It hits me just how long I’ve been working in the fertility clinic. For two years, I’ve been part of a process that has helped countless couples have their own babies. An ache of loneliness comes over me. Apart from sharing in their joy, I’ve had no joy of my own. Nothing to celebrate or commemorate except another anniversary of the day that I lost my Tessa.
I don’t know how long I sit lost in my memories when Cora walks back into the waiting area. She flashes me a smile that immediately puts me in a better mood. She speaks to the receptionist for a few minutes and then comes to where I’m seated, clutching a big brown envelope.
Having walked with couples through this part of the journey for a baby, I know what the forms are. They’re for her preferences, which will be used to match her to potential donors.
Her face is pale when she tells me that she’s finished. I stand up, and impulsively, I pull her to me and wrap her in my arms. She holds on tightly to me, and we stay like that for a few moments.
“Let’s go,” she finally says and draws back.
Outside, Cora turns to me. “Thanks for coming with me.”
I take her hand. “Are you okay?”
She nods. “I’ll be fine. The magnitude of what I’m contemplating hit me when the doctor gave me these forms and then told me what to expect when I bring them back.”
“They’ll send you profiles of potential donors,” I said.
“Yes. It feels like shipping.” She giggles, but it’s humorless.
“It’s not easy. You have to keep your eye on the prize.” I repeat the words that I’ve said to countless women and couples over the years.
“Yeah, you’re right.”
“Hey, how about a drink?” I ask her. “Unless of course, you have other commitments.”
Her face lights up. “I’d like that. Any distraction is appreciated.”
“Let’s take your car. Mine can stay overnight in that spot.”
I follow her to her car in the rear of the building. She unlocks the door and tosses the envelope and her bag in the back seat. When we enter the car, my gaze is drawn to her skirt, which rides up when she sits down, exposing her creamy thighs.
Pervert. There’s no other word for checking out a woman you’re helping conceive a baby. I force myself to look away.
“Alms?” she says.
I laugh. “I remember you used to like it.”
“It’s a walking distance from my place,” she says.
I knew of the popular cocktail bar, but I’d resisted going with Cora when we were dating because a lot of her friends went there. The lengths I went to don’t make me proud, but that’s who I was at the time. I’ve changed a bit. The hard, bitter edge is gone, and although I’m still not interested in a relationship, I’ve lost the strategic asshole trait. I think.
We make small talk as we drive to the cocktail bar. I ask Cora about her gym, and she talks about the changes the place has undergone in the last three years. Her voice is tinged with the excitement and zest for life that I remember.
She parks her car at her parking spot at the gym. I look at the building with nostalgia. I moved to one across town to get away from Cora, but I loved her gym. Everyone who works there was friendly, and the machinery used to be up to date and well maintained.
We walk to the Alms bar, and when we enter, it’s like a different planet. While the outside is bright and sunny, the cocktail bar is cool with soft, relaxing music playing in the background. If I had a jacket, I would have removed it. It was just as I’d thought three years ago. Everyone at the bar is Cora’s friend. She and the pretty woman bartending greet each other like old friends and ask after each other’s families.
“Your mom was here yesterday,” the bartender named Jen says in an amused whisper.
Cora doesn’t share that amusement. “You’re not serious?”
“Yeah,” Jen says. “She stayed for an hour, downed two cocktails, and left.”
We make our orders, and when she brings them, I carry them to a table at the far end.
“Your mom must be pretty cool to come to a place like this,” I say.
Cora shakes her head. “She’s become weird in the last few weeks. I don’t even want to think about that.”
We take seats at the bar, and Cora says to me, “You worked at the hospital. What happened to make you change jobs? You liked it there.”
I take a discreet deep breath. How do you explain that it had been another strategy to still the demons that used to keep me awake at night? I hadn’t been able to forget that Tessa had wanted a baby more than anything. And so, I’d decided to help as many women as I could get babies, and what better place to do that than at the fertility clinic. It had helped somewhat. With every couple or woman I helped, my guilt over not pleasing my own wife was assuaged a little bit.