Quarter of an hour until the judge was supposed to arrive and I hadn't even buttoned my shirt. I was in my office doing all the things I hadn't had time to do that morning. Had it not been for the dry cleaning hanging on my bathroom door I probably would've come to work in my pink underwear. It had been a rough night. This one case was just turning out to be a real sticker and I was up all night working on it.

Damn, five minutes and he'd be here, and I heard this guy was a real hard ass. Well, there was nothing he'd find on me. I had been a model citizen. Not even a parking ticket. I had a good job making more money than I needed, I had a clean house, good friends, good family, I lived in a nice area; my only fault was that I was single and agencies aren't as likely to let a single mom adopt. Bullshit, I say. I've taken such good care of myself, why shouldn't I be able to care for someone else? And I grew up basically with one parent, it wasn't until his retirement that my dad and I had gotten close. I guess I couldn't really do anything more though, if the judge was going to deny me my right to a child so be it, I'd try again and again and again until I had my family.

Besides, it wasn't like it was my fault I was single. I mean, it just hadn't happened for me. It's not like I hadn't tried, but you can't blame a girl for not settling. I was like Lizzie Bennett from that book, "Only the deepest of loves could persuade me to marry". See? I'd be a great mom! I could quote great literature! Expose her to great writers like Jane Austen and Dickens and Hemingway. I'd read her poetry and Maya Angelou. I'd take her to museums and show her the masterpieces; daVinci, Picasso, Monet, Degas. I'd travel the world with her, expose her to different cultures and ways of life and teach her to help and give back to the world. I'd teach her to be grateful for the life she has. I'd teach her to pray. She'd meditate and reflect and write it all down at the end of the day. I'd send her to the best schools, sign her up for whatever lessons, sports or activities that she wanted. I'd take her to the beach house every summer and invite the whole family, she'd have a support system like none other. She'd have a grandma who'd cook for her, a grandfather who'd dote on her, 3 aunties who'd shop for her, 4 uncles who'd look out for her and eventually cousins galore to play with and maybe someday a younger brother or sister. It'd be perfect. And I could do it. My job at the firm would be ending and my job at the publishers is getting paid more. I could work from home, at least until she goes to school, then maybe I'll go back, maybe not. All I do is read books and edit them, I could meet with the writers at home. It would probably be more conducive to work than a coffee shop or an office.

It'd be perfect. He'll see, I'm perfect.

A small knock came at my office door. I twirled around and in a comedic made unnecessary last minute adjustments to the room. Why do people do that anyway? I walked to the door, smoothed down my shirt, tucked a loose hair behind my ear and opened the door, and there stood the last person I ever expected to see.

"Mark?"

He sure didn't seem like Mark, then again the last time I'd seen him was Sophomore year of college in handcuffs being escorted from a campus protest. Back then he'd been tall and lanky with stringy blonde hair, plaid shirts and colored glasses. Back then he was my dorky sweetheart, my brave artist, my political hero. He spoke words that made me want to get out there and protest with him, but I was always too busy with my law degree. He was still tall now, but his hair was clean and neatly cut and he'd bulked up a bit. He'd replaced the plaid with a more conservative blue pullover sweater from Banana Republic that set his eyes off beautifully which were not hidden by any glasses at all now.

"Hey Sadie, I thought you wouldn't recognize me."

"I almost didn't."

He smiled. I recognized that. That sweet, unsure, but mischievous smile he always had. I smiled back and welcomed him in. He sat in one of my armchairs, I sat on the corner of my desk.

"You're a judge now?"

"You probably didn't expect that; to go from vigilante in ripped jeans to a suit in a black robe."

I laughed. "It is quite a change, how'd you manage that one?"

"I got tired of fighting the way the law worked and I got tired of fighting those dumb judges that I was convinced I was so smarter than. So after the April protest--"

"Oh boy do I remember that." I said laughing, but awkwardly so. I hadn't seem him since that day. I simply got a letter two days later saying that he'd been kicked out of school, that he was moving and although he truly cared about me, he wouldn't be seeing me anymore. I cried for days.

"You were taking an exam weren't you?" Mark asked confused.

"I was, but I got out just in time to see you getting carried away by the cops."

"Oh." He obviously didn't know that I had seen him that day. After an awkward pause, he continued, "Well, after that I transferred to law school in New York, was a civil rights lawyer for a while until I was finally approved as a judge. I've been happy, I like what I do, I think for once I can make a difference."

"By approving adoptions?" I asked half smiling.

He laughed, "No. My friend in the office next to me was supposed to handle your case, but his wife is having a baby so instead of having you wait months for another appointment I offered to take the case. I do civil rights mostly."

