Emily Giffin - Baby proof

Richard nods as he swirls the wine in his glass. He takes a long swallow, then says, "Half the time from what I hear."

"Yup," I say. "Odds you've never played, right?"

The first personal-question card has officially been played.

Richard laughs. "You got that right."

"Ever come close?" I ask.

Second. "Sure."

"How close?"

Third.

"Not that close, actually."

Richard gives someone across the room a quick salute. I consider turning around to see who it is, but don't want to appear as caught red-handed as I feel.

As if Richard knows what I'm thinking, he says, "Jason Saul."

I give him a puzzled look and he says, "Little fellow in marketing? With the soul patch?"

"Oh, yeah," I say. "It's actually a goatee. Not a soul patch."

"What's the difference?"

I describe the difference, pointing to my chin. Richard nods, looking enlightened. I am reminded of my favorite facial hair story. Years ago, Michael was in a moustache-growing contest with another guy at work. Michael was badly losing, and to demonstrate his point over lunch, he nodded toward a girl named Sally whom he actually had a minor crush on and said, "Even Sally would kick my ass." He was trying to be funny, but unfortunately, Sally was a dark-haired Italian and one of those girls who waxes her upper lip. Sally was horrified and humiliated, as was Michael when he realized his slip. I tell Richard the story now, and he laughs.

"Is Sally still around?" Richard asks.

"No. She left a short time later. Guess she was traumatized."

Richard nods, and then says, "So where were we?"

"Why you never married?" I say.

Fourth.

"When I meet someone I like being with more than I like being alone," he says, "I'll marry her."

I laugh and tell him that had been, more or less, my philosophy when I met Ben.

"So, what? You figured out late in the game that you still preferred your own company to his?"

Fifth.

"Not exactly… Just… irreconcilable differences."

Richard pauses, as if considering a follow-up. Then he stops himself and gives Tad a signal that he'd like another glass of wine.

I decide to just tell him. "I didn't want kids. He did."

Maybe I should get a T-shirt made. Most divorces aren't so neatly summarized.

"Shouldn't you have covered that one while you were in the courting stage?" Richard asks gently.

"We did. He reneged on our deal. Now he wants them. Or at least one. One more than I want."

"Bastard."

I laugh. I like the sound of Richard calling Ben a bastard.

Tad returns with Richard's wine. So here we are, I think, having multiple glasses of wine at lunch as we discuss my divorce and his perpetual bachelorhood. And maybe he's thinking the same thing, because the floodgates open and we are firing off the personal questions too quickly to keep track of them.

At one point I say, "So, I hear that you and Hannigan had me on your lists?"

"And I hear that I've topped yours for thirteen years."

I say, "That Michael is a gossipy little girl."

"So it's true, then?"

My heart races as I tell him yeah, it's true.

"I'm honored," he says.

"You should be," I say.

He leans across the table and taps the base of my wineglass. "And believe me, I am."

I work hard at not averting my eyes before I lean back across the table and tap the base of his wineglass. "So am I."

We finish our lunch, talking and laughing. Then, at Tad's chipper suggestion, we agree that a cup of coffee sounds like a fine idea. When the check arrives, Richard gets it, saying he'll expense it.

"Since we talked so much shop?" I say.

"Righto," Richard says.

I smile, feeling both relaxed and excited, the mark of a good date. Which this is shaping up to be. And although I don't recognize it until later that day, after Richard and I have strolled back to the office together and I've hunkered down to read a revised manuscript, it is the first time in a very long time that I am thinking about a man other than Ben.

Over the next four workdays, Richard and I exchange about thirty e-mails a day. It's all disguised as friendly banter, but the sheer volume of traffic suggests otherwise.

At one point, when Michael comes into my office, he catches me laughing at the computer. He darts around my desk, and takes instant note of my in-box filled with Richard Margo's name. There are at least ten in a row.

"Busted," he says.

"Whatever," I say, but my goofy grin suggests that I am, indeed, busted.

"What the fuck's going on here?"

I minimize my in-box and work hard at ridding my face of the guilty smile I can still feel straining at the corners of my mouth.

