Danielle Steel - Dating Game

“Is their having a baby part of this decision?”

“Maybe. It's hard to say what is the overriding factor. I think the strongest one is that I want a baby. I'm not going to get remarried, and I don't want to be alone for the rest of my life. To be crude about it, I guess this would buy me another eighteen or twenty years of cooking dinner, going to soccer or ballet, and driving carpools. I loved that, and I really miss it.”

“Why aren't you going to get remarried?” Alice was curious about it. “You can't be sure of that, can you?” She smiled gently.

“I think I am sure,” Paris said firmly. “I think the likelihood of my finding someone at this point is slim to none. It doesn't matter to me.” That was almost totally true, but not quite, and she knew it. She would have loved to be married, but she had accepted the fact that she wouldn't be, and considered it a reality.

“Why do you think it's so unlikely you'll find someone?” The attorney looked intrigued as she watched her. She wanted to make sure she wasn't unbalanced or suffering from a deep depression. She didn't want to place a baby with a sick woman, but Paris sounded very healthy. “You're a beautiful woman. I would think you could have any man you want.”

“It takes too much effort,” Paris said, smiling.

“So does a baby,” Alice said, and Paris laughed.

“I don't have to go on a blind date with a baby. It won't lie to me, cheat on me, forget to call me for another date, be commitment phobic, have peculiar sexual habits or ideas, it won't be rude to me, at least not until it reaches about thirteen, I don't have to play tennis, golf, ski, or take cooking lessons to meet it, I don't have to audition for it, and it won't get drunk halfway through the first date. I'd rather drive carpool for the next twenty years, and change diapers for the next two or three than go on another blind date. Actually, I'd rather go to prison for ten years, or have my toenails ripped out than go on another blind date.”

Alice laughed and looked at her ruefully. “You may have a point. I'd forgotten what it's like. You bring back some memories. I've been remarried for sixteen years. But if it's any consolation, I was about your age when I met my husband. We met in a hospital emergency room when I fell off a ladder and broke my arm, and he had broken a toe. We've been together ever since. But I felt exactly the way you did about blind dates. How old are you, by the way?”

“Forty-eight. I'll be forty-nine in May. Will that be a problem? Am I too old?”

“No,” the attorney said carefully, “you're not. It all depends on what the birth mother wants. You're single, and you're a little older, as those things go. If a birth mother wants a couple, then it won't be a match. But you have other things to offer, you've obviously been a good mother,” although that would be checked out carefully, with references and a home study by a licensed social worker, as Alice was going to explain to her later. “You're experienced, you've already provided a good home and know-how, you're affluent, you're responsible. Some birth mothers don't care if there's a father or not, and many won't mind your age. Some will. You'll find, when we get further into it, that most birth mothers don't ask a lot of questions, far fewer than you or I would. If they do, we may be in trouble, and what she may really be saying is that she doesn't trust you, and she thinks she'd be a better mother than you would. If we present you, and you've been checked out, and you will be, then it's all about chemistry and instinct. It's the adopting mothers who usually ask all the questions. But for the most part, I hate to say it, adoption is a lot like dating.”

Paris grinned at the comparison. “At least there's a reward at the end of it. I'm not sure that's the case in dating, there all you get is a lot of heartache.”

“Sounds like you've been dating the wrong guys,” she smiled, “but haven't we all! It's the good ones, when you finally find one, that make it all worthwhile. Just like adoption.” She smiled.

She explained the entire process to Paris then. She had numerous options, a foreign adoption, a domestic one, private, or closed, the adoption of a special needs child, which Paris said she didn't want to undertake on her own, and Alice nodded, it was all a personal choice. And Paris said she wanted a domestic child. Foreign adoption sounded too difficult and too stressful for her. And she didn't want to spend two months in a hotel room in Beijing or Moscow waiting for a lot of red tape to be cut, and forms to be filled out. She wanted to lead a normal life and go to work every day while she waited for the right baby to be found. And that sounded reasonable to Alice. There had to be a home study, done by a licensed adoption agency if it was going to be a private adoption, which this was. Paris would have mountains of papers to fill out, documents to sign, fingerprints and criminal records to provide, medical exams, as well as references and information about herself.

“Have you told your children yet?” Alice asked.

“No, not yet. My son is in college, and my daughter got married on Saturday. They're pretty much out of the house, and they can't have much objection, it's not going to affect them.”

“Don't be so sure. Even grown children have strong opinions sometimes about their parents adopting. Sibling rivalry can happen at any age.” Paris couldn't imagine it, but the attorney obviously had more experience than she did.

“What do I do now?” Just listening to her, Paris was excited. She knew more than ever that her decision was right, and she could hardly wait. Alice had told her that they screened birth mothers very carefully. They wanted to be sure that the family background was as sound as possible, the birth father had signed off so there were no problems later, and the match between adoptive mother and baby was as good as it could get, and of course that the birth mother was really going to give the baby up. And there was drug and alcohol screening for the birth mother as well.

“We give you a packet of papers,” Alice said, standing up. “And you start filling them out. I'll be in touch in the next week or two. I want to get your home study started, because if a baby comes up on short notice, and they do that sometimes, we can get a call from a hospital or a mother, after the baby has been born, and you want to be able to move forward quickly.”

“Does it usually happen that fast?” Paris looked surprised. She had assumed it would take months, or even years.

“It can happen just that fast. Or it can take a lot longer. Realistically, it will probably take about a year. Most of the time it's about that long. If we're lucky, six months. But I think I can tell you reasonably that you should be changing diapers within a year.” Paris smiled. It was a hopeful thought. And she liked this woman enormously. Paris had total confidence that she was in the right hands. She had gotten the name from her gynecologist, whom Sydney had referred her to. She did a lot better with doctors and jobs than she did with blind dates.

Paris gave Alice her number at the office, her home number, and the number of her cell phone. And after that, she drove to the office. She was totally excited about what she was about to do, and for the moment she didn't have a single doubt. The only thing she was wondering about now was if Alice was right and Meg and Wim might be upset. She didn't think they would. And it wasn't something she wanted to discuss with them on the phone. Meg and Richard were in Europe for three weeks on their honeymoon, so she had to wait until they got home.

And when she got to the office, Paris saw that Andrew Warren had called. She hesitated about returning the call, and didn't want to pursue anything romantic with him. He was a nice man, but she was serious about not dating. She had no interest in him. She saw that the message was in Bix's handwriting, and stopped in his office, with the message in her hand.