Dating Game (40 page)

“No,” the attorney said carefully, “you're not. It all depends on what the birth mother wants. You're single, and you're a little older, as those things go. If a birth mother wants a couple, then it won't be a match. But you have other things to offer, you've obviously been a good mother,” although that would be checked out carefully, with references and a home study by a licensed social worker, as Alice was going to explain to her later. “You're experienced, you've already provided a good home and know-how, you're affluent, you're responsible. Some birth mothers don't care if there's a father or not, and many won't mind your age. Some will. You'll find, when we get further into it, that most birth mothers don't ask a lot of questions, far fewer than you or I would. If they do, we may be in trouble, and what she may really be saying is that she doesn't trust you, and she thinks she'd be a better mother than you would. If we present you, and you've been checked out, and you will be, then it's all about chemistry and instinct. It's the adopting mothers who usually ask all the questions. But for the most part, I hate to say it, adoption is a lot like dating.”

Paris grinned at the comparison. “At least there's a reward at the end of it. I'm not sure that's the case in dating, there all you get is a lot of heartache.”

“Sounds like you've been dating the wrong guys,” she smiled, “but haven't we all! It's the good ones, when you finally find one, that make it all worthwhile. Just like adoption.” She smiled.

She explained the entire process to Paris then. She had numerous options, a foreign adoption, a domestic one, private, or closed, the adoption of a special needs child, which Paris said she didn't want to undertake on her own, and Alice nodded, it was all a personal choice. And Paris said she wanted a domestic child. Foreign adoption sounded too difficult and too stressful for her. And she didn't want to spend two months in a hotel room in Beijing or Moscow waiting for a lot of red tape to be cut, and forms to be filled out. She wanted to lead a normal life and go to work every day while she waited for the right baby to be found. And that sounded reasonable to Alice. There had to be a home study, done by a licensed adoption agency if it was going to be a private adoption, which this was. Paris would have mountains of papers to fill out, documents to sign, fingerprints and criminal records to provide, medical exams, as well as references and information about herself.

“Have you told your children yet?” Alice asked.

“No, not yet. My son is in college, and my daughter got married on Saturday. They're pretty much out of the house, and they can't have much objection, it's not going to affect them.”

“Don't be so sure. Even grown children have strong opinions sometimes about their parents adopting. Sibling rivalry can happen at any age.” Paris couldn't imagine it, but the attorney obviously had more experience than she did.

“What do I do now?” Just listening to her, Paris was excited. She knew more than ever that her decision was right, and she could hardly wait. Alice had told her that they screened birth mothers very carefully. They wanted to be sure that the family background was as sound as possible, the birth father had signed off so there were no problems later, and the match between adoptive mother and baby was as good as it could get, and of course that the birth mother was really going to give the baby up. And there was drug and alcohol screening for the birth mother as well.

“We give you a packet of papers,” Alice said, standing up. “And you start filling them out. I'll be in touch in the next week or two. I want to get your home study started, because if a baby comes up on short notice, and they do that sometimes, we can get a call from a hospital or a mother, after the baby has been born, and you want to be able to move forward quickly.”

“Does it usually happen that fast?” Paris looked surprised. She had assumed it would take months, or even years.

“It can happen just that fast. Or it can take a lot longer. Realistically, it will probably take about a year. Most of the time it's about that long. If we're lucky, six months. But I think I can tell you reasonably that you should be changing diapers within a year.” Paris smiled. It was a hopeful thought. And she liked this woman enormously. Paris had total confidence that she was in the right hands. She had gotten the name from her gynecologist, whom Sydney had referred her to. She did a lot better with doctors and jobs than she did with blind dates.

Paris gave Alice her number at the office, her home number, and the number of her cell phone. And after that, she drove to the office. She was totally excited about what she was about to do, and for the moment she didn't have a single doubt. The only thing she was wondering about now was if Alice was right and Meg and Wim might be upset. She didn't think they would. And it wasn't something she wanted to discuss with them on the phone. Meg and Richard were in Europe for three weeks on their honeymoon, so she had to wait until they got home.

