
“Yeah. A smidge.”
“Well, I miss you a smidge, too,” I say, as I get an unexpected tingly feeling.
“Well, good,” he says. “So when’re you coming home?”
“Tomorrow,” I say. “My flight lands around five, I think.”
“You need a lift home?” he asks. “I’d be happy to come get you.”
“Aw, thanks,” I say. “That’s really sweet…but I drove.”
“Well, then…how about dinner? Monday night?”
“That’d be great. I actually wanted to talk to you about something….”
“Oh?” he says, his tone turning serious. “About?”
“Just…some things,” I say.
“You mean baby-daddy stuff? Or our kiss at Johnny’s?”
I laugh, remembering the feel of his lips on mine. “Both, actually,” I say.
—
TWO HOURS LATER, Meredith and I are cabbing it to the Upper West Side. I feel queasy for the obvious reasons, but also a little intimidated by the idea of dining with an accomplished, sophisticated British doctor. I can tell Meredith is uneasy, too, as she keeps checking her makeup and fiddling with her hair.
“You look great,” I say, glancing at her sideways.
Looking sheepish for being caught primping, she snaps her compact closed and stows it back in her purse, murmuring a dismissive thanks.
“At least there’re two of us. There’s only one of her….I bet she’s more nervous than we are,” I muse aloud.
“I’m not nervous,” she quickly says.
I shoot her a skeptical look and say, “C’mon, Mere. How could you not be nervous?”
“I’m just not,” she insists. “I’m a little apprehensive, maybe….I mean, she’s sort of a stranger.”
“She’s completely a stranger. We haven’t laid eyes on her since Daniel’s funeral….I don’t even think I talked to her that day.”
“You didn’t talk to anyone that day,” Meredith says with an accusatorial edge.
I ignore the dig, and ask her if we should have a signal.
“A signal for what?”
“A signal for ‘let’s get the hell outta here.’?”
Meredith purses her lips and shakes her head, adamant. “No. No signals. We have to be warm and engaging—no matter what….We have to make a good impression…for Daniel….You know?”
It occurs to me to accuse her of being too wrapped up in appearances (which she is) or to point out that if Daniel really is up there watching us, our making a good impression on Sophie surely would be among the least of his concerns. But the last thing we need right now is another tiff, so I simply say, “Yeah. I guess so.”
A few minutes later, we arrive at Sophie’s building on Central Park West. Meredith and I get out of the cab and walk into the marble lobby of a stuffy doorman building.