Chapter 22: All I Want

Jane steeled herself for another forkful of Helen's "heart-healthy" homemade cranberry sauce and said in her best internal announcer voice, Now with so much pucker it'll turn your face inside-out! Luckily, Jake had refused to let Helen touch the appropriately fatty Thanksgiving mashed potatoes and green bean casserole flanking the turkey on the seldom-used formal dining table.

Quinn was just finishing her story about lay-offs at the dental office where she worked as a hygienist. "So they even had to let our receptionist Gloria go, and she was there when they only had one dentist and there were no massage chairs in the waiting room."

Jane darted a sideways glance that said "bullshit" at Daria. Quinn's dental office was also Jane's, and she had seen the tell-tale signs of Quinn's workplace romance with a married dentist throughout her last cleaning and one very illuminating filling. Not to mention the fact that Gloria had called her about a billing error two days ago and mentioned business was going so well they were getting a fountain for the waiting room ("We went with the Zen Supreme Deluxe because people are terrified of needles"). So Quinn was clearly full of crap, and also—what was going on with dental offices these days?

Helen took a sip of her red wine and patted her bewildered-looking husband's hand. "Quinn, you're a bright young woman with some experience behind you. I'm sure you'll be fielding offers soon! Right, Jake?"

"Yeah!" He smiled anxiously. "Don't let them keep you down, kiddo!" This was followed by a silence which Jake must have found unbearable, as he quickly launched into his new favorite topic. "Say! Did you know I'm thinking of buying a boat?"

Clank. Helen's fork came to rest next to her largely-untouched cranberries as she cast her eyes toward the ceiling.

Undeterred, Jake excitedly went on. "Retirement's coming, you know. I'll get a captain's hat"—there was an audible groan from Helen—"and stock the hold with the finest brandies and cashews…" He tapered off, officially lost in boat-land now.

Helen cocked an eyebrow and swirled her wine in its glass. "Yes, dear—when we retire, a boat could be fun. But I am a partner at the firm now." She took another sip and muttered, "And you're only fifty-three."

Daria looked up from her plate, pausing in her brave attempt to vanquish Helen's cranberries and exhibiting the barely perceptible crinkles around her eyes that indicated a smile. "What would you name your boat, Dad?"

There was a thoughtful pause as Jake raised his index finger. The bubble of silence grew and grew until he unceremoniously popped it with, "Huh! I have no idea."

Good-natured discussion followed, with topics ranging from Daria and Jane's satirical website (steadily gaining readers) to Helen's attempt at growing windowsill herbs (steadily gaining fuzzy brown spots). Jane was a bit surprised by how much she was enjoying herself, and before she knew it, she found herself wrapped in one of Grandma Barksdale's old throws in front of the faux fireplace as the late-afternoon sun sank in the cold November sky.

Jake was taking his turkey cookies out of the oven ("Don't worry girls, they're just shaped like turkeys") when they all heard him exclaim, "Dammit!"

Quinn lazily flipped the page of her fashion magazine and called, "What is it, daddy?"

"Oh, I forgot the gosh-darned milk for my icing."

Quinn must not have been completely enthralled by the stimulating conversation and this season's perilously pointy-toed boots, judging by how quickly she tossed her magazine aside and retrieved her petal-pink trench coat. "I'll go pick some up from the truck stop that's always open."

"Oh thank you, sweetheart."

Jane must have dozed off shortly after she left, because when she opened her eyes Quinn was standing in front of her and Daria with a quart of milk in her hand and a scrunched-up facial expression that could only mean something bad happened at the gas station or her favorite Sunrise Blush lip gloss was discontinued. Daria squeezed Jane's hand under the blanket and said, "Uh-oh. Was the truck stop full of fashion mistakes?"

Quinn's perfectly shaped brows un-furrowed and she sighed, then began miserably, "I ran into Trent and Tom at the gas station." There was a lengthy pause, during which Helen and Jake quietly emerged from the kitchen. Jane had just enough time to notice Jake's sheepish half-smile and the floury handprint on Helen's right hip before Quinn went on. "Well, Tom and his parents made up, which is great I suppose."

Thoroughly unconvincing, but go on, thought Jane.

"The guys were picking up ice for their champagne. You know how the adoption thing has been really slow? Well—the Sloanes just offered to pay for a surrogate." Jane gripped Daria's hand a little more tightly. She wasn't exactly shocked since she and Daria had recently discussed this possibility, but she could see from Helen and Jake's faces that the thought had not yet occurred to them.

Helen rearranged her features into a warm smile and said, "Well, that's wonderful news—isn't it, Quinn?"

Quinn narrowed her eyes and set the milk down on the coffee table. "Well, yeah, but…"

Daria chimed in with faux helpfulness, "But they rejected your ideas about baby couture?"

Jane added, "They're intentionally going to raise the child to be unpopular?"

Daria continued, "Maybe teach it to play chess in utero and buy the baby a subscription to Computer Dork Magazine for its first birthday?"

Quinn cut them off with a quietly unimpressed, "Ha. Actually, they asked me if I knew anybody who might be a good surrogate. But they didn't, you know…ask me."

A stunned silence followed. Helen began, "Sweetie, is that something you…?"

"No! I don't want to be their surrogate. It's just—why didn't they even consider me? Sandi Griffin had a baby, so how hard can it be? I mean, once she fell down the bleachers because she was trying to do everything like a supermodel and wouldn't look at her feet." Jake tilted his head slightly to the side, clearly unsure where to go from here. Suddenly there was a knock on the door. "But anyway, I forgot to mention they're stopping by to share the good news on their way back to the Sloanes'. And I wasn't supposed to tell you, so act surprised."

Jake grabbed the quart of milk. "Ooh! I'll finish my icing so we can all have turkey cookies."

By the time the radiantly happy duo had hugged everyone and shared their exciting news—which was met with impressively realistic exclamations of surprise and very real joy—Jake had distributed his slightly misshapen but delicious cookies. Quinn examined hers with a thoughtful expression and opined, "Just make sure you pick someone you can trust. I heard about a surrogate who said she was a kindergarten teacher but was actually in the mafia."

Trent coughed and a few cookie crumbs rapidly exited his throat. "The mafia?"

"Yeah," Quinn went on. "She was eight months pregnant and collecting protection money from a yogurt shop when she got arrested. She had their baby in jail, and when they came to pick it up, it was wearing a onesie that said 'Department of Corrections' on the butt."

In the bewildered silence that followed, Quinn simply shrugged. Then she bit the head off her turkey.