“Sure,” he says again. “So would it be like a preliminary interview? Or more like a look-at-porn-and-ejaculate-into-a-vial kind of deal?”
“C’mon!” I say, pretending to be offended. “That’s disgusting.”
“Sorry. But isn’t that how it works?”
“I guess,” I say. “But can I make one request?”
“Go ahead. Though something tells me that it won’t be your last.”
“I really don’t want to know if porn is part of my journey to motherhood,” I say, laughing.
“Fair enough,” he says. “I’ll light some candles and bring some roses and think romantic thoughts instead.”
I smile and tell him that’s a much better visual. “Thank you.”
“No problem,” he says. “Oh, and Josie?”
“Yeah?”
“You’re welcome to join me….” he says jokingly.
“Ha-ha,” I say, pretending that my heart didn’t just skip a beat.
—
ON SATURDAY MORNING, my actual birthday, I wake up in a good mood and feel even happier when Gabe comes into my room and informs me that we have a reservation at The Optimist at eight.
“Perfect!” I say, as I start to make my bed. “Who all’s coming?”
Gabe gives me a cagey look and says, “I thought you wanted to be surprised?”
“I never said that. I said I wanted you to handle the details,” I say.
“Well, I did handle them.”
“And?”
He sits backward on my desk chair, Fonzie-style, and says, “It’s me, you, Leslie, Sydney, Meredith, Shawna, and Donor Boy.”
“Interesting,” I say, freezing in mid–pillow fluff.
“Okay,” Gabe says with a sigh. “What’s your beef?”
I have several beefs, Leslie among them, but simply say, “Meredith’s coming?”
“Yeah. She texted me yesterday and asked,” he says. “I had to include her.”
“What about Nolan?”
Gabe shakes his head and says he can’t make it.
“Why not?” I ask, feeling disappointed that he can’t be their family representative and also a little worried that he might be mad at me, too—that my sister managed to rile him up and somehow turn him against me. I remind myself that this hasn’t happened to date, so I’m probably okay now.
“Meredith didn’t say,” Gabe replies.
“What about Stacey, Kendra, and Leigh?” I ask, referring to my three closest college friends, none of whom Gabe particularly likes. “Did you invite them?”
He pauses, then confesses. “You left it up to me, so I might have exercised a little bit of discretion….”
I cross my arms and whine his name.
Gabe isn’t having it. “Look. Do you have any idea how hard it is to get a table for seven people at The Optimist on three days’ notice? Can you just focus on the positive here?”
“It’s not so hard when you’ve had relations with the head bartender,” I say.
Gabe gives me a sheepish look. “That was a long time ago.”
“That you had sex with her or that she sent you a naked selfie?” I ask, remembering how I accidentally glimpsed a rather spectacular full-frontal nude of her on his phone.
“Both,” he says, cracking his knuckles.
“But that is how you scored a last-minute reservation,” I say. “Isn’t it?”
He smirks. “Maybe.”
I roll my eyes and ask if Leslie knows about her.
“Yes, Leslie knows I’m friends with a bartender at The Optimist.”
“No, Gabe. We are friends. That was something else altogether. But whatever,” I say, then switch gears. “So Shawna’s coming?”
“Yup. Meredith’s idea. She gave me her number.”
“Huh,” I say, a little surprised. Even though Shawna and I both made an effort to repair our friendship after Daniel died, it has been several years since she joined one of my birthday outings.
“When’s the last time you talked to her?” he asks.
“It’s been a few months…and I don’t think I’ve seen her since Oliver was born.”
“I figured it had been a while….She asked if you were seeing anyone.”
“What did you tell her?”
“I told her no….”
“Did you tell her anything about Pete?”
“No,” he says. “How do you plan on introducing everyone to him, anyway?”
“Like this,” I say, pausing for dramatic effect. “Pete, meet Meredith, Sydney, and Shawna. Ladies, meet my sperm donor.”
Gabe shakes his head, muttering that I have serious issues, as he stands and walks toward the doorway.
I clear my throat and say, “Um? Did you forget something?”
“Oh, yeah,” he says, glancing over his shoulder. “Happy birthday, Samantha.”
“Thanks, Duckie,” I say with a grin.
“Duckie’s in Pretty in Pink,” he says, stepping into the hallway, then turning toward the stairs. “Get your Brat Pack flicks straight.”
“Well, then, thanks, Long Duk Dong!” I shout after him.