He smiled again.

"Wow, good for you Mark. I'm glad you're happy. Thanks for taking my case."

"Well, he had mentioned your name to me and I had to see you again."

Mark always had this way of saying exactly what he meant without awkwardness or without self-consciousness. I was reminded of this now as he spoke.

"What about you Sadie?" he asked reclining in the chair and crossing his left leg over the other, "Are you happy?"

He looked at me as if he was trying to read the answer from my eyes.

I hesitated. This seemed like a loaded question. Was he asking me as a friend or a judge?

As if he could hear my thoughts, he then said, "Off the record."

"Oh." I laughed nervously. I forgot how he had always been able to do that too; read what I was feeling, what I was thinking. I was never sure if he was just good at it or if I was just as easy to read as the books I always clung to.

"I am happy, for the most part. I will be much happier when I'm done here. I love law, but literature has always been what I'm drawn to. This job paid the bills, got me to where I could move on to what I really want to be doing, the life I really want to live."

"What about all the sacrifices you had to make? All the parts of your life you had to give up to get here? Was it worth it?"

Again, another loaded question.

"Yeah, it was. I mean, you don't get anywhere in life without sacrifice. And I really did love everything I was doing. I'm just redirecting my focus and concentrating on those parts of my life that are more important to me now."

"Good for you, Dee. I'm happy for you then."

We smiled at each other.

"So should we get on with this?" Dropping my hands on my thighs, "What's first?"

"Well, I'll have to ask you some questions, some logistical and some situational. I'll have to go through your file, verify some things."

"Sounds good." And I sat down in the armchair opposite him, faced him directly and said, "Ask away."

Most of the questions were long and tedious; lots of money talk, lots of responsibility questions. He asked about how I was raised, how I felt about it. He asked about what I wish my parents had done when I was young. He put me in situations; tantrums, learning disabilities, drugs, sex, alcohol, discipline. When he was done, he stretched, reaching his strong arms up towards the ceiling and said, "Okay, let's go back to your place."

I knew that this was part of the interview, but still his casual tone caught me for a moment. I shook it off, got my coat and we headed toward the parking lot to my car.

The ride was a tad awkward. After the initial catching up we didn't really know what else to say to each other, so we sat in silence. It was a thirty minute drive to my house which consisted mostly of listening to "Sarah and No Name" on the radio until abruptly, Mark turned to me and said, "Sadie, why do you really want this kid? Are you just trying to catch up on life and not willing to wait for the real thing to come along? Because I know you, and you always want to find the most efficient way to get things done…are you sure this just isn't trying to through your to do list?"

I didn't know what to say at first. How could he say something like that? Where did that come from?

" I'm not stupid Mark, I am fully aware that having a child is a big deal, it's not something you just do on a whim. It changes your life. I want this child, I've always wanted this child. Maybe I've just accepted that love isn't in my cards alright? I want to be able to help someone, to take care of someone, to find meaning in my life. I know what I'm doing, do not for one second that I take this lightly."

We were silent again. He turned around straight in his seat and faced the road. I stared hard, confused at what had brought on this sudden attack. What had I done? I wanted to cry. I wanted to scream. Who gave him the right? I pulled into my driveway, turned off the car and immediately grabbed my purse, got out and shut the door. It was freezing outside, even though it was already three in the afternoon. Everything was frosted over. It was probably the coldest winter San Francisco had seen in a long time. I had forgotten my gloves and my hand was so cold already that I could hardly grab the key. I was standing at the door, shivering, trying to get the key in the lock, when Mark came up from behind me, grabbed the key and opened the door himself.

"It's cold outside." he said.

I nodded and walked into the hallway. He followed me and shut the door behind him. I silently peeled off my coat, scarf, sweater and purse and hung them on the wall. I held out my arms silently for his coat and scarf. He hesitated then guiltily placed them in my arms. I hung them on the wall as well and turned around and walked away slowly toward the kitchen with my hands on my back, my heels clicking on the hardwood floor.

"Tea?" I asked emotionless.

"Uh..sure…thanks."

I walked toward the stove and put the kettle on. Mark followed me. He sat on a barstool, elbows on the counter, shoulders rounded. It was strange that this is supposed to be an evaluation and yet there was a familiarity in his body language and attitude that made me more emotional that I would be normally. There was always something about Mark that did this to me. He always seemed to see right through me.

"Look, Sadie, I'm sorry. I'm just looking out for you, I want you to be happy okay?"

I stopped with my hand on the kettle handle. I didn't turn around and said without facing him, "You lost the right to look out for me long ago, Mark."

