“Ha!” Ruby said. “You think people aren’t unethical.”
They both watched Nikki leave the room to get a VCR; they were going to watch a film of real births.
“Maybe she’s all they could get,” Ruby said, worried. “I don’t even think she’s a nurse. Not a real one. She’s probably a nurse like my mother. An L.P.N.” Then she added, “A bedpan cleaner.”
Olivia had been so willing to accept Nikki’s credentials. Why would Ruby doubt the woman?
“I’m sure she’s fine,” Olivia said. But now Ruby had caused her to doubt this. How do you get to be fifteen and so wary of everything, of everyone? Olivia wondered.
Nikki returned, easily rolling in video equipment that the tech boys in high school would have struggled with.
“Everybody done?” she asked, and they all silently, angrily almost, handed her their cards.
“So,” Nikki said, sitting again on the soft couch, “I thought we’d introduce ourselves. Tell one another our names and who our partner is and our due dates and any other pertinent information you want to share. Okay?”
Everyone glowered.
“Good. Let’s start with you two,” Nikki said, and pointed right at Olivia.
Olivia had expected Nikki would begin to her left, with the Jeep-shaped woman and her mechanic husband. She had no idea what she and Ruby would say. Even in the air-conditioned room, Olivia felt a trickle of sweat creep down her arm as everyone turned to look at her.
But Ruby didn’t hesitate.
“My name is Ruby,” she said.
“I love that name,” Nikki gushed. “My youngest is named Scarlet.”
Ruby frowned. “Anyway” she continued, “I’m Ruby and my due date is Labor Day. I guess I’m probably the youngest person here.” She lowered her voice. “I’m a pregnant teen. You know, unwed. The kind they do television specials about. And this is Olivia. She’s going to adopt my baby. It’s like one of those—what do they call them? Open adoptions? Where she like pays for everything, doctors and vitamins and stuff, and then she gets the baby. They put an ad in the paper. You know, ‘Couple seeking baby.’ That kind of thing.”
Olivia stared down at her toes, trying not to listen, thinking about how soon, when this was over, she was going to make an appointment for a pedicure.
“Wasn’t there a movie about that?” Ruby said, showing no indicating of shutting up anytime soon. “With like Glenn Close and one of those actresses with the three names. I always get them confused. Mary Jessica somebody?”
Olivia decided she would get one of those colors they were showing in You! A sparkly blue or green.
“Of course,” Nikki said, and Olivia felt the woman looking at her, “I usually get both partners in with the mother in cases like this.”
Olivia looked and saw not just Nikki and Ruby but everyone watching her.
“Will your husband be joining us?” Nikki said. “Maybe next week?”
Ruby didn’t miss a beat. “He travels so much, you know?” She pointed upward. “He’s a pilot. Always has his head in the clouds.”
“Isn’t that exciting?” Nikki said.
Olivia swallowed hard, nodded.
The next couple was talking now, all giggly and excited. When Olivia met Ruby’s eyes, the girl grinned and gave Olivia a big wink.
It was the heat.
It was those stupid drunken kisses with Rex.
It was loneliness.
It was neediness.
Olivia didn’t even care what it was. She was so hot and the air was so thick that she couldn’t breathe or think clearly. She dressed—a tank top and cutoffs, her old Jack Purcell’s, one of her new hats: Hyannis—and she drove straight to the surfer boy’s house. “Get it over with,” Winnie had advised her before she left. “It’s a hurdle. It’s nothing. It’s sex.”
She rang the doorbell and hoped he wasn’t home.
She held her breath, waiting. It was the middle of the night. He had a girlfriend. This last thought pleased her. The surfer boy, though disarming, was safe. He was not going to want a relationship or a commitment. He would go away.
When he opened the door—shirtless, also in cutoffs, tanned bare feet—he looked very awake.
“Well, hello,” he said.
That word well again.
Good. She didn’t even like him. This gave her confidence.
“Are you alone?” she said. “Which is my way of saying, Is your girlfriend here?”
“I don’t have a girlfriend,” he said, disappointing her. “Come on in.”
She wanted to question him about this discrepancy, but she was afraid she’d lose her nerve if there was too much conversation.
“Okay,” she said. “So. My husband died a year ago and I just sort of figured out that he’s not coming back. And my best friend, Winnie, when I told her about how at night sometimes when I can’t sleep, for some reason I see your stupid face, she said, ‘Go tell him.’”
“What part of this is supposed to win me over?” he said. “The ‘stupid face’ part?”