And when she got to the office, Paris saw that Andrew Warren had called. She hesitated about returning the call, and didn't want to pursue anything romantic with him. He was a nice man, but she was serious about not dating. She had no interest in him. She saw that the message was in Bix's handwriting, and stopped in his office, with the message in her hand.

“What did he want?” She didn't look enthused.

“He asked if you'd donate a kidney,” Bix teased her. “Don't look so suspicious. He said he had to see a client here next week, and I think he wanted to know if you wanted to have lunch.”

“I don't,” she said curtly, tossing the message in the trash.

“Don't be such a pain in the ass,” Bix said, looking annoyed. “He's a nice man.” They had chatted for a few minutes on the phone, and Bix had invited him to stop by sometime. If Paris wouldn't have lunch with him, he would. “What have you got to lose?”

“My sanity and self-respect. I'm fond of both.”

“Where were you this morning, by the way?” She usually let him know where she went, and she had left a message on the machine saying she'd be late, but not why.

“I had my teeth cleaned.” She smiled at him, but something in her eyes told him it was something else.

“You must have more teeth than I do. You were gone a hell of a long time.”

“I had to wait,” she said, and went back to her desk. She didn't call Andrew Warren. He was a nice man, but there was no point. She could always see him sometime in L.A. when she visited Richard and Meg. Meg said they saw a lot of him. And she saw no reason to cultivate a friendship. She didn't need or want a male friend. She had Bix.

She heard from Alice Harper, as promised, the following week. Paris had returned as many of the forms as she could fill out. She still had to get her fingerprints done, and a computer check of her criminal record, but she'd been planning to do that in the next few days. And she wasn't prepared for what Alice said.

“I have a birth mother for you, Paris,” she said, and Paris could feel her heart pound. This was much better than a date. This was forever, just like a baby of her own. It was like waiting to find out if she was pregnant, in the early days of her marriage. They had been the best years of her life. And this was a way of bringing those days back, without Peter of course. But you couldn't have everything. Not anymore.

“Tell me about her,” Paris said, as she closed her office door. Bix glanced out of his office and saw her do it, and had the feeling that something smoky was going on. He hoped she wasn't looking for another job. Paris never closed her door.

“She's nineteen years old, in college in the Bay Area, from a solid family in Mill Valley. She's healthy, anxious to pursue her education. She's very athletic, which is why she didn't know she was pregnant. She didn't find out till she was five months along.”

“How pregnant is she now?”

“Seven months. The baby is due on December first. She's not into drugs, and hasn't had any alcohol since she found out. She says only a little beer and wine before that, she's on the tennis team at her school, so she's pretty wholesome. She's been drug tested, and she's clean. And judging from the photographs, she's a very pretty girl, blond hair, blue eyes, she looks a little like you. I'm going to see her myself tomorrow. The birth father is twenty-two, just graduated from Stanford, working in New York. Four point oh GPA all through college, he sounds like a real brain. No drugs. They went out for two years, and broke up six months ago. They don't want to get married, neither of them wants the baby, nor do their parents. His family is pretty well known in the city. I think they just want this to go away. You could be the answer to their prayers.”

“How does the birth mother feel about me? Does she mind that I'm single and older?” Paris asked, feeling humble. In a way, it was worse than dating, because there was so much at stake. A child for the rest of her life.

“She's going to talk to two other couples. So this isn't a sure thing. Let's get your home study complete as fast as we can do it. Have you told your kids?” Alice asked.

“My daughter won't be home from her honeymoon for two more weeks.”

“That's soon enough. Let's see where this goes.” And on Saturday afternoon, she called Paris at home. She was sitting in her living room, in front of the fire, reading a book. And for some odd reason, she'd been thinking of Jean-Pierre, missing him, and wondering how he was. She hoped he was happy and well.

“The birth mother wants to meet you,” Alice told Paris. “She's going to see the other couples too.” This was auditioning big time. “Are you free tomorrow?”

