“Definitely not. Let’s move on. What else worries you?”
“Well, I read an article about black plastic kitchen utensils, and apparently they’re toxic. A chemical leaches out when you cook?—”
“I’ll throw mine out immediately. Nothing but takeout from now on.”
“Apparently the black plastic takeout containers are toxic too.”
“No kidding?” I tease. “I guess we should just stop eating. What else?”
“I read that drinking too much coffee will give you osteoporosis. And sometimes I drink, like, four cups a day?—”
“Well,” I say, fighting to keep my voice serious, “that’s actually quite a reasonable concern.”
“Really?” I can tell she’s surprised I didn’t dismiss that fear like I did all the others.
“No, Melissa,” I say with a chuckle. “Not really. I don’t treat osteoporosis, but I’m pretty sure there are good drugs for it now. But you’re thirty-one. You’ve got years before you have to think about osteoporosis.”
“But time moves fast, you know?” she says. “I worry that one day I’ll wake up and Claire and Liam will be adults, and I won’t know what happened.”
“Sometimes I worry I’ll wake up and realize I forgot to have kids.” The words spill out of my mouth before I know what I’m saying, and they keep coming. “And then I’ll be too old.”
“But Luke,” she begins, and I can guess what she’s about to say.
“I know. It’s different for men. I could theoreticallyhave kids in my sixties, but I always imagined teaching them to play hockey and to swim, and?—”
“Luke,” she interrupts. “You’re what, thirty-two? You’ve got years before you’re too old to have kids.”
“I guess.”
“And it’s not like you’d have trouble finding a woman to have kids with.”
EIGHTEEN
MELISSA
I regret the words as soon as they’re out of my mouth. It’s true, of course—I’m sure Somerset’s full of women who would kill for the chance to bear Luke’s children—but my remark sounded bitter. Bitter and jealous.
“What do you mean?” Luke asks gruffly.
“You know what I meant, Luke.”
“No, I don’t.”
I sigh. “If you announced you were looking for a girlfriend, there would be a line around the block.”
“What?” he asks on a laugh.
“Come on, Luke. You’re a surgeon, and you’re ridiculously attractive?—”
“You think I’m attractive, Milly?” he interrupts, in a husky voice that makes my stomach flip.
“I’m sure lots of women do,” I answer evasively. “But in spite of that, you’re a nice guy. I bet half the nurses at the hospital are in love with you.”
There’s a beat of silence. “I’m not interested in any of the nurses, Milly,” he finally replies.
The sound of his voice saying my old nickname sends aflutter through my belly, and I have to fight to keep my voice even.
“That’s good, I guess. Fewer issues with Human Resources.”
