Chapter 2
Chapter Two
WELLS
January
The tension in Wells Maroo’s shoulders rose with every floor the glass elevator passed.
Four.
Five.
It was the Monday after New Year’s—a divorce lawyer’s busiest day of the year. His stomach roiled.
Six.
Seven.
I should be back in Fairwick Falls, untangling the mess I made. Not listening to eighty-five voicemails of the same old story: “Marriage is a sham, and I want out.”
Releasing people from the unending stupidity of marriage had enabled him to buy a nice condo, nicer cars, and a nest egg for his future plans.
His heart wasn’t in it any longer though. He was only here for a paycheck, wishing he was five hours west, living a carefree life behind a diner griddle.
Eight.
Nine.
He sighed at the golden yoke around his neck.
He wanted very specific things for his life. Those things were expensive, especially after he’d bought his stepfather’s diner in secret, knowing he needed the money to retire.
He’d hated that Pop—a man in his eighties—had still been working every morning at dawn. Wells wanted him to enjoy the fruits of a hard, honest life.
So Wells had done what Wells normally did. He took care of it.
Just…in an unconventional way.
Thirteen.
Fourteen.
Pop, the softie, would have given him the damn thing, so Wells had created a shell corporation to purchase it. Even now, his mom and Pop had no idea he’d been their buyer.
It was supposed to be a simple investment, but it had become a grease-covered weight around his neck nearly overnight. He’d fired two entire kitchen staffs after the food had reportedly become inedible.
His shoulders hunched with tension.
It would kill them to know that he had been the one to fuck up Pop’s legacy.
Twenty-two.
Twenty-three.
Pop had practically raised Wells, had given him his first job, helped him become the man he was going to be. When Pop married Wells’s mom two years ago, he’d been so happy to finally call him family.
Twenty-six.
He’d fix his mess; he always did.
He just needed time.
But, as the elevator dinged for the twenty-ninth floor, Wells realized his number was literally up.
Gleeful, giddy smiles haunted the hallways as he walked to his office. Murmurings of “new Porsche,” “second home,” and “trip to the Maldives” were smoke-like wisps in the air.
Wells shrugged out of his custom-made trench coat—it was hard to find clothes for his husky, linebacker-style body—and saw seventy missed voicemails on his office line.
And so, he began.
With a grimace, he opened his voicemails. His eye caught on one in particular.
New Beginnings Surrogacy Agency. Voicemail, one minute long.
He gulped.
This would be the fourth company he’d reached out to.
As he was about to hit play, a familiar ruckus echoed in the hall. “Guys, stop running,” Ben, another law partner, called.
Two little hooligans waging war in puffy coats burst into his office. “Uncle Wells!” Aiden ran in with his hood half over his eyes.
Wells leapt from his chair and growled as he swung Aiden upside down. “Who is storming into my office?” Belly giggles shrieked out from Aiden.
Ben rounded the corner, a grateful look on his face.
“Me next!” Braxton, the younger one, pulled on Wells’s leg. He picked up Braxton and held them both upside down in the air easily.
“Did this riffraff piggyback in off your badge scan?” Wells said with a smile.
Ben sighed, zipping his coat. “Snow day.”
Wells held Braxton in front of his face with an exaggerated frown. “So you’re not here to take depositions?”
“What’s a dep-sition?” Braxton giggled as Wells swung him.
“A very annoying game of tag. Did you guys have a good Christmas?” Wells said, setting the boys on his office couch.
“I got an Action Man Thunderdome set,” Aiden said, jumping on the sofa.
Ben wrapped his scarf around his neck. “Aiden, get off the couch.”
Wells waved away the concern. “Jump harder, I want to expense a new one anyway.”
Ben shooed them out. “Come on, guys. We need to leave Wells alone. It’s a busy day today.”
“You’re not working?” he said to Ben over the kids’ chatter.
“No,” Ben said with a meaningful eyebrow raise. “She had a spa appointment she couldn’t change.”
Ben’s divorce was a classic case that Wells could recite upside down, backwards, with his eyes closed: they fell in love, got married, had two kids, fell out of love, divorced, and then tossed the kids back and forth.
“It’s fine,” Ben said, zipping Aiden’s coat. Wells zipped Braxton’s for him. “I came in early to get some work done, but I’ll catch up tonight. Come on, guys. Say goodbye to Uncle Wells. I don’t want them destroying the glass sculpture in the lobby. Again.”
“It was ugly anyway,” Wells called as they tramped toward the elevator.
