“Still, you’re asking a lot of him.”
“I’m only asking for a donation. He doesn’t have to be involved at all.”
“But maybe he’ll want to be. Don’t you want the Steel money on your side?”
“No. I mean, sure, it would be a nice fringe benefit, but I can do this on my own. This is important to me, Callie. It’s something I’ve wanted forever.”
“I know.”
“Don’t you think about it?” I ask.
“Honestly? I never thought beyond my career goals. At least not until I met Donny.”
“Do you want kids now?”
“Believe it or not, I think I do. But I also want a law school education and a career.”
“You can have both.”
“I know. But I want to at least wait until I’ve finished law school before I have children.”
“You’re two years younger than I am. That can certainly happen for you.”
“You keep thinking that your age is the problem.”
“My age is part of the problem, Callie. Because kids are my goal. I’ve always wanted to be a mom. You haven’t. You’re thinking about it because you’re in love now. You’ve found your life mate, so kids are on the radar for you. You’re realizing that you do want them because you’re in love with a man and you can finally see a family. But I’m different. I’ve always wanted them. Whether I’m in love or not, I know my destiny is to be a mom.”
“I know that. I know you’ve always wanted to be a mother, but you also wanted to be an operatic mezzo-soprano. Would you have put your parenting plans on hold if you had made it in opera?”
I cast my gaze to the ground, to the toes of my black leather and chrome-spiked boots. “Low blow,” I say.
“I’m sorry. You’re right. But it’s a valid question. If you had made it as a performer, would you still be wanting a child now?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t make it as a performer. So really, why does that matter?”
I hate thinking about all those auditions. All those callbacks that never amounted to anything. I was never New York good. Only Colorado good.
Okay, maybe I fell somewhere between New York and Colorado. I wouldn’t have gotten callbacks otherwise. But I just couldn’t make it. Sure, I won some small roles in local opera companies. A few local musical theater companies. You can’t make a living doing that, which is what led me into teaching. I’m good at it, and singing with Jesse’s band is fun, but I’m not a rocker at heart.
The truth is, I’m no longer an operatic performer at heart either.
I’m a mom. That’s what I want to be.
“This isn’t a fly-by-night thought,” I tell my sister. “I’ve done the math. I realize I’ll have to keep teaching. I also realize I’ll be living in a small apartment because I don’t want to be the woman who lives with her parents and raises her kid. But I want this, Callie. I want it so much.”
“Then you probably should go to a sperm bank,” she says. “Don’t bring Brock into this. You hardly know him.”
“I know him well enough to know he’ll probably consider this a compliment.”
“That’s just it. He’s Brock Steel. He considers everything a compliment.”
I sigh. “Well, it was just a thought.”
“So I talked you out of it?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“What can I say to talk you out of it, then?”
“I’m not sure you can.”
“Tomorrow. We’ll hang tomorrow, and we’ll figure something out.”
I sigh. “Fine. But don’t worry. I’m not going to do anything.”
Not yet, anyway.
Chapter Four
Brock
As much as I want another interlude with Rory, I don’t get one at the party. She and the band play another set, and then she spends most of her time talking to Callie, until Donny drags Callie away.
Dave and I head into town to Murphy’s Bar, where Jesse, Cage, and the band are playing pool and are flanked by Rory’s sister Maddie along with my cousins Breanna, Gina, Angie, and Sage. Otherwise known as the awesome foursome—the youngest of our clan, they’re all the same age and are seniors in college.
Dave and I take a seat at the bar as I look around.
“How about Maddie Pike?” Dave says.
“Too young.”
“You’re closer in age to her than you are to Rory.”
He’s not wrong. Maddie is three years younger than I am, while Rory is four years older.
“Maddie is nearly as gorgeous as Rory. She’s got the same hair, the same eyes, the same bodacious tatas.”
I shake my head. “Did you really just say bodacious tatas?”
“Guilty. I think they’re pretty damned bodacious.”
“Are you using word-of-the-week toilet paper or something?”
“Don’t tell me that a learned fellow like yourself doesn’t know what bodacious means.”
“Oh, I know what it means. I’m just not sure I’ve ever heard you use it.”
“It seems very apt for the Pike sisters’ racks.”
Again, he’s not wrong.