Lacey sighed and pointed to the printout. “We can weather one bitter blogger.”
“The Vixen of Vacation Vows is not one bitter blogger,” Jocelyn said. “Vix is the bitter blogger, with thousands of hits a month. No one plans a destination wedding without checking her snark-fest—er, I mean reviews.”
And what would those potential guests see when they searched Casa Blanca on Barefoot Bay? The words were still fresh in Tessa’s mind. This sweet homegrown resort might conjure up images of Bogie and Bergman, but brides will be lost in a desert of disaster.
The review had made them all a little sick and scared. Especially Lacey, who slumped her chin into her palm. “If we don’t hire a chef and start getting some positive buzz for Casa Blanca, the resort we spent the last two years of our lives building will never get in the black.”
“How long until those wedding consultants can come for a preview?” Tessa asked.
Lacey lifted her head and gave a slow smile. “Eight months until the wedding consultants can get us on their schedule, and by then you can be good and pregnant.”
“Or we can be good and out of business.”
Lacey closed her eyes at the punch that had to hit her, the resort owner, even harder than the rest of them, who’d just invested and worked there.
Jocelyn waved off Lacey’s blues. “Look, with the right chef, a few great events, and some powerful Internet reviews, this winter will have snowbirds flocking to Casa Blanca. When the wedding planners come next summer, we’ll be ready to knock their socks off.”
She paused long enough for the four of them to share a silent “We hope.”
“But your baby dreams are as important as our resort dreams, Tess,” Lacey continued. “It took you months to scour all those applications to find a surrogate who meets your exacting standards. What if she gets scooped up by someone else?”
“I hope she doesn’t. I’ve put a deposit down and the clinic has scheduled a house visit and interview. Once they do the psych evaluation…” She paused, knowing that was where the process had fallen apart once before with her ex-husband, and it was the reason she’d never tried again. “I’ll meet her and make a final decision. Obviously, I want the perfect surrogate mother as much as I want the perfect sperm donor.”
“No one’s perfect,” Lacey shot back.
“You know what I mean.” But did they know? None of these women had any idea how gut-wrenching and grueling infertility had been. “And the baby won’t be perfect because these are my eggs, which I harvested already.” Defensiveness lifted Tessa’s voice as she raised her beer bottle. “Or else I wouldn’t be drinking this.”
“But you need to line up a donor,” Lacey insisted.
“I’m thinking about that. I keep reading these horror stories about donors who lie or have six hundred kids running around and—”
“Didn’t I tell you to stay off the Internet on this subject?” Lacey asked.
Tessa ignored the comment and took a sip of beer. “I just haven’t made a decision how to handle that when it comes test-tube time.”
“Ugh, test tubes are so clinical.” Jocelyn groaned. “I still think you should try the old-fashioned way.”
Of course they’d all think she should. Her best friends were falling in bed every night with the men they loved. Lacey had a baby, and Zoe’s was due in five months. No doubt Jocelyn would be next.
“I tried the old-fashioned way for ten years with my ex-husband.” Tessa fought to keep any bitterness out of her tone but might have failed. “And now he’s the father of two kids, and I’m…” Alone. “Obviously not capable of getting pregnant by traditional methods.”
“But Joss is right,” Lacey insisted. “Maybe your infertility was Billy’s fault.”
Tessa angled her head and gave a “Get real” look. “Tell that to his children. Both of them.”
“I’m only saying maybe you should try the traditional way,” Jocelyn said. “There is such a thing as being inhospitable to certain sperm. It’s an acid and pH-balance thing.”
“I know all that.” Tessa halted the conversation with a flat hand. “Billy and I were experts on the subject of fertility.” Or futility, as he sarcastically called it. “I think the conversation was the only thing that kept us together so long. Once we gave up trying, our marriage fell apart.”
Zoe pulled her gaze from the bar to give a cynical choke. “Yeah, ’cause it had nothing to do with him boning a twenty-two-year-old yoga instructor.”