Father Knows Best Part 16

"Whenever. I can't wait. Thank you. For including me."

"I...well...sure. It wouldn't exactly be a logical birthday thing without you." Dang it, I was trying, but the bonding/trusting part just wasn't there for me yet, nor was the talking-without-sounding-challenged part. However, I'd taken a huge Meryl-esque step toward being a more forgiving person, and surprisingly, a sense of pride ballooned inside my chest.

When I caught my last glimpse of Jennifer as I left the coffee shop, I could swear her eyes glistened with tears, and that blew my mind. Mostly because it made me feel good.

Freakin' weird, huh?

Two full weeks pa.s.sed before I garnered the courage to (1) set into motion the insane girls' night I'd impulsively suggested, or (2) talk to anyone about the whole private adoption process. Why I was inserting myself into this baby fiasco, I don't know. No explanation. No excuses. But there you have it, people, absolute proof that something wiggy was going around in White Peaks that summer. Demonic possession, maybe. It was seriously as if we'd fallen into some weird "it takes a village to gestate a fetus" mode.

Stephen King could kick a.s.s with the screenplay on this one.

And, oh, by the way, I didn't discuss the adoption thing with my dad. Just too ick, ya know?

Instead...I asked Chloe.

Yep, Chloe. I know! What the-?

In my defense, it happened spur-of-the-moment one morning while we were restocking the brochure racks, before I'd had caffeine so I was't actually thinking straight. I'd left the house late, counting on a cup of joe at the travel agency, but alas, our office coffee machine had gone to that great big kitchen in the sky sometime during the night, may it rest in peace.

So, no java. Sucked.

Caffeine-deprived or not, morning sunlight angled in through the front windows, all golden, s.h.i.+ning on the crisp brochures and lulling me into a sense of safety.

And the question just popped out.

"Do you know anything about setting up a private adoption?" I asked, instantly shocked and chastising myself for the blurt. Oh well. Too late for a retraction.

"Private adoption?" One corner of her mouth quivered up. "I didn't know you and my son were so serious."

"Please," I said, rolling my eyes. She'd quickly caught on to the whole snark-joke mode, which she regularly used against me. "I'm asking for a friend. Or...someone, an acquaintance. Whatever."

Chloe laid a finger alongside her chin and looked upward. "Hmm, let me guess. Jennifer?"

I widened my eyes at her in surprise, but quickly realized, of course she'd know. Duh. It's not like we'd had a pandemic of teenage pregnancies in White Peaks, which was one point in the town's favor, I guess. "You can't tell her parents. She's just looking into options, and they're being...well-"

"Jerks?"

I barked a laugh. "From what I've heard, yes."

"I've met the Hamiltons," she said, ruefully. "I can only imagine what that girl's going through."

Just so you know, I did want to grill her about the Evil Hamiltons, about Jennifer, about all of it from start to finish, but I held back. "I just promised I wouldn't tell anyone who would run to her parents," I explained, starting to relax. "That's all."

She handed me a stack of leaflets for Ibiza, Spain, which I've since learned is p.r.o.nounced Ih-BEE-tha. Turns out there was some Spanish king back in the day who spoke with a lisp, and in order not to offend his royal highness (or highneth-snarf!), the whole freakin' country started speaking with a lisp.

No, I am not lying, and I know it's insane.

Anyway, it stuck to their native tongue like peanut b.u.t.ter to the roof of the mouth. That's why Spanish Spanish and Mexican Spanish sound very different, just in case you were wondering (and I'm sure you were).

I swear, the c.r.a.p people do to suck up to their royals.

After I'd slipped "Ibeetha" into its proper "thlot," Chloe said, "Looking into adoption is a responsible thing, so I don't see why I'd have reason to go to her parents. It's not as if you're telling me she's doing Ecstasy or huffing paint. Something irresponsible and dangerous."

No, that would have been the whole drinking and sleeping around thing, which was "game over" for Jennifer. She'd been there, done that, hence my question. "Okay. So? Private adoption?" Nudge, nudge. And people said I got off track.

"As a matter of fact, I do know a bit about it."

"You do?" I asked, both thrilled and surprised that I'd hit pay dirt right away. "How?"

