When David and Sandra left the real estate agent, they went shopping.
They bought a bassinet, highchair, stroller, playpen and clothes for the baby, whom they were already thinking of as Jeffrey.
“Let's get him some toys,” David said. “There's plenty of time for that.” Sandra laughed.
After shopping, they wandered around the city, walking along the waterfront at Ghirardelli Square,
past the Cannery to Fisherman's Wharf. They had lunch at the American Bistro.
It was Saturday, a perfect San Francisco day for monogrammed leather briefcases and power ties,
dark suits and discreetly monogrammed shirts, a day for power lunches and penthouses. A lawyer's day.
David and Sandra had met three years earlier at a small dinner party.
David had gone to the party with the daughter of a client of the firm. Sandra was a paralegal, working for a rival firm.
At dinner, Sandra and David had gotten into an argument about a decision that had been rendered in a political case in Washington.
As the others at the dinner table watched, the argument between the two of them had become more and more heated.
And in the middle of it, David and Sandra realized that neither of them cared about the court's decision.
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