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cannot escape noticing the dejection showing in Leslie’s face, and he covers his own nervousness by thoughtfully chewing an oily, briny slab of yellowtail. “Every girl’s dream destination,” he adds.
    “Next week is sales conference,” Leslie says. “I’m presenting my entire list.”
    “I’m sorry. I’m sorry for everything. I’m sorry I didn’t consult you, I’m sorry about your sales conference, I’m sorry this new doctor is not in Paris, but most of all I’m sorry we don’t have children in our life. We have to do this, Leslie. One last attempt, okay? We just have to.”
    “Alex, I’m done, I’m just… done.”
    “No, please. We can’t quit now. I just gave this guy a job.”
    “You shouldn’t have.”
    “ Leslie, this child—”
    “There is no child, Alex.”
    “I know, I know. But there could be. And I have never wanted anything so much in all my life.”
    “You haven’t had a chance to long for things, Alex.” She gestures around her, at the house, the furniture, the artwork, and all it implied: Alex is an heir and has never wanted for anything in his life.
    Except this: another heir.
    “That’s not fair, Leslie. I want to have a child with you .”
    “Oh God, Alex. Do you think I don’t want to have a child too? I want us to have that. But there are so many children in the world waiting for someone to take care of them. Wouldn’t we do just as well to adopt?”
    “I don’t rule it out, really, I don’t. But let’s just try this. Can’t we? All your kindness and intelligence and beauty—it would be a waste not to pass it along, not to keep it in the world. The gene pool cries out for it!” He smiles and lifts his brows, awaiting his smile’s reciprocation.
    “I’m going to assume you’ve already made arrangements.”
    Alex shrugs.
    “When is the appointment?”
    “Next Monday.”
    “But Alex, next week? It’s not only sales conference but my sister is going to be in town and I offered her the third floor.”
    “So now she can stay anywhere in the house.”
    “How much is this going to cost?” Leslie asks.
    “A ridiculous amount. And I’ve already paid half, since he insists on a wire transfer before the appointment. Which I know is highly irregular, but irregular might be just what we need right now, since nothing regular has done us the slightest bit of good.”
     
    “I can’t stand seeing you so upset,” Leslie’s older sister, Cynthia, says to her. Cynthia, who co-owns an antique store called Gilty Pleasures in San Francisco with her boyfriend, has come to New York to visit Leslie and to attend a few auctions—she especially hopes to procure a set of twelve Chinese export plates made in 1775 for an English earl, each with his beaver and coronet crest in the center, flanked by a pair of mermaids.
    “We’re coming to the end,” Leslie says. They are in the parlor and even though it is still light outside, the room is somber, filled with dark blue shadows and the sad perfume of hothouse roses that were supposed to be cheery. “If this doesn’t work, I think we’ll throw in the towel.”
    “The towel of the marriage?” Cynthia asks.
    “Never. The towel of parenting.”
    “And he still won’t consider adoption?” Cynthia asks. She does her best to keep her gaze fixed on her younger sister, but the parlor—indeed, the entire house!—is so filled with antiques, most of them in Alex’s family for generations, that it’s difficult for Cynthia not to take them all in with her appraising, admiring eyes. Just above the Queen Anne chair with its multicolored floral needlework in which Leslie slouches is a two-hundred-fifty-year-old gilt-wood mirror surmounted by a swan’s-neck crest, which in turn centers a feather-carved finial with a female mask nestled in palm fronds. It would probably sell for twenty thousand dollars, maybe more, in San Francisco. Also distracting Cynthia is the fact that Leslie has placed her teacup directly onto the George