“Yeah. The top part doesn’t latch right,” she says. “Papa was supposed to have it fixed, but he never got around to it, and now he says there’s no point because we’re moving.”
Curt’s right. Nobody in this market would care about such a small repair, especially not in a neighborhood as safe as this one.
“Daddy says I can have my own cat once we’re in London,” Penny says.
“That’s exciting! When Ian and I find our new house, I think we’ll get a dog.”
“Hey, Margo?” Ian, calling from up above. “Are you two down there?”
“Guess it’s time for dinner,” I tell Penny.
The long table on the deck is set with linen placemats and two low vases of white hydrangeas. Curt insists that we all take a seat while he brings out the food on his own. He passes it off as politeness. “No, no, you’re our guests,” he tells us. But I suspect he just likes the spotlight.
He makes a show of bringing out the main event—a roasted salmon, which, frankly, just about anyone with an oven timer could pull off. “Voilà!” he says, setting the platter down dramatically. Ian and I both instinctively clap. I catch Jack rolling his eyes.
Everyone except me and Penny has had at least two rounds of martinis. And now Curt is pouring the Sancerre. “Just a splash for me,” I say. “Someone has to drive us home!”
Once Curt takes his place at the head of the table, he raises his glass. “A toast to Margo and Ian, and their adoption journey,” he says.
I’m sure Ian wishes he could sink into the floor, but this is thetime to lean in. I try to tap into the emotion that I felt in Penny’s room.
“Thank you so much,” I say. “But it should be us toasting you three. What a lovely surprise this has all been, getting to know you, and being welcomed into your gorgeous home. I only wish we could’ve had more time together before your move.”
“Maybe you can come stay with us in London,” says Penny, in between sips of pamplemousse LaCroix.
“Of course she can, honey,” says Jack. “And we can see her and Ian when we come back to visit DC, too.”
“Maybe we’ll have a baby of our own the next time you’re here,” I say. Ian shifts uncomfortably beside me; the weathered wood of his chair groans. “I’ve been meaning to tell you,” I turn to Jack, “I just called Hope Springs on Monday. We have an appointment with them next week.”
He brings his hands to his mouth. “Oh my gosh, that is so great!” he says. “We had such an awesome experience with them.”
“We really did,” says Curt, nodding. “You know, I have a tendency to go overboard on research—a hazard of academia, I suppose.” He chuckles and thrusts a thumb in Jack’s direction. “It can drive this guy a little mad. Penny told you we were in Barcelona last year? They practically had to drag me out of the Sagrada Familia, kicking and screaming. I could’ve read every single plaque.”
He chuckles to himself some more. I wonder when he’ll arrive at his point. After a sip of wine, he starts up again: “All that to say, I treated the adoption process just as I would any academic pursuit. I really dug into it.” He balls up a fist. “And I can tell you with complete confidence that Hope Springs is the best private domestic agency in the region. No question.”
“It sure seems that way,” I say. “I was really encouraged to read about the level of care they take with the birth parents—all the counseling and support they offer to make sure they’re really ready to place their children with another family.”
Ian pushes his fingers back through his hair, drains the rest of his glass.
“That part was important to us, too,” says Jack, before subtly shifting his eyes toward Penny. “We can talk more after bedtime.”
I nod, taking the hint, mouthing, “Thank you.”
Ian visibly relaxes once he’s certain we’ve moved on from the adoption chatter. He and Curt are hitting it off—swapping self-congratulatory stories about their heroic career paths. Ian explains how he never felt like “I was living up to my potential” at the law firm, but now every day is “a gift” because he gets to make a difference with his work. Curt nods along vigorously. “It was the same for me at the hedge fund,” he says. “I tried to follow in the old man’s footsteps, I really did, but I just felt called to education.”
Jack and I look at each other and burst out laughing. This is going even better than I’d hoped—we have genuinely connected.
Time to go in for the kill.
“You know what? I’m just gonna say it and cross my fingers that I don’t make things awkward.” I aim for an endearingly nervous smile. “We want to make an offer on your house. It’s everything we could ever want, and this neighborhood is amazing.”
Ian goes rigid. Beneath the table, I see that he’s gripping the edges of his chair. But Jack and Curt both laugh. The knot in my stomach loosens.
“Well, you’re already ahead of the game,” says Curt. “You won’t need to come for a showing.”
“I’m sorry to be crass,” says Jack, “but what did you say your budget was again?”
My pulse picks up. “Um, one-point-three.”