"I have a close friend who went through one. It was an open adoption, too," she said, as if I would fully understand.

Um, yeah. Seventeen here! Clueless! "Meaning?"

"That they still have regular contact with the B-mom. Birth mother," she explained, when I obviously looked confused. She handed me a stack of p.h.u.ket brochures.

Shut up, okay? I mean, I snort-laughed until I almost peed my pants, too, the first time I saw it, too, but it's a really popular resort in Thailand and it's not even p.r.o.nounced like that. (Makes for some excellent travel comedy, though: "Where do you want to go on vacation?" "I don't know, p.h.u.ket." "Fine! We won't go anywhere!" Har!) p.h.u.ket-read: Poo-khet, not f.u.k-it (if you want to, that is-I certainly p.r.o.nounce it f.u.k-it in my own head)-was devastated by that giant tsunami a while back, but it's rebuilding its tourism trade.

Anywhoo, I slipped p.h.u.ket (shut up) into its place as excitement bubbled inside me that I'd found a viable adoption source in Chloe. Maybe she should change her name to Google.

Google Sebring.

Uh, never mind. Sounds like a clown, and sorry, but clowns are kill-you-in-your-sleep creepy to me.

"That's exactly the kind of stuff Jennifer needs to know. I'm pretty sure she'd want that, too. An open adoption." I leaned closer and lowered my volume. "She knows the potential parents very well."

Chloe stood, grimacing as if she were sore.

No way was I going to ask her what whazzup, because-as had become a semi-regular, back-and-forth habit-she had spent the night at our house last night. Get my drift?

She saw me watching her, though. "Spinning cla.s.s yesterday," she explained, thankfully evicting the evil parental s.e.x thoughts from my brain.

"Ah. I've always wanted to try spinning." I stood, too.

"You should come with me some time. We can groan and complain together."

I'd walked right into that one, huh? Dude, I was just making conversation! I didn't comment on her invitation.

She wrapped her arm around my shoulder and leaned in. "I think you're an amazing girl to be helping Jennifer, all things considered-"

"I'm not really helping her."

"Oh," Chloe said, with a small smile, "you'd be surprised."

Again, no comment from me, because I couldn't think of what to say. Why was I regressing into such a big "duh" communicator? I used to have a quippy comment at the ready at all times, locked and loaded, like an old-timey gunslinger.

"Tell you what," Chloe said. "I'm on the brink of a raging caffeine headache, and I suspect you are, too."

"I fell over the brink twenty minutes ago."

"Perfect. Let's head down to the Mountain Lion and get a latte. I'll tell you everything I know about private adoption, and you can pa.s.s it on. Of course, I'd be happy to talk to Jennifer, too."

"Really?" Excellent insta-plan. Hook Jennifer up with Chloe, and back my way out of the picture completely. Plus, an espresso jolt right at that moment sounded like the best thing ev-er. Let's face it, I'd maintained my composure through Ih-BEE-tha and f.u.k-it, but if Chloe handed me those new quilting tour brochures from Intercourse, Pennsylvania, I was going to lose it for sure. My maturity level had a definite time limit, and-oh yeah-it had been reached. "Sweet," I said. "Let me get my purse."

"No need. This one's on me." Chloe smiled.

"Oh. Thanks," I said, suddenly feeling shy. But then a brilliant idea struck me. "Hey!" I aimed my thumb over my shoulder in the general direction of Inner Power. "Why don't I just go get Jennifer and she can come with us?"

Chloe looked confused for a second, then said, "Oh, that's right. She's been hanging out with Meryl at the shop."

I nodded eagerly.

Odd how that fact didn't even bother me anymore.

Chloe hesitated. "Do you think you should wait to see if she wants to speak to me directly? I don't want to put her on the spot."

"Trust me, she's eager for info. But I'll ask her. If she's not down with coming, she doesn't have to."

She considered this, then nodded. "Okay. You run ahead. I'm going to let Alan know where we're going and take their drink orders. We'll bring everyone something back."

I smiled. Genuinely.

See? That's the kind of boss Chloe is.

No, that's the kind of person she is.

Dang it all, I was liking her more and more, despite the fact she's my boyfriend's mother and my dad's main squeeze, which, in a perfect world, would be diametrically opposed ident.i.ties. "Meet you there," I said, bolting out the door.