Again, emotionless. I can't let him get to me; not again.

Then I turned around and handed him a cup of steaming chamomile. He took the warm cup in his hand and then as if a reality sank in, stirred and said, "You're right. I'm sorry. Can we just forget about all that and move on?"

He looked a little like a scolded puppy, but truly guilty and so I smiled and said, "Okay".

So we sat and drank our tea, making polite small talk until as the tea in our cups cooled, our collective humor warmed until the incident in the car was a bad memory blocked from our minds.

When the tea was done Mark turned to me and said, "Alright, give me the grand tour Mademoiselle?"

I laughed, "Why, of course Monsieur."

He got up, took my hand in his and led me to the living room, and subsequently all the other rooms in the house. We were silly most of the time, but we still had some serious conversation, some relevant and some not so. We went through the office where I explained my plans for making half the room into a play area so that I could work and still hear the baby and keep an eye on her. He heartedly agreed with the idea and led me away. We went through the bathroom, the TV room, and my bedroom to which he responded by throwing himself onto my silk comforter and saying something about how "this is where all the magic happens". To which I threw myself on the bed as well and rolled over almost onto him. He pinched my side which flipped me over placing my face less than an inch from his face, close enough to kiss.

As fast as the idea had come into my head however, it was out again with my joking in half whisper, "This is the most magic this place has seen in a while." I laughed and sat up beckoned him to come see the rest of the house.

"I'm far to comfortable in this not-so-magic nest…" he curled into my pillow and then laughed wildly.

I was thrown back into memory. That laugh brought me back to such wild and wonderful days. Days on the green, Mark probably meditating, shirtless and me with a thousand page book open and a pencil in my hair.

"Do you remember that day when I was studying in the library and you came in dribbling a soccer ball, threatening to kidnap me?"

"And you refused until I finally had to pick you up, throw you over my shoulder and carry you out."

"The librarian wouldn't let me in for a week."

We laughed until our bellies hurt and Mark, still lying below me on the bed looked at me pensively.

"You were so serious." he said.

"And you were so silly." I replied. "Come on though, you have a job to do. You have to inspect the rest of the house."

"Oh, alright." We held out his arms which I grabbed and pulled him up, but I stumbled backward under his weight and he caught me around the waist and pulled me back into him.

I laughed again and pulled him down the hall. Two doors down I opened a door and held him inside.

"Wow." he said as he stood in the entrance.

He gazed around at the nursery I had put together over the past few months. Green walls and pink ribbons. A rocking chair in the corner and stuffed animals in the other. There was a mobile above both the cradle and the changing table that had panda bears hugging colorful stars. There was a giraffe next to the door to track the growth of the person who would someday live here.

"Like it?" I said, leaning on the cradle, one hand on my hip.

"This is really great. Gold star for you." he laughed, "what did this used to be?"

"My library, but I just moved all the books into the office, they're more useful there anyway. It's all ready for her, whenever she comes."

"And what if she doesn't? What if I don't approve you? Or what if the parents change their mind in the end?"

I stopped. I didn't really know what this game was. I looked at him as if his face would explain for this strangeness and I took a few steps forward until I was inches away.

"Then I'll just try again. That's that."

"Single-minded to the point of recklessness. I always did like that about you, Sadie." he smiled.

I smiled and started walking downstairs and back toward the kitchen. Mark followed, but hung a little further behind this time.

I sat back behind the counter, but Mark didn't sit down.

"I guess it's time to go. I've seen all I need to see."

"Oh." I was disappointed. I wanted him to stay. He misread my disappointment though, walked around the corner and put his hand under my chin like an adoring father.

"Don’t worry though," he said, "you'll get your kid if I have anything to say about it."

"You're approving me?"

"Of course…you're perfect. If this is what you want Sadie, then I'd be more than happy to help you get it.

He started to move toward the door.

I didn't want him to leave. I mean I didn't know what I wanted, but I didn't know what I could say to make him stay.

At the door Mark turned around. My eyes jumped up to his.

"I'm glad you're happy Sadie. I'm glad I got to see it for myself."

I smiled weakly.

"It was nice catching up." he said, smiling in his caring way, his eyes piercing through me making me feel like cobweb in the breeze.

"Yeah," I said after a long pause, "you too."

With that he turned and left. The door shut behind him and echoed through the house, against the hardwood floors, the almost empty cabinets. The house felt empty as I walked slowly up the stairs to my office hearing that door slam over and over again, echoing and bouncing off of all the walls. The only place that absorbed the shock was the book lined walls of my office.