Maybe he’d stop by Ben’s tonight and bring him dinner. He’d need Ben’s advice if he actually could find a surrogacy agency who wanted to take him as a client.
He completely understood that they needed to be picky about who they worked with. There were a lot of idiots and creeps out there. A single guy who wanted kids but didn’t want a partner or marriage sounded strange on paper, but Wells wanted a family.
You could count on family.
You couldn’t count on love.
Ben’s laugh echoed in the lobby at something one of the kids said, and Wells felt that pang of jealousy.
He’d been so lonely for so long, wanting a family, but not finding a partner who wanted to do it his way.
He decided to dive into the pile of messages waiting for him, holding his nose through another year of fights and betrayals that made his blood boil on behalf of his clients.
Surrogacy was incredibly expensive, not to mention the cost of private school in Philadelphia and then college. He was completely over this career, but it was the only way he could afford what he wanted, the way he wanted it.
As he picked up his office phone to listen to the voicemails, his cell rang.
Olivia.
Strange. His sister didn’t call him. Especially not at ten on a Monday morning.
“Look,” he said in lieu of hello. “I know you hate the diner’s food. I promise I will fix it as long as you don’t tell Mom and Pop. Just let me get through this list of voicemails that is from here to New Jersey.”
“Hey, Wells.” Olivia’s voice was wobbly, unlike her.
Chills ran down his spine.
“Pop’s in the hospital.”
ALLISON
Allison eyed the maple-glazed danish behind the coffee shop glass. Should I get my usual? Or the cherry one since it’s a special occasion?
Today could be the most important day of my life, after all.
The first Monday of the new year, chock-full of fresh starts, felt like the perfect day to get pregnant.
Something felt right about restarting her journey to becoming a mom today.
Allison checked her phone with anticipation. Only thirty minutes until her insemination appointment.
Maybe round five will stick.
She’d finally gotten off the waitlist at a high-end fertility clinic in Elliotsville only two blocks from her favorite coffee shop. She’d stopped in to kill time so she didn’t nervously pick at her cuticles in her car.
She’d come to the funky coffee shop countless times—almost every Monday for a year—as a challenge to do things she wanted to do since her divorce.
Maybe a rosemary scone?
She bit her lip, catching her frowning reflection in the glass.
What grown woman doesn’t know what she wants to eat? Get it together, Allison.
Cherry danish. Definitely.
Or…maybe a chocolate chip cookie.
Allison finally walked to the register, smiling at the barista that was there on Mondays. “Hey, Kaylee. How was your New Year’s Eve party?” They’d chatted about her plans last Monday.
“Oh.” Kaylee’s smile was tinged with confusion. “It was…good. I’m sorry, what was your name again?”
Allison blinked and grinned through the anxiety spike. So awkward. “Allison.”
Why do you always do this? You always like people more than they like you. You’re so forgettable.
She’d hoped dyeing her hair peachy pink would make her more noticeable, make her more herself after the divorce.
Yet she was still often met with blank, confused stares.
Yes, I have been a loyal dry-cleaning customer for five years, Mrs. Nance. No, I’m not new to the book club—I picked the book last month. Why no, I don’t need a realtor, I’ve lived in this neighborhood for two years.
Kaylee nodded. “Right, sorry. Did you have a good New Year’s Eve?”
This woman doesn’t remember you. Don’t waste her time. Allison smiled convincingly. “Yeah, it was good.”
New Year’s Eve was not, in fact, good at all.
She’d spent it curled up on the couch, not able to stomach a party full of in-love couples. She’d spent it with her knitting, making headway on a newborn hat with adorable little bear ears.
“My usual, please,” Allison said.
Kaylee grimaced and shrugged.
“Right, sorry.” Every Monday, Kaylee! Every! Monday! “Maple-glazed danish and a decaf chai latte.”
“You got it. Is Allison two l’s or one?” Kaylee said as she uncapped a sharpie for the to-go cup.
“It doesn’t matter.” Allison shrugged with an apologetic smile.
“Well, how do you spell it?”
Allison shrugged again, trying to make this as painless as possible. “Either is fine.”
“But like, which one is it?” Kaylee frowned, concerned that Allison wouldn’t tell her.
“Um, it’s two l’s. Sorry,” Allison said, glancing at the line forming behind her. “It’s usually like a whole thing. One l is fine too.”
Kaylee stopped writing on the cup. “So it is one l?”
“No,” Allison said, squeezing her eyes shut, mortified.
Why am I like this? Why do I want her to like me so badly and in doing so become a human equivalent of a chair squeak that sounds like a fart?
