When You Least Expect It

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Book: Read When You Least Expect It for Free Online
Authors: Whitney Gaskell
have that answer for me.
    “Think it over, and let me know if you’d like to go forward,” Mike said.
    “We definitely will,” India said, standing to shake Mike’s hand.
    “What do you think? I liked him,” India said, once we were back in my ancient Honda Civic, heading home. “Did you like him?”
    “Sure,” I said. “He was …” I groped for the right adjective.
    “Knowledgeable,” India supplied. “I agree. He seemed like he really knew what he was talking about. Mimi said he’s the best in town.”
    I nodded and drummed one hand on the wheel.
    “I’d feel comfortable signing up with him,” India said. “Would you? Or do you want to interview other attorneys?”
    “If he’s the best in town, we should probably stick with him.”
    “I agree. He’s perfect.”
    “Except for the shirt,” I said, expecting India to laugh. I knew she shared my opinion of tropical print shirts.
    But all she said was “Mmm,” and I knew she hadn’t heard me. She was too lost in starlit dreams of roly-poly babies with gummy grins and jelly bellies.
    I hesitated, glancing sideways at her. I knew it was time to bring up the obvious obstacle to all of this, but it was a subject that had to be broached carefully. “The problem is,” I began.
    “I know,” India said, cutting me off. “The money. We don’t have thirty thousand, or however much it’s going to be.”
    “No, we don’t. Even the two thousand he wants as a retainer would be a stretch right now,” I said. “Maybe in a few months, maybe after I get the next royalty check from my publisher.”
    I didn’t add that that money was already earmarked for our next few mortgage payments.
    “I was thinking …” India paused.
    “What?”
    “We could ask your parents,” she said.
    My hands tightened on the steering wheel. I had never had a close relationship with my parents. We got along fine on a superficial, see-you-once-a-year-at-Thanksgiving level. But you didn’t have to dig very deep to hit the undercurrent of tension. My parents had not approved when, five years ago, I gave up my job in corporate development to write full-time. My second novel had just been published, and I’d signed a new contract with my publisher. I was thrilled. My parents were not. In fact, there had been an ugly scene when I told them. My mother had actually cried, and my father had been in a tight-lipped fury over the money he’d “wasted” on my education.
    “When it goes pear-shaped, don’t come to me for a loan,” he’d told me.
    Not if.
When
.
    At that moment, I’d decided that I would never ask him foranything, ever again. India knew all of this, of course, although she hadn’t been present for the big confrontation.
    “I don’t think my parents have that sort of money,” I hedged. My parents were not wealthy, at least not the sort of wealth where they could easily write us out a check for thirty-two thousand dollars.
    “I’m not suggesting we ask them for all of it. Just enough to put down a retainer, until we can remortgage the house. And we’d pay them back, of course,” India said.
    I breathed in, and let the air out slowly.
    “It’s not as easy as you’re making it sound,” I said.
    “I know,” India said. She reached for my hand. “But I don’t think it’s unusual for family to help cover the cost of an adoption. If my mother had any money, I’m sure she’d help us out.”
    “If your mother had any money, she’d find a way to lose it before she could give it to us,” I said tersely. “Or she’d end up giving it all to an abused-elephant rehab center, or whatever bullshit charity she’s into at the moment.”
    India didn’t argue with me. She knew what I said was true.
    “And second, if we ask my parents for money, we’re going to have to tell them what we need it for,” I said.
    “So what?”
    “My parents aren’t the most pro-adoption people in the world,” I said.
    “Seriously? Your parents are anti-adoption?” she

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