“Absolutely.” She was having dinner with Wim, but she had no other plans. Her life was quiet these days. Quieter than it had ever been.

Alice named a restaurant in the heart of town, where they could meet and talk for as long as they wanted. She said the birth mother was coming alone. They agreed on two o'clock, and Paris said she'd be there. And when she showed up exactly on schedule the following afternoon, the young woman walked in at almost exactly the same time. She was a beautiful girl, with a lean athletic figure, and the baby was a tight neat ball that hardly showed, despite her seven months. The birth mother looked strikingly like Meg.

They were given a quiet corner table, and the girl looked uncomfortable, so Paris spoke first. She asked how she was feeling, and she gave Paris a shy smile.

“Stupid mostly. I should have figured it out. My periods are so irregular, I just missed it.” She told Paris afterward that her parents were extremely upset, especially her dad. She was an only child, and the apple of his eye. Paris wanted to ask her if she was sure of what she was doing, but Alice had suggested she not do that. The girl said she was certain she didn't want the baby. She talked about her boyfriend then. She said it had been a very acrimonious breakup, and they didn't want to see each other again, for the moment.

“What if you get back together?” Paris asked quietly. “Do you think you would want the baby back?” Legally, they wouldn't have a leg to stand on, Alice had said, once the papers were signed, but Paris was worried about it anyway. What if they harassed her, or tried to overturn the adoption in court? They were all normal fears for her to have. It was all unfamiliar to her.

“No, I wouldn't. I don't want a baby. I want to go to school in Europe next year, and finish school. I can't do anything I want with a baby. And he wants to go to law school and doesn't want it either. I just can't take care of a baby, and my parents won't.” She sounded as sensible as any nineteen-year-old girl, and sensible enough to know that she wasn't responsible enough to bring up a child. She was still one herself. She was the same age as Wim, and Paris couldn't imagine him with a baby for a long time to come. The birth mother's name was Jennifer, and they sat and talked for two hours. It was obvious that she liked Paris, and she said so when they left. And after that Paris went home and cooked dinner for Wim. They had an easy quiet evening, and she was dying to tell him about the baby, but she didn't want to tell him before she told Meg. She wanted to tell them together, it only seemed fair to both of them.

She spoke to Alice again on Monday, and she said it was looking good. The birth mother liked her a lot. And after she hung up, Paris was beaming when she came out of her office, and Bix looked upset.

“What's wrong?” She looked at him with a warm grin.

“You tell me,” he said, and asked her to come into his office and sit down. “Paris, what the hell is going on?” She suddenly wondered if she'd screwed something up for a client, and was worried by the look on his face.

“With what?” He looked furious with her, but in truth he was scared.

“Either you're having an affair, or you're looking for a new job. And since you insist you won't date, I figure it's the latter. Every time I walk past your office, the door is closed, and you look like a Cheshire cat.” He looked profoundly upset, and Paris felt badly to have caused him concern.

“I'm sorry, Bix,” she said gently. “You're going to have to drag me out of here, if you ever want to get rid of me. I'm not going anywhere.” She wanted to reassure him, but he only looked more confused.

“Then what the hell is it?” he asked, running a hand through his hair. And she smiled, just as he had said, like the proverbial Cheshire cat.

“It's something very wonderful. I think so anyway,” she said proudly. “I'm going to adopt a baby, Bix.” He just sat there and stared at her for endless minutes and then shook his head in disbelief.

“Oh my God. You're not.” It was all he could think of to say.

“I am. At least I hope I am. I met the birth mother yesterday. I've been pursuing this for the past couple of weeks, but I've been planning to for months. I wanted to get Meg married first.” It certainly explained the closed door.

“When did you decide that?”

“About six months ago. After Jean-Pierre. I don't want to do that again. And I don't want to be alone. Bix, when you think about it, it makes a lot of sense.”

“Not to me. Do your kids know?”

“Not yet. I'm going to tell them when Meg gets home.”

“When is this baby due, if you get this one?”