Free Out by Laura Preble

don’t like to
see you like this.”
    “Like what?”
    He sighs, then
puts a dusty arm around my shoulders. “You’re depressed, Chris. I don’t blame
you.”
    “Why?” Does he
know too? God…I hope not. I couldn’t stand that.
    “Why don’t I
blame you, or why are you depressed?”
    “Either.” I
smudge the labyrinth with my index finger. “I better get ready.”
    “You’re not
leaving the conversation there, are you?” He snorts and grabs a bottle of wine
from the counter, pours himself a glass, and points to a kitchen chair. “Sit.”
    “I don’t want—”
    “I don’t care
what you want. Sit down.” He nods toward the table, and I sit. “Now. What were
you and Jana arguing about?”
    “Nothing.”
    “Please.” He
takes a sip of merlot. “Don’t insult me. I know something was brewing up there.
I have a sixth sense.”
    What do I
say?   I’ve never been able to lie to him.
But this…I can’t tell him. He’d have to tell David, and then what? It’d kill
him to have to turn me in. It would put him in a horrible situation. “Okay.
There was something.”
    “I know.” He
stares expectantly at me with owl eyes.
    I lick my lips,
stalling for time. “She’s mad at me.”
    He rolls his
eyes. “When has that ever not been the case? Give me some new information. You
two have been scuffling since birth.” Birth. That’s it. I can use that.
    “She says our
birth mother is the same, but I say she isn’t.” There. Plausible. Emotional.
Fight-worthy.
    Warren takes
another sip of wine, and studies my face, weighing whether or not he believes
me. Time to pad that lie.
    “I know you
probably think it shouldn’t matter, but I don’t think we are genetically
linked.” I try to sound superior. “Her mother must have had some kind of weird
rebellious streak or something. Or maybe she was mentally ill.”
    “Do you think
we would’ve chosen someone who was mentally ill? That’s the whole point of
surrogacy. They screen people, and you choose somebody who is compatible with
your genetics and interests. Mentally ill people do not act as donors or
surrogates.” He seems to be buying it for the moment. “Seriously, Chris, that’s
what you two were fighting about? You could’ve just asked.”
      “Oh.” I guess I would’ve asked if it mattered
at all, which it doesn’t. But I’m stuck with it now. “I didn’t know if you’d
want to talk about it.”
    “Why not?”
Something beeps. “Oh. Hang on.” He rushes to the second oven and takes out a
perfectly golden apple pie. “All right, well, we can talk all about that issue
after tonight. Let’s just get through dinner and dessert without any major
casualties, okay?”
    “What do you
mean?”
    “I just don’t
want you two fighting about this at dinner, embarrassing your father.” He
places the pie near the window, which is open just a crack, and the steam wafts
out as if escaping.
    “We wouldn’t
talk about this over dinner,” I say, shaking my head. The lie becomes more
comfortable each time I tell it. “Something like a birth mother isn’t that big
of a deal.”
    “Sure sounded
like a big deal,” he murmurs.
    Big deal. If he
only knew.

Chapter 5
    I watch out the
front window like a kid waiting for a bad report card to come in the mail. When Lainie’s black Lexus pulls up, my palms start to
sweat. And that’s before Carmen even gets out of the car.
    “Chris, can you
put the crudités out, please?” Warren calls from the kitchen.
    “They’re here,”
I mutter as I stumble in. “ Lainie and Car…the girl.”
    “Great, they’re
early,” he grumbles, handing me a silver platter of carrots, celery, and other
vegetables arrayed artistically around a dipping sauce. “Hurry.”
      I’m pointlessly rearranging baby carrots and
rose-shaped radishes when the doorbell rings. Jana runs down the stairs and
opens it as I take way more time than I need to place the platter of snacks on
the coffee table. I hear the