Free Switched at Birth: The True Story of a Mother's Journey by Kathryn Kennish, ABC Family Page A

life by setting me up on a series of dreadful blind dates with the sons or nephews or distant cousins of her bridge partners, country club friends, and so on. After one particularly horrific date with the godson of a church acquaintance, I caved in and called Trevor Anderson. Ol’ Trev was also living at home with his folks, studying for the LSATs. By now, I’d forgiven him for the Linda DeCapella debacle and I figured it would be far less miserable catching the occasional dinner or movie with Trevor than suffering through any more blind dates arranged by my mother.
    Then one day, Gregory’s receptionist was rushed to the ER with a burst appendix and my stepfather asked me if I would mind filling in for her behind the front desk. My mother remarked that I shouldn’t have any trouble taking time away from my “retail career” since she was sure there were plenty of sixteen-year-old Gap employees without college educations who would be willing to cover my shifts.
    Dr. Greg’s practice was a thriving one, and so my first day there was busy. The waiting room was packed with elderly women awaiting consultations for hip replacement surgery, and little kids and teenagers with various broken bones and other orthopedic complaints.
    Toward the end of the day a man in his mid-twenties walked in. Actually, he sauntered in. He had a confidence about him that bordered on cockiness, which I figured stemmed from the fact that he was (as we said back in the nineties) a total babe.
    The next thing I knew every kid in the office had rushed to this handsome newcomer. Kids hobbled over on crutches, just to get a closer look. He was signing casts and shaking hands, and every so often he’d look up from the mob, catch my eye, and smile.
    I smiled back, but for the life of me I had no idea why people would be flocking to this man and asking for his autograph. I squinted at him, trying to place his face. Was he that guy from the TV show L.A. Law ? No. The meteorologist from Channel 9? I didn’t think so.
    When the commotion subsided, the total babe approached my desk. My heart actually fluttered.
    “Hi, I’m here to see Dr. Dixon. He’s expecting me.” He smiled warmly, expectantly, and I had the feeling he was waiting for me to ask him for an autograph.
    So I did. I slid a prescription pad across the desk, and he signed his name with a flourish: John Kennish .
    Still couldn’t place him.
    Furthermore, his name was not on the appointment list. But when I buzzed Dr. Greg, he told me to send this Kennish fellow right back to his private office.
    When his unscheduled visit was finished, John Kennish (who I now thought might be a member of one those new grunge rock bands out of Seattle) stopped at my desk.
    “I hope this doesn’t sound forward,” he said, smooth as silk, “but would you like to have dinner with me tonight? It’ll have to be a late one. I’m working.”
    Naturally, I was flattered, and I felt my cheeks turn red. “I’d love to,” I said truthfully, “but I can’t. I have plans.” Which I did. I’d agreed just that morning to join Trevor for one of our friendly default get-togethers. (Although they were becoming more frequent, and on the last one Trevor had actually kissed me good night. But the last thing I wanted to think about while looking into this John Kennish’s big brown eyes was kissing Trevor Anderson.)
    “Big date?” John asked, flirting shamelessly.
    “No, not at all!” I answered, too quickly. “I’m just going out with an old friend. He’s taking me to the Royals game.”
    At this, John burst out laughing, although I couldn’t begin to imagine why. I did know I liked the sound of it.
    “Good seats?” he asked when he finally quit cracking up.
    “Right behind third base, I think. So I guess they’re pretty good. My friend won them. The tickets, I mean. He was caller number fifteen in a radio call-in contest and …” I was rambling, which indicated to me just how attracted I was to this