When You Least Expect It Read Online Free PDF Page A

adoption.”
    “You did?”
    “Do you mind?” India glanced up at me.
    “No, it’s just I didn’t know we were at that point yet.”
    “What point?”
    “The telling-people point,” I said.
    “It wasn’t people. Just Mimi. Oh, and my mom.”
    “Your mom?”
    “I dropped off her tent on my way home from Mimi’s,” India explained.
    “Why does your mom own a tent again?” I asked.
    “I’m not sure. I think a friend gave it to her,” India said vaguely. “You know, back when Mom was talking about driving across country. I think she was planning on camping out along the way. Nothing ever came of it.”
    “I’m shocked,” I said dryly. Georgia, India’s mother, was a sixties-era hippie, and a present-day flake. She wore caftans, wrote poetry, and was overly fond of wine.
    “Anyway, Mimi knows an adoption attorney,” India continued.
    “Why? Is she planning on getting rid of one of the kids?”
    “No, but she knows everyone in town. Or if she doesn’t, she knows someone who does. Anyway, she gave me this lawyer’s name and number.” India held up a yellow Post-it note with Mimi’s scrawled handwriting. “I was going to call him for an appointment.”
    I blinked. “Oh,” I said.
    India frowned, causing three vertical lines to appear on her forehead. “Is that okay? I thought we decided we wanted to look into this.”
    “No, it’s fine,” I said quickly. “Make an appointment. We’ll go talk to Mr. Baby Lawyer Man.”
    “You’re not going to call him that, are you?” India asked. “Like the time you called my gynecologist Dr. Crotch. To his face.”
    “You thought that was funny,” I said.
    “I did. Dr. Seagle didn’t,” India said.
    “I’m pretty sure Dr. Seagle has never found anything funny in his life.”
    “You’re probably right,” India conceded. “Anyway. Are you sure you’re cool with this?” She lifted the Post-it note again.
    I registered the hope shining on India’s face. “Yes. Definitely cool with it.”
    India turned her face up to mine. I leaned forward and kissedher. “I’m so glad we’re doing this. It just feels right. Don’t you think?”
    What could I say?
    “Absolutely,” I said.
    India and I first met on the beach. I had brought Otis, who was at the time a six-month-old bundle of fur and energy. I’d learned the hard way that if I didn’t take him out for a long run every morning, he’d get back at me by eating my furniture. He’d already gnawed his way through a coffee table and two of the four legs on my sofa. So I’d bring him to the beach, unhook his leash, and let him bound up and down at the water’s edge in a blur of black and white fur. This wasn’t technically allowed, so we always went early, when the lifeguard stands were still boarded up and the beach was more or less deserted. Besides, Otis never bothered anyone. He loved to chase the waves and then turn tail and run when they came back at him.
    I was sitting on the sand, drinking coffee out of a Dunkin’ Donuts cup and watching Otis play, when he turned too quickly, lost his balance, and fell, snout first, into the sand. I laughed, and then turned when I heard someone behind me laughing, too. A woman. My first impression was of her hair—kinky blonde curls rioting out of control. Her grin was wide, her eyes crinkled up at the edges, and her nose was on the snub side. She was wearing a faded T-shirt and denim cutoffs, and her bare legs were long and tan. Then I noticed the camera with the long, professional-looking lens strapped to her chest.
    “Damn, the paparazzi found me again,” I said. I put a hand up, pretending to block a shot of my face. “When are you people going to stop harassing me?”
    She laughed again. But she lifted her camera up after all, aiming it at Otis. She took a few shots and then walked over to where I was sitting. “He’s gorgeous. Is he a puppy?”
    I stood up, dusting sand off my bottom. When I first adoptedOtis, a few of my friends kidded me