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“I tell you what. Instead of romance that doesn’t exist in real life, why don’t we read the literary fictional type?”
“If you read to me, that’s a deal. There’s rarely sex at the beginning of these books anyway, which frankly is a shame.”
I chuckle lightly, knowing that’s a lie and that often there is sex in the first few chapters of her books. I don’t comment though, as I pull out the first book my hand touches. “Let’s hope so. The last one started with a one-night stand, and I’m still scarred from reading those words to you.”
She rolls her eyes. “When you get to be my age and are as sick as I am, you stop caring so much about words like pussy and cock and revel in the notion that someone’s getting some good action.”
I plug my ears. “La, la, la. Stop! You’re still my mother.”
“And you’re my almost forty-year-old son. Grow up.” She throws the wrapper from her straw at me, the white paper landing on my lap.
“Grow up? You’re telling me to grow up when you’re throwing paper at me?” I ball it up in my hand and chuck it back at her. “And I’m not forty. I’m thirty-eight.”
“Excellent. You’re still too old to play a virgin when I know you’re not. Now start reading and stop being such a prude. No skipping words or scenes either this time.”
I pick up the book and groan at the title before I flip the cover around and glare at her, shaking the book and making the pages flop around. “Are you trying to be cruel?”
“What?” She feigns innocence.
“Surprise Baby for the Billionaire Doctor?”
She blinks her wide blue eyes at me. “Is there a problem?”
“Mom.” I groan her name, scrubbing a hand up and down my face. “You have the subtlety and grace of a head-on collision.”
“You don’t have to have love and romance to have a baby,” she presses. “With your kind of money, you can hire a surrogate.”
“A surrogate?” I utter. “You do realize I need a woman’s egg to fertilize and implant in said surrogate, right?”
“Okay then. Forget that. Find a woman who wants a baby too and is willing to have it with you even if there is no love or romance involved since I know you’ve sworn that off. I won’t push that side of this. Yet.” She gives me a meaningful look. “But there is no fucking earthly reason why you have to give up on having children, and I have to give up on my dream of being a grandmother.”
I sigh, leaning back in my chair, losing steam with this argument. “You’re really pushing it today.”
She points to the machine on her right pumping chemo into her PICC line or peripherally inserted central catheter, which is a long-term IV site that allows the chemo and other medications to be given. “I’m having chemo for stage three lung cancer. Of course I’m fucking pushing it. Just think about that, okay? You can still have it all, even without the wife.”
I grunt because as much as I hate to admit it, she’s right. I could. And it’s something I want. Not to mention, it is her dream to have grandchildren, and there is nothing more in this world that I want than to have my mom meet my children.
But it’s also not nearly as easy as she’s making it sound.
Adopting as a single man who works long hours and has no family other than a sick mother is nearly impossible. And it’s not exactly like women are lining up to have babies with men without love and commitment being part of the equation. So that leads me back to square one, which is nowhere.
Thankfully, my mother grows tired, and the argument is left at that. I read the first five chapters of Surprise Baby for the Billionaire Doctor until it gets to a sex scene, and when my mother is done with her chemo, I drive her home and stay the night at her condo, making sure she has everything she needs.
Even if I can’t give her everything she wants.
Chapter Three
“I still don’t know why you don’t use a freaking pump like every other type 1 diabetic out there,” my best friend—and yes, cousin—Owen comments, watching as I lift my shirt above my belly button and inject myself with my short-acting insulin pen. He winces, but I don’t know why. I hardly feel the stick at this point, and he’s a doctor who has seen way worse. Hell, he’s seen way worse with me over the years. “They have some really good ones now.”
I peek up at him as I close the pen and tuck it back in my purse. “I tried the pump, a few different kinds, and I had catheter kinks that led to crazy high blood sugars. The ones without catheters gave me site infections and made my skin break out in rashes. They were also big and a bit bulky on my skin. Remember?”
He makes a noise in the back of his throat, lifting his bourbon to his lips and taking a sip. “That was fifteen years ago, Katy.”
“Yes, and I hated it then. I hated it even more when I was in college and then in medical school when I tried it again, thinking that would be easier given my hectic schedule. Do you know how annoying it is to have sex, or sleep, or even take a shower with a pump on you?”
“Thankfully, no.”
“Well, let me tell you, it’s not fun. Anytime I wanted to wear a dress—which you know I love wearing—I had to tuck the pump into my bra, which was no treat either, and that also meant I couldn’t wear a dress without a bra.”
