Whatever. She didn’t see it that way.
She was just appreciative of her ability to remain personally impassive that first Friday morning in June as she was undressing in the small, a little too cold procedure room in the offices of her fertility doctor’s private practice.
She didn’t allow herself to dwell on the man sitting outside reception, waiting for his child to be conceived. Other than to remember that she was working for him.
As she’d talked to Olivia the night before, over her last glass of wine for the next nine months, she’d told her friend that she kind of saw what she was doing as the same kind of thing as a soldier going to war. Soldiers gave their lives, their bodies, to their country for the time they spent in their attempts to provide citizens with the freedom they deserved. She was signing on for nine months of service to provide a family with a deserving citizen. She was helping one man win the fight against infertility and a tragedy that had taken away his family.
Her whole life’s work was about helping to create families. The Parent Portal was the home that housed all of the people who were “family” to her. And as the doctor and a nurse came in, explained the process one more time, asked her if she was ready, Christine positioned herself as instructed, smiled and nodded.
It was just another task for work.
* * *
She’d driven herself to the doctor’s office. Jamie had offered to pick her up, but she’d said she was going into work first, taking care of a few things, making certain a few others were ready to go and then she’d meet him at the fertility specialist’s office. He’d had the appointment prior to Christine’s, to meet with the doctor, hear about the procedure, along with the same list of instructions Christine would be receiving. He’d known that she’d be required to wait awhile after the procedure before she could leave, had offered to go in and sit with her, but she’d opted to work.
He sat in a chair by the window of the reception area and watched videos on his phone. Birthing videos. Pregnancy videos. Diaper changing videos. And a couple of monster truck competitions.
And every time he heard the door open to the inner rooms, he looked up. When he was the last person in the waiting room, he slid his phone into the back pocket of his black dress shorts and paced a bit.
Tom had called the night before, asking if he wanted a boy or a girl. The judge had tried one more time to talk Jamie into waiting to have a family with a woman he could fall in love with and marry, have children with, but Jamie had heard a note of anticipation in the older man’s voice that had been missing for a long time.
Maybe since Daisy had died.
This baby was going to be well loved. Boy or girl. Jamie honestly didn’t care which. Whether he had a little Emily or a little him, he was good. Tom didn’t have a preference, either. But he had a plethora of plans that they could all do together as a family, from Disneyland to touring the country’s capital.
When the door finally opened, after all that waiting, he wasn’t at all prepared to see Christine. Or, more accurately, prepared for how beautiful she looked to him. Her short hair, all thick and curling in different directions at the end, like she’d just been blown away by great sex. Those brown eyes that showed surprise when they landed on him.
“I didn’t think you’d still be here.”
“Of course I’m here,” he said. “The contract stipulates that I be an active participant from the very beginning. The baby needs to hear my voice so I’m recognized at birth.”
“Yes, but...we don’t even know if I’m pregnant yet.” She came cl
oser. Looked kind of tired. Which was expected. She’d just spent a good bit of time lying down.
“You have to take it easy for the next couple of days. Rest,” he said. Which was one of the reasons she’d chosen Friday rather than Thursday or Saturday for the implantation. So she could take the weekend to lie low.
“I know,” she told him, a tad peevishly.
He was being a pain in the ass already. He got it. Walked with her to the door and blinked as the bright sun hit him in the face. If she didn’t like him discussing the instructions with her, she really wasn’t going to like what he had in mind next.
“I’m planning to make dinner for you tonight,” he told her as they approached their separate vehicles. “And to clean the dishes and whatever other chores you might need doing.”
With her hand on her car door—a somewhat older burnt orange small SUV—she turned to him. “Dr. Howe. Seriously...”
“It’s in the contract,” he said. She’d had it drawn up to her specification. He’d read it thoroughly. “You’ve given me the right to be a part of everything. This rest period between implantation and pregnancy is critical.”
“And you only have a limited number of embryos, two of which were used today,” she said, nodding. “Plus you’re paying for my services and you’re right, I did give you the right to as much access as you wanted. I just didn’t envision...well, we’ll figure it out as we go. Remember, the success rate is estimated at only around sixty percent, so I might not even be pregnant yet. But...for now, okay, fine. This is all brand-new and we’re finding our way. But I already have dinner in the refrigerator. I made up a chicken enchilada casserole last night. You can heat it up and clean up afterward. You stay downstairs and you leave when I’ve had enough company and need some privacy. That’s in the contract, too. My privacy.”
Grinning, Jamie nodded.
He’d expected to have to fight a lot harder to get in her front door.
And was looking forward to the evening ahead more than he’d looked forward to anything in a very long time.
* * *
It was all very practical. The plans. The rationales. The contract. The process.