“Two l’s, thankyousomuch,” Allison said, pushing the exact cash and change for her order with a twenty percent tip toward Kaylee, and spun on her heel to fake-read the bulletin board at the end of the counter.
Yep, stare at this flyer for seniors’ Tai Chi in the park. Totally normal.
An excruciatingly awkward five minutes later, she sipped the creamy, spicy drink in her cup labeled “Allison Alison Allison” and started the two-block walk to the future that awaited her at the hopefully-worth-it expensive fertility clinic.
They’d convinced her that it was worth the extra money since she could buy a larger sample and they’d store it for up to ten years.
Allison planned on two kids. She knew it would be a lot as a single parent, but plenty of people did it. She hated the idea that her baby would be all alone when they got older.
She rounded the final corner on the chilly, short walk and blinked in surprise.
The fertility clinic was in utter chaos.
What on earth?
Three news vans were parked cattywampus, and police officers rolled yellow tape around the perimeter. Men in FBI jackets were escorting the lead doctor, the face of the fertility clinic—her doctor—out the door.
In handcuffs.
Allison’s jaw fell open, and she quickly crossed the street.
A Channel 7 reporter talked into a mounted camera. “The New Beginnings Fertility Clinic in Elliotsville has been caught in a massive, fraudulent scheme. Sources say the owner and lead doctor sold his own sperm to unsuspecting clients, marked up as young, successful, premium donors.”
Allison blinked in shock. Her doctor was tiny, at least seventy years old, wore thick glasses, and was bald save for seven hairs combed over his scalp.
“Oh my god.” Allison shuddered, thinking of her narrow escape.
What if she had gone in an hour earlier? What if the appointment had stuck?
She’d paid for ten rounds.
She’d already dipped into her pregnancy fund, knowing that her out-of-pocket cost for going to the hospital would be large. She’d rationalized that she’d have nine months to build it back up again.
All that money. Would she be able to get it back?
She wasn’t sure of anything in the world right now.
A wave of nausea hit as she thought about what she’d narrowly escaped, the weight of it landing in her face.
Allison slowly backed away from the chaos in front of her.
Her chai latte tasted sour, and she tossed it in the trash as she walked back to her car.
Is there anything else you’d like to throw at me today, universe?
She slammed her car door and sat in shock until a call came through her Bluetooth speaker from her mom.
Allison sighed with the relief of focusing on someone else’s very solvable problem and hit accept.
“You’ll never guess what your father has done.”
Allison gulped, happily shoving away her problems to manage somebody else’s. “Tell me all about it.”
As the eldest daughter, she’d been her mom’s therapist and her parents’ marriage counselor since she was five years old.
Her mom chattered and Allison half-heartedly murmured, “Mhm, mhm,” in the right places.
The drizzling rain fell in harder sheets as she drove through Elliotsville back to Fairwick Falls. The dingy, gray January afternoon hurtled toward night.
“And I didn’t even tell you what happened last night.
We’ll never be able to go to Vichetti’s again,” her mom continued to monologue.
Her father had thrown a fit at dinner last night because the restaurant had changed their dessert recipe.
He’d been an exacting man his whole life, and the Styles family had learned to walk on eggshells to make sure that whatever they said didn’t set him off.
A funny sound came through the speaker, and Allison glanced at her phone, noticing that her battery was at three percent. She’d left her charging cable at work.
No problem, she’d be home in forty minutes, and she easily knew the way. She hopped off the highway to take a shortcut back to Fairwick Falls.
“Mom—”
“And then, he said—”
“Mom—”
“But he didn’t listen, did he?”
“Mom. I need to let you go, my phone—” The call cut off.
The telltale beep of her phone dying almost pushed her over the edge. Almost made her cry because of course she’d be driving in the icy rain without a phone, and of course she couldn’t even stop her mom from talking about herself long enough to tell her what was happening.
As she turned on a familiar curve in the early twilight, two deer darted out onto the road.
“Shoot!” Allison swerved to avoid the young doe and large buck in the road, skidding on a patch of thin ice along the shoulder.
She slid into a deep ditch, thankfully landing in a muddy bank.
Her hands gripped the steering wheel so they didn’t shake as she took stock. I’m okay. I’m safe.
She revved the car’s engine and went nowhere.
I’m stuck.
She ransacked her car for a charger, trying to keep her panic at bay, but no luck.
Allison climbed out of the car and up the small bank to the country road. No houses for miles, only dark, empty fields in the whistling cold wind.
She was on the side of a dark, rainy road, at least thirty miles from Fairwick Falls.
She gulped.
Fuck.