LITMIR.BIZ

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heels, a cropped lime-green blazer and big gold-hoop earrings, Megan strolled in, dropped a huge purse and hugged first Caleb and then Laurel.

      “You didn’t say Caleb would be here.”

      “He invited himself yesterday. And then offered to cook.”

      “What a man,” her sister said admiringly.

      Laurel laughed. “That’s what I told him.”

      “You know, if you don’t want him…” Megan gave him a saucy look.

      He grinned at her. “One Woodall sister is enough for me, thanks.”

      Laurel suspected that he saw Megan as a little sister, and for all her teasing, Meg had never given the slightest sign of a crush on Caleb. She was currently dating another computer geek, a guy who would have been handsome if he’d ever comb his hair or thought about what he was putting on in the morning. Apparently his virtuosity in HTML and a dozen other computer languages offset his stylistic lack for a girl who’d cared deeply what she put on in the morning from about her second birthday on.

      Dad arrived grumbling about traffic. “I had to go in to work today. Somebody screwed up.”

      He was an engineer at Boeing, working on a new fuel-efficient plane that was to be built in Everett. In his mid-fifties, he had to be the catch of the Boeing plant, single, nice looking if not exactly handsome and still possessing all his hair. It was the color of Megan’s, and turning silver dramatically at the temples. As far as Laurel could tell, he had never considered remarrying. She knew he dated, but not once since her mom had died when she was eleven had he introduced a woman to his daughters.

      “Smells good,” he said, shaking Caleb’s hand. “Thank God you took over the kitchen.”

      Laurel threw a magazine at him. He laughed when it fell short.

      “So what’s the news?” he asked. “Meggie told me last night that you have an announcement.”

      Caleb clanged a pan lid. “Why don’t we wait until we sit down?”

      “So you can listen? Or has she already told you?” Megan asked.

      He smiled at her. “Not saying.”

      “Pooh.”

      “Anybody want some wine?” Laurel stood. “Caleb, how far away from sitting down are we?”

      “Five minutes. In fact, you can take the salad to the table.”

      Laurel’s father opened the wine and poured, and a few minutes later they were seated. The food did smell good. So good, she was having one of her brief and usually foolish moments of genuine hunger.

      Meg leveled a look at her. “Out with it. We’re ready to toast. Assuming it’s good news?”

      “It’s good news.” Laurel met Caleb’s gaze and drew strength from the encouragement she saw in his eyes. Then she bit her lip, looked at her dad and said, “I’m pregnant.”

      There was an awful moment of silence. He stared at her, as if uncomprehending. “Pregnant?”

      “I should have told you I was going to try. But I was afraid you’d want to talk me out of it.”

      “I didn’t know you were even dating…” His dazed stare swung to the fourth person at the table. “Caleb?”

      Laurel decided to be blunt. “No, we aren’t sleeping together. Yes, Caleb’s the father. I asked him to donate sperm.”

      “You mean?” Megan looked stunned.

      “Yes. I chose to be a single mother. Instead of going to a donor bank, I decided to ask a friend. Caleb wants to be involved in my baby’s life.”

      He spoke up then. “As I told Laurel, there’s no one I’d rather have a child with.”

      Her father half rose. “You got my daughter pregnant?”

      “Daddy!” She grabbed his arm. “He didn’t ‘get’ me pregnant. Not the way you mean. At my request, he donated sperm.”

      Her father sagged back into his seat. “Good God, Laurel! You’re twenty-eight. Have you given up on life?”

      That hurt. It would have hurt worse if Caleb hadn’t said quietly, “Seems to me she’s embracing it.”

      “But you’re writing off any possibility of falling in love and getting married.”

      She wanted to say no, but that would be a lie.

      “You didn’t believe me when I told you before. I just…I can’t imagine it, Dad.” Her voice was small, shaky. She might have fallen apart if Caleb hadn’t been there offering steady support by his mere presence. “But I want children. I want a family. And I can have that without getting married. Is that so awful?”

      He scrubbed a hand over his face. “No. No, of course not. You’ll be a hell of a mother, Laurel.”

      Tears in her eyes, Megan stood and hugged Laurel. “I should have said this first. Congratulations.”

      “Thank you,” she whispered.

      Her father lifted his wineglass. “To my first grandchild.”

      They all drank, Laurel taking the tiniest of sips before setting her glass down again.

      Caleb handed Megan the bowl of rice to begin dishing up, then the salad to George Woodall.

      He took it, but seemed unaware it was in his hand. “I don’t like the idea of you managing on your own, Laurel. Being a parent…it’s hard work.”

      “You managed on your own, after Mommy died.”

      “You girls were eleven and seven. And don’t you remember how tough that first year was? Meggie had to drop out of soccer. I just couldn’t get her to practices. You two went off to school every day in mismatched outfits, your hair barely brushed.”

      “But in the end, you were a great parent.”

      “You weren’t babies. Laurel, no matter how beat you are, there’ll be no one besides you to get up in the middle of the night, no one to give a bottle, get to day care when you’re held up…” He shook his head. “You know I’ll do what I can, but I’m a long way from retirement age. And Meggie seems to work twelve-hour days.”

      “It’s not that bad,” Laurel’s sister said. “Although… Honestly, I’m not sure I’ve ever actually held a baby. You know I never babysat.”

      Megan hadn’t liked little kids. By the time she was ten or twelve, she’d curl her lip and say, “Ew, kids.” Laurel wasn’t expecting a whole lot in the babysitting department from her sister, at least until her child was of an age to start learning to navigate the Internet.

      “I don’t expect a lot of help.” Laurel accepted the rice from her sister. “Daddy, dish up.”

      He looked down uncomprehendingly at the bowl still in his hand, then transferred some salad to his plate and handed it to Caleb. Poor Caleb, who had slaved in the kitchen and was probably starving. He always was.

      To reassure her father, Laurel talked about some of the research she’d done on maternity leave, neighborhood day-care centers and mothers’ groups.

      “I do plan to be here,” Caleb interrupted, when she was waxing eloquent about her ability to handle her job and a baby with one hand tied behind her back.

      His scowl was for her. He wasn’t jumping in to make her dad feel better, he was irked at her for leaving him out of her calculations.

      As if the two of them were alone at the table, she said, “You travel so much.”

      “I can curtail it when you need me. I have people working for me who’ll be glad to take over.”

      “But…I didn’t ask you to change your

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