Page 145 of The Difference Between

“From the beginning?”

With my nod, he does. About his decision to go to medical school and how he ended up going into family medicine. He started out wanting to be a surgeon but realized so many modern medical conditions could be prevented and saw family medicine as an opportunity to facilitate real change by addressing the root cause.

It doesn’t take long for me to realize he’s the one. Out of all the donors, Rhett is completely as advertised: He’s attractive, tall, educated, nice, and funny. He’s a catch.

I wonder what Gavin’s doing.

No I don’t.

“Like cancer,” Rhett says. “So many types of cancer could be avoided by lifestyle changes if they were implemented early enough. That’s what I want to do. Help people heal before things get worse.”

“I think Chuck Norris’s tears can cure cancer,” I say over the rim of my glass. “Too bad he’s never cried.”

It hangs there.

“Sorry.” I set my glass down. “Bad joke.”

“Chuck Norris?” Rhett’s brow furrows. “Didn’t he pass away?”

Right.

I clear my throat. “Making heaven a safer place, no doubt.”

He sips his wine, and I would love to unsay that.

Gavin would think that was funny.

Or he’d say it’s funny then not think it’s funny at all because apparently what he says isn’t what he means.

“Would you still practice medicine if you didn’t need the money?” I ask.

Rhett considers this. “Sure. Volunteer with underprivileged populations.”

That’s a nice answer. Charitable. Probably why he donated his sperm.

Gavin would mow less grass and blow more glass. That isn’t as noble but is significantly more interesting. And rhymes.

“What about you?” He leans back in his seat and drapes an easy arm over the empty chair next to him. “You in private equity for life?”

“Hm.” I spin my glass and press my tongue against my cheek. “If I ever change careers, maybe I’d do something in wine.”

His face brightens with a smile. “You’re in the right town.”

Rhett’s four years younger than me; Gavin is ten years younger than me.

Too bad I don’t care about Gavin but have come to realize I would be furious if he were out with another woman hunting her eggs like the Easter Bunny, as my mother so annoyingly put it.

“Where do you see yourself in five years?” Rhett asks. “Kids?”

This reminds me of Trish’s inquisition, only this time, instead of having no answer, the answer appears in front of me as bright and bold as a yellow balloon with a name written on it.

I stab it with an imaginary knife.

“I want kids, yes.” Maybe yours. I clear my throat, thirsty once again even after two glasses of water. “And my career is important.”

“You tied to Chicago?” he asks.

Gavin has no right to be mad I’m here. No. Right. He knew this is what I was doing, I told him I want kids and how I was having them. He’s a hypocrite. Who wants to change me. Good luck, buddy.