"Have some water and take a moment to get yourself together a little bit. I'll settle things with Rami and we'll set a date for you to come back in and begin the next attempt, okay?" Mia took a deep breath and nodded at the doctor. She stepped out of the office and went into the hallway, sitting down and closing her eyes. Grief washed through her in waves as she thought of all the time, all the money, stress and effort that had been put into the project of getting her pregnant-and nothing had come from it. What if I can never get pregnant on my own, either? Sure I could adopt, but I wanted-so wanted-to have a baby of my own, too. I didn't want to be like my birth parents. I wanted to be a committed and present mother, from conception onwards. Tears slipped from beneath her eyelids and Mia focused on breathing, struggling to regain some of her composure.
A few minutes later Rami left the office and found Mia in the hallway, bringing with him the purse she had left behind. "It's okay, Mia, really," Rami said as they walked down the hall together.
"I know," Mia said. "I'll be okay, it's just that right now-I'm really tired, stressed out, and I feel terrible."
"Do you want to come to lunch?" Rami offered. "I could make arrangements for you to get a massage, maybe a pedicure?" Mia smiled weakly and shook her head.
"I think what I really want is to be alone for a little bit," she said. As they left the building, she turned to Rami and offered her hand. "I'll be in touch in a couple of weeks, and we can?talk about the next steps, I guess. I just kind of want to focus on helping mom and not think about babies for a few days." Rami smiled, and instead of shaking her hand he pulled her into a quick hug and kissed her on the cheek.
"I totally understand. A couple of weeks. And if I don't hear from you, you'll hear from me," he said, releasing her from the embrace. "Don't let this get you down, Mia." Mia summoned another smile and nodded.
"I'll try," she said. She turned away from him and found her keys in her purse as she walked towards her car. Almost as soon as she had the driver's side door closed behind her, a sob rolled up through her chest, and as Mia turned the key in the ignition, the tears began to flow once again. She had always worked hard, always studied and done her best. Mia had almost never, in her entire life, failed at something that she had worked to accomplish. The fact that she couldn't manage to get pregnant-something she had seen dozens of women who were less intelligent, less educated, less determined than her accomplish easily-felt like the most elementary failure of her entire life.
Mia drove away from the doctor's office without any idea of where she wanted to go. She didn't want to go to her mother's house-she didn't want to burden Amie with the news. Although she had told Rami that she wanted to be alone, she couldn't imagine going back to her own, tiny house; she thought the silence there might drive her insane. Mia turned in the opposite direction from the roads that would take her back to her house and drove aimlessly for what seemed like an hour. She had a full tank of gas, and plenty of money to refill if she somehow managed to empty it. Mia was almost tempted to get on the highway and just keep going until she had somehow outrun her sadness.
Instead, as the album she'd blindly put on the stereo came to an end, she turned in at a strip mall that seemed oddly familiar. There was a grocery store, a few chain shops that sold cheap, fast-fashion clothing, a liquor store, and at the end, crumbling in its decay, a low, hunkered-down bar called "Jake's Place." The name stirred something in Mia's mind and she tried to place it. As she pulled into a parking spot, she remembered she'd been there once before, in better times, before her mother's health had declined so sharply. It was one of the favored spots of some of the teachers she'd worked at the school with.
Mia shut off her car and got out, walking quickly towards the worn entrance of the bar. It was mid-afternoon and she didn't think there was any risk of running into anyone she knew. The front door squeaked loudly on its hinges as Mia opened it, and the few people gathered at the dimly lit bar looked up. The place reeked of old cigarettes, though Mia didn't see anyone smoking inside, along with stale beer and the sharp tang of spilled liquor.
She took a deep breath and walked hazily towards the bar. She felt guilty; she knew that the last thing she needed right now-on a physical level-was alcohol. She was trying to get pregnant, after all. It would be better-healthier-for her to go home and just cry into her pillow. At worst, she could have a glass of wine. Mia sat down on one of the empty stools as the sound system played a warbling, slightly distorted folk song about "the best-ever death metal band out of Denton."
A female bartender, her face greasy, eyeliner smudged, looking as though she'd gotten out of bed maybe an hour before, approached, and Mia gave the woman a little smile. "I need a shot of tequila," Mia said.
"You look like you do at that," the woman said, sweeping her bleach-blonde hair back and binding it with an elastic. The bartender reached behind her and plucked a squat, clear bottle labeled Patron from the front of the top shelf. Mia glanced down at her outfit; obviously the bartender was more alert than she seemed if she could determine from Mia's clothing that she had the kind of money to spend on top-shelf alcohol. Mia watched as the woman deftly poured a shot, moving a salt shaker from the staging area to a spot next to Mia's hand and taking a couple of slices of lime from a caddy and placing them on a little plate.
"Oh God, thank you," Mia said, taking her wallet out. She barely ever dealt in cash anymore; she only had her card.
"Do you want to keep it open? We have a two-shot minimum." Mia bit her bottom lip; she knew she shouldn't be having even one shot of liquor, much less two.
"Sure," she said. "Keep it open. I'll keep it to two." The bartender glanced at her with faint skepticism in her eyes and took the card, moving off to respond to a call for another round. Mia licked the space between her thumb and forefinger on the back of her hand and sprinkled some salt onto it. She had done shots only once before, in college. It was the night of her twenty-first birthday, and Mia had gotten so sick that she'd never quite been able to take anything from a shot glass since.
Despite her sense of trepidation, Mia licked the salt, knocked back the shot, and took a hard bite out of one of the lime wedges. The tequila went down like liquid fire, warming her from the inside out. It felt like something loosened inside of her. Mia exhaled, half-expecting a plume of smoke to leave her lips. She felt a flicker of guilt, but that didn't stop her from raising her hand to signal the bartender. The woman approached quickly. "Can I have another shot, and? I guess a Coke to chase it with?"
"Not a beer? We've got a deal on Tecate when you buy Patron." Mia shook her head.
"No thanks, just a Coke," she said, licking her lips. She could still taste the sharp, sour-bitter lime. The bartender poured another shot and evaluated the amount left in the bottle.
"I'll leave this with you. There are three or four shots left," the woman said as she half-filled the plastic cup with ice. "Let me know when you're done with it." Mia nodded and took up the saltshaker again.
Mia barely noticed the other bar patrons; she listened to the music playing over the sound system as she knocked back her second, third, and fourth shots, drinking her Coke between them. She finished off the bottle and decided it was probably a good idea to take that as her cue to leave; she knew better than to even consider getting into her own car. She flagged down the bartender. "Can I get my tab and can you give me the number of a cab company? I'll figure out my car situation later." The bartender chuckled.
"We always folk keep their cars here if they're too drunk to drive. Don't worry, no one's going to tow it." The woman ran her card and Mia looked blearily at the numbers on the check, her head swimming as she tried to focus enough to determine what a good tip would be. Finally she decided it was pointless and added twenty dollars to the tab before signing the bottom.
"Your cab should be outside for you in ten minutes," the woman said lowly, taking up the folder and checking the slip. "Come back any time," she said with a pleased grin.
"I'm not normally much of a drinker," Mia said. "It's just?it's been a rough six months."
The bartender nodded. "Honey, we've all been there. Next time you have a rough six months-hell, a rough week-come on in and see me. I'll make sure you're looked after." Mia nodded, accepting the advice. She gathered up her purse and made her way out as steadily as she could manage.