The Perfect Match. Kristan Higgins

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СКАЧАТЬ it won’t be an issue. But yes, the chances of birth defects and infertility do start to increase about now. They’re still small, and infertility treatments are amazing these days. This doctor in New Hampshire just had success with a fifty-four-year-old woman—”

      “I’m not planning to have a baby in my fifties, Jer!”

      Jeremy took her limp hand and patted it. “I’m sure it won’t come to that. I’m required to tell you as your doctor, that’s all. Same as telling you to eat right. Your BP is just a tiny bit high, but that’s probably white-coat anxiety.”

      She wasn’t anxious. At least, she hadn’t been when she’d first come in. Fungus. So now she had high blood pressure, in addition to leathery skin and hardening ovaries.

      “You look fantastic,” Jeremy went on, “so there’s probably no cause for worry—” Probably? It was never good when a doctor said probably! “—but if you’re seeing someone, it might be time to start thinking about the future. I mean, not that you need a man. There’s a really good sperm bank—”

      She yanked her hand back. “Okay, Jeremy, you can stop now.”

      He smiled. “Sorry.”

      Another attempt at a calming breath. “So think about babies sooner rather than later, is that what you’re saying?”

      “Exactly,” Jeremy said. “And I’m sure you don’t have anything to worry about.”

      “Except birth defects and infertility.”

      “Right.” He smiled. “Any questions for me?”

      * * *

      SHE CALLED DANA from Jeremy’s parking lot, safe within the womb of her Prius. Small wonder that everything was taking on obstetrical overtones.

      “House of Hair,” Dana answered, which made Honor mentally flinch every time.

      “It’s me,” she said.

      “Thank God. I just got done giving Phyllis Nebbins her monthly perm and blue rinse and I was this close to screaming. Like, do I really want to hear about her new hip? Anyway, what’s up?”

      “I just got out of Jeremy’s. I’m old and need to have babies, quick.”

      “Do you?” Dana said. “I don’t know if I can stand losing another friend to motherhood. All those stories of screaming and colic and precious, precious angels.”

      Honor laughed. Dana didn’t want children—she said it was the main cause of her divorce—and often called to describe the brattiest behavior she saw at House of Hair in curdling detail.

      But Honor loved kids. Even teenagers. Well, she loved her seventeen-year-old niece, Abby, and she loved her nephew, Ned, who still had the mental age of fourteen, even though he was twenty-two now.

      “Other than that, what’s up?” Dana asked. “Wanna go out tonight, grab a few drinks in honor of you being an old hag?”

      Honor was quiet for a minute. Her heart started thudding. “I’m thinking that, given the news, maybe I should have a talk with Brogan.”

      “What talk?”

      “The talk.”

      There was silence. “Really.”

      “Well...yeah.”

      Another pause. “Sure, I guess I can see your rationale. Aging ovaries, shriveling uterus.”

      “For the record, there was no mention of a shriveling uterus. But what do you think?”

      “Um, yeah, go for it,” Dana said with a decided lack of enthusiasm.

      Honor adjusted her hairband. “You don’t sound sure.”

      “Are you sure, Honor? I mean, if you’re asking me, maybe you’re not, even if you’ve been sleeping with the guy for the past however many years.”

      “Quietly, quietly, okay?” It’s not like there were a dozen people named Honor in Manningsport, New York, population seven hundred and fifteen, and Dana and she had very different views on what could be talked about in public.

      “Whatever. He’s rich, he’s gorgeous, you’re hung up on him. Besides, you have everything already. Why not Brogan, too?”

      There was a familiar edge to her voice. Honor knew her friend had a very rose-colored view of Honor’s life, and yes, certain aspects of it were quite wonderful. But like everyone, Honor had her issues. Spinsterhood, for example. Aging eggs, for another.

      Honor sighed, then saw her reflection in the mirror. There was that frown again. “I guess I’m just worried he’ll say no,” she admitted. “We’ve been friends for a long time. I wouldn’t want to jeopardize that.”

      “Then don’t ask.”

      The years are precious, egg-wise. She was going to have to talk to Jeremy about his delivery. Still, if there was a sign from God, it was probably those words. “Nothing ventured, nothing gained, I guess?” she suggested, hoping for some reinforcement.

      Dana sighed, and Honor sensed her patience was coming to an end. Couldn’t really blame her. “Honor, if you want to pop the question, do it. Just lay it on the line and he’ll probably say, ‘Hells yeah, I’ll marry you! You’re Honor Freakin’ Holland!’ And then you can go to Harts Jeweler’s and pick out that rock you’ve been eyeing for the past year.”

      Okay. That was a nice thought. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” she said. But yes. There was a ring in the window of the jewelry store on the green, and Honor had admitted—only to Dana—that if she ever did get engaged, that would be the ring she wanted. Just a simple, stunning, emerald-cut diamond set in platinum. Honor didn’t think of herself as the type who loved jewelry (she only wore her mom’s pearls) or clothes (gray or blue suits from Ann Taylor, tailored white shirt—sometimes pink, if she was feeling sentimental), but that ring did things to her.

      “I gotta go,” Dana said. “Laura Boothby’s coming for a rinse. Rock his world, pop the question, see what he says. Or don’t. Just don’t be wishy-washy. Okay? Talk to you soon.” She hung up.

      Honor sat another minute. She could call one of her sisters, but...well, neither one knew about Brogan. They knew he and Honor were friends, of course, but they didn’t know about the romantic part. The sex part. Prudence, the oldest of the Holland clan, would be all for it, having recently become a sex kitten as some weird by-product of menopause or whatnot. But Pru didn’t have much in the way of filters and tended to announce inappropriate things at family dinners or at O’Rourke’s, the local pub.

      Faith, the youngest of the three Holland sisters...maybe. She and Honor had always scrapped a little, though things had been better since Faith had moved back from San Francisco (the only Holland to live out of New York State in eight generations). She’d love the idea...she loved anything romantic, being a newlywed and kind of a mushy, emotional person in general.

      And then there was Jack, their brother. But he was a guy and hated nothing more than hearing stories that confirmed the suspicion that his sisters were indeed female СКАЧАТЬ