The Pregnant Virgin. Anne Eames
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With his face turned toward the other end of the table, Ali studied Brad’s pleasing profile. She loved how strands of unruly shiny hair fell across his forehead, giving him a relaxed, uninhibited look. And of course there were his eyes, every bit as powerful as she remembered. They were watching Kevin’s face now. Intense, thinking, processing, never drifting. She liked a person who kept eye contact while conversing. So many didn’t. She liked—
She liked everything she saw. And the nearness of him was driving her crazy. How absurd this whole thing was—her sitting here, acting calm, cool and collected, while at this very moment she may be carrying this man’s child.
Yet as absurd as it seemed, her imagination ran full steam ahead. She wondered if they might go out sometime…if he danced. If maybe—
If maybe she was crazy. She could hear it now. I’d like you to meet my date, Ali. She works at the sperm bank where I make donations.
The waiter came with the check and Kevin picked it up. Everyone had thanked him and they were finishing their drinks when Craig, who had been fairly quiet, looked at his watch. “Gee, it’s later than I thought.”
“Got a hot date waiting?” Brad teased.
“As a matter of fact, yes. But that’s not what I was thinking. I was thinking it’s going to be dark before we get home.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll protect you from the boogeyman.”
“Gee, thanks. But it’s your old lady I was thinking of.”
Ali felt everything inside her go rigid and cold. And Craig’s explanation to Kevin and Michelle did nothing to ease her disappointment.
“Sally will be sitting in the window watching for him when you drop him off. Just wait and see.”
“You’re just jealous you don’t have anyone waiting for you at home.” Everyone laughed as they stood and gathered up their belongings. Everyone except Ali and Lynne, who was looking sympathetically at her sister.
Ali stood, feeling numb, and pushed in her chair. She hated men calling their wives “old lady.” It showed no respect. At the very least Brad could have corrected Craig by using a more endearing term. She sighed. Who was she kidding? It wasn’t what he’d called his wife that bothered her most. It was the fact that he had one.
She lagged behind the others as they made their way to the exit, not wanting anyone to see her face. Tears burned at the back of her eyes. Why had she assumed he was single? The clinic certainly didn’t require it. She swallowed hard and told herself it shouldn’t matter that he was married. She had never planned to have a relationship with the donor anyway. He was strictly a face for the father.
Yet as everyone said their goodbyes and walked their separate ways she realized how much she had hoped for more.
“Wouldn’t you know?” Lynne said, stepping up the pace back to her car.
“What?”
“Brad. I was getting all excited for you, thinking maybe here was a good one. Then the ‘old lady’ remark. I’m feeling frustrated for you, sweetie.” She put her arm around Ali’s shoulder as they walked.
Ali shrugged, trying her best to seem unfazed. “Easy come, easy go.”
They got into the car and Ali found a classical radio station and reclined her seat-back. After twenty minutes of talking about little Keri, Lynne fell silent and Ali was relieved. She was tired of sounding lighthearted. She didn’t have to pretend with Lynne; she could have told her the truth about the source of her emotional pendulum today. But she felt too vulnerable to hear any reproach in her sister’s voice. Besides, she had her pride. If she gave voice to her sadness right now, it would be tantamount to admitting she’d made a mistake.
She hadn’t, she lectured herself. She would be a good mother and surround her baby with love and affection. That was what this morning was about. That was all it was about. If she had made any mistake, it was in letting her imagination run rampant with thoughts of Brad.
If only he’d remained a stranger. But sharing a meal with him, knowing each other on a first-name basis, having mutual friends…
No! She’d just have to put him out of her mind.
But after Lynne dropped her off and Ali was alone in her apartment, she stood in front of the floor-to-ceiling window facing the Detroit River and wondered if after today Brad would continue coming to the clinic. She wondered if his wife knew he was a donor. She wondered if he had been as uncomfortable tonight as she had. But most of all, she wondered what he was thinking now.
With Saturday night traffic slowing to a crawl just outside Greektown, Brad and Craig thanked the Singletons and said they would walk the rest of the way.
Brad lived closest, in a bare-bones, one-room walkup just off Monroe, a couple of blocks straight ahead and less than a mile from the hospital, which was convenient since he couldn’t always count on his old clunker of a car to start. Most days he preferred walking home, anyway, a chance to clear his head. It wasn’t always possible to leave work behind, especially when there were critical or terminal patients.
But today he’d been lucky. Morning rounds were uncomplicated; everyone was stable. He’d been able to enjoy the game and for once not worry. Everything had been perfect—the weather, the game, the company. Until after, when—
He shook his head and tried to clear thoughts of Ali from his mind. What a sick twist of fate that she would keep crossing his path this way. First at the clinic last Monday, which had provided him with enough stimulation to get the job done, and then later in the week in the cafeteria. It had been hard to take his eyes off her both times. Now again today. Each encounter with her added another layer of unwanted attraction.
“Hey, you got that stressed-out look on your face again. It’s Saturday night.” Craig punched his shoulder. “Lighten up, guy. Let’s go find us a party.”
“Don’t you have to work in the morning?”
“Negative. You?”
“Some of us have to keep the place going.”
They walked a ways without talking, stepping around slower moving pedestrians, and Brad thought he was home free. Craig hadn’t mentioned Ali once.
“So what did you think?”
Damn. “About what?”
“Ali, man. You do have a pulse, don’t you?”
Brad shrugged and hoped he looked unimpressed. “She’s okay, I guess. I don’t know. She didn’t have much to say.”
“Who cares? Did you look at her? I mean really look at her?” Craig let out a low wolf whistle. “The way that old alma mater lettering stretched across her breast pocket. I thought the stitching was going to pop any second. Wow. And what a face! That blond hair looked like it could be natural, too.