Two seconds later, it seemed, I busted my way into Inner Power, totally jacking up the Zen of the place, I might add.

Meryl must've been restocking displays. I heard a clunk as if she'd dropped something. She peered wide-eyed around the corner of a shelf, saw it was me, then blew out a breath. "Lila, geez. You scared me. No one ever bursts in here that way. I thought we were getting robbed."

"Right," I said, wryly, then lowered my tone to something allegedly menacing and held out my index finger gun-style. "Give me all your meditation supplies and some patchouli incense, and no one gets hurt."

Meryl giggled. "Very funny. What's up, smart aleck?"

"I need to talk to Jennifer."

Holding up one hand, Meryl smirked. "Wait. I'm replaying this surreal moment in my head."

"Shut up." I craned my neck. "Is she here?"

She angled her head toward the corner with the chairs.

I nodded once, lowered my tone, and said, "I'll tell you all about it later. Promise."

"Can't wait," she replied, going back to her work.

I found Jennifer in a chair, engrossed in a book, and let me just say, sitting cross-legged while sporting short-shorts is just an eek!-producing pose, what with the protruding preggo belly and the even more disturbing watermelonous b.o.o.bs. Jennifer seemed bigger than she should be at her stage, but Meryl told me that Jennifer had told her the women in her family carry large for some reason. Divine justice?

Stop it, Lila. SO hard to rein in the snark.

"Hey," I said, silently thanking G.o.d for bestowing me with minimal b.o.o.bage. I'd never whine about being flat again.

She blinked up, obviously surprised. "Oh. Hey." She closed the book and set it aside. "What's up?"

"Come to the Mountain Lion with me," I said without preface. "I found you a source who knows all about private adoption."

She unfurled her legs in an ungainly way and hoisted herself to her feet. "From your dad?" She smoothed her babydoll top.

"No, from his..." Girlfriend? Bad. From your ex-boyfriend's mother? Also bad. I settled for, "From my boss."

She lumbered closer and lowered her voice to a rasp. "Chloe Sebring? Dylan's mom? Have you lost your mind?"

Maybe. "No, but listen. She thinks it's responsible that you're looking into this and she's willing to help."

Jennifer looked dubious at best.

I flapped my arms once. "Look, she can give me the scoop and I can relay it, but wouldn't you rather hear it from her directly? What if I screw up an important point and you end up selling your baby into slavery or something?"

That wouldn't really happen, folks. I'm not a complete imbecile. But I so wasn't into playing the middleman. Please, G.o.d.

"How embarra.s.sing." She exhaled, then picked up her (designer, of course) purse. "Okay, let's go. You're positive she won't talk to my parents?"

"She said she wouldn't, and I trust her."

"Fine." Her eyes shone with fear and vulnerability. "I can do this," she said, mostly to herself. "Ugh."

A pang of...something gooey and un-Lila-esque struck me, and I actually reached over and squeezed her hand. I know! Crack in the town's water system, folks, it's the only explanation I have. "It'll be fine. Chloe's cool about the whole thing."

Jennifer took a deep breath, held it, then blew it out. "Okay, let's do this."

We got past the awkward h.e.l.los at the coffee shop quickly, thanks to Chloe leading the pack on that front. Once we had our foamy-yummilicious double espresso drinks (and Jennifer had her boring-a.s.s cocoa), we settled at an umbrella table on the outdoor patio.

"So, tell me what's going on, Miss Jennifer," Chloe said, then watched her over the rim of her paper cup as she sipped.

Jennifer cleared her throat and adjusted her position in the metal chair. Back straight. Shoulders tight. Chin high. "Well," she started clumsily as though she were giving a presentation in school for which she hadn't prepared, "as you know, I'm pregnant."

"Really?" Chloe asked, all wide-eyed. "I thought you'd smuggled a stolen crystal ball out of the metaphysical shop under your s.h.i.+rt."

Jennifer froze, her face pale, then glanced toward me.

I laughed, no help whatsoever.

"I'm sorry," Chloe said, with a regretful smile, as though just then realizing her gaffe. "That was sarcasm, not to mention a poorly timed joke."

Poorly timed? She'd been dead-on if you ask me.