"Are you schtupping my boss?"

"No," I say with pretend indignation.

Ding! My e-mail notifler rings loudly.

"Is it from him?" Michael demands.

I can't resist checking. It is. Which Michael sees over my shoulder.

"Holy shit. You're so schtupping my boss!"

"There's no schtupping going on," I say.

Yet.

"Now. Can I have some privacy, please?" I say.

When Michael leaves, shaking his head, I read the latest from Richard.

I type back, "Yes." Then backspace and type, "Would love to" before clicking send.

I reread the entire exchange, beginning with another one of his weak attempts at a legitimate business purpose.

From: Richard Margo

Sent: July 27,9:30 a.m.

To: Claudia Parr

Subject: Timothy Lynde

Timothy Lynde just rang. He's interested in paying to take himself on the road for a book tour I think it's worth it. Any ideas on what markets might work best for him? Let me know what you think… By the way, did I tell you I had a nice time at lunch the other day? Thanks for joining me.

From: Claudia Parr

Sent: July 27,9:33 a.m.

To: Richard Margo

Subject: Re:Timothy Lynde

I'll think about cities and touch base with Tim. He's a Mormon so Salt Lake's probably a safe bet… As for lunch, yes, you mentioned that I had a lovely time, too.

From: Richard Margo

Sent: July 27, 9:38 a.m.

To: Claudia Parr

Subject: Mormons

A Mormon, huh? I went out with a Mormon once… It didn't go so well.

From: Claudia Parr

Sent: July 27,9:44 a.m.

To: Richard Margo

Subject: Re: Mormons

Did she try to convert you?

From: Richard Margo

Sent: July 27,9:50 a.m.

To: Claudia Parr

Subject: Re: Mormons

No, I slept with her and she was excommunicated… It wasn't good.

From: Claudia Parr

Sent: July 27,9:55 a.m.

To: Richard Margo

Subject: Re: Mormons

Shame on you. When did this happen?

From: Richard Margo

Sent: July 27, 9:58 A.M.

To: Claudia Parr

Subject: I'm old

High school.The 70s. What are you, Class of 2000?

From: Claudia Parr

Sent: July 27, 10:00 a.m.

To: Richard Margo

Subject: And you're funny, too

Ha ha.

From: Richard Margo

Sent: July 27, 10:03 A.M.

To: Claudia Parr

Subject: You

I bet you were cute in high school.

From: Claudia Parr

Sent: July 27, 10:08 a m.

To: Richard Margo

Subject: Nope

I so wasn't. I was spectacularly lame.

From: Richard Margo

Sent: July 27, 10:08 a.m.

To: Claudia Parr

Subject: Re Nope

I bet I was lamer

From: Claudia Parr

Sent: July 27, 10:10 a.m.

To: Richard Margo

Subject: Re Nope

You were corrupting hot Mormon chicks. I was student body treasurer Top that.

From: Richard Margo

Sent: July 27, 10:19 am.

To: Claudia Parr

Subject: Re: Nope

Well, I was the school mascot…and who said she was hot?

From: Claudia Parr

Sent: July 27, 10:25 a.m.

To: Richard Margo

Subject: Yeah, right

Something tells me that she was hot.

From: Richard Margo

Sent: July 27, 10:26 a.m.

To: Claudia Parr

Subject: I was a stud

Okay. I wasn't really the school mascot. And she actually was pretty hot A dead ringer for Marcia Brady. Which, at the time, was a big deal. Have I impressed you yet?

From: Claudia Parr

Sent: July 27, 10:44 a.m.

To: Richard Margo

Subject: Re: I was a stud

Man, you are ancient. Yes, I'm impressed… My boyfriend was more like Screech on Saved by the Bell…

From: Richard Margo

Sent: July 27, 10:49 a.m.

To: Claudia Parr

Subject: Still a stud

I know the show, but you lost me on Screech?… I was a big X-Files fan, though. Wasn't that during your high school days?

From: Claudia Parr

Sent: July 27, I 1:01 a.m.

To: Richard Margo

Subject: Re: Still a stud

Don't tell me-you had a crush on Scully, right?