Chapter One
Marlene
When I pull into the grocery store parking lot, I know I’m on a mission, I just haven’t fully decided which mission. My entire drive here has been a mental battle, a raging debate between wine and ice cream. Which breakup cliché did I want to indulge in?
Not that this had come as any kind of surprise, really. Daniel was a nice guy and all, but I think I’d known for a long time that we weren’t right for each other. I didn’t have a specific reason, no big issue I could put my finger on, which was part of why I hadn’t had the heart to end things myself.
So his decision to dump me wasn’t shocking, nor was I truly devastated, but it had left me feeling some melancholy, so I decided I could waste an evening and indulge in an old-fashioned girlie breakup ritual. Or maybe it was just an excuse to justify the calories.
I decide that I might as well just grab both some ice cream and a bottle of wine. It’s not like I can’t choose one for tonight and save the other for another evening.
As I make my way back to the liquor section to pick out a bottle of wine, I find myself wondering why I still bother with the dating scene. It all feels so pointless. I’ve never found love, or even anything close to it, in any of the guys I’ve dated.
And it’s not like I’m desperate for companionship. I’ve got a close-knit circle of wonderfully supportive friends. I may not have any family nearby, my parents having moved to Arizona several years ago, but I don’t really mind.
Beyond that, I’m content by myself. So what’s the point of putting myself through this? Maybe I’m just better off alone.
I pass by a cart containing a ridiculously cute, chubby-cheeked baby just as the little guy loses his grip on his stuffed animal, a little blue giraffe, and it tumbles to the floor.
His tiny face crumples and he starts to fuss, but his mother, a harried-looking young woman with a cell phone at her ear, is poring over the ingredient label on a can of soup while asking the person on the other end of the phone a question I can’t make out.
I bend down to scoop up the giraffe and offer it to the little guy. “Here you go, buddy,” I tell him with a smile.
He assesses me for a moment, giving me an up-and-down look with a level of solemnity only an infant can possess, before taking the giraffe and rewarding me with a gummy smile and a happy coo that melts my insides into goo.
I love kids. Always have. When I was a teenager, I was the first to give up Friday nights and weekends to babysit. While a good chunk of my college tuition had been paid my scholarships, I’d supplemented it and my living expenses with nannying gigs. Even as a little girl, when I played house with other kids, I always wanted to be the Mommy.
I think this is why I still date. I don’t really want to be alone, deep down. I’ve wanted kids of my own my whole life. I guess I just never really pictured myself as the typical white picket fence type with the husband and the “traditional” life.
Honestly, I always kind of pictured myself doing it alone.
As I leave the little boy to his giraffe and head for the aisle I’m seeking, I wonder if that’s normal, or if I’m incredibly depressing.
I convince myself that I’m entitled to some depressing thoughts as I’m selecting a bottle of wine, even though deep down I know that the thoughts have nothing to do with the breakup.
But I’m also thinking, why couldn’t I do it alone? I mean, nowadays plenty of women have kids without a man in their life, and I have no doubt I could do the same.
I make great money working as the assistant to an amazing boss, and I know money and childcare really wouldn’t be a major issue.
I try to shake the thoughts, but they’re lingering in my brain through my entire trip to the grocery store and all the way home. When I’m settled at home and I curl up on my couch with my pint of Ben & Jerry’s Chocolate Therapy, I find myself pulling out my phone and running a few Google searches.
Turns out there are a number of sperm banks in my area, and the gears in my brain just keep turning. Is this just some kind of crazy post-breakup meltdown?
But the thing is, I’m not melting down. I’m not heartbroken over Daniel calling it quits, not even slightly. I liked him well enough, but part of me is a little relieved that I didn’t have to be the one to end it.
Daniel was just another in a long line of lackluster romances for me. I’d been dating since I was a teenager, but I just never found a real connection with anyone. And it’s not like I can’t bond with men. Two of my three closest friends are guys.
But I can’t seem to click with other guys on that same level. With Corey and Andrei, there’s just always been this ease, this comfort to our bond, but I can’t seem to find that in anyone else.
I probably should have taken a shot at one of them back in high school when I had the chance, but that’s a rabbit hole I won’t go down again. After many years, I’d learned how to suppress the little unrequited crushes I held for each of them. After all, they’ve been together since the end of our senior year.
I find myself scanning over some of the sperm bank websites, and the more I look, the less insane this feels. I delve deep into stories of other women like me, who had decided to make this journey without a guy next to them.
Admittedly, a lot of them are older than me, in their 30s and even some later, but I do see a couple in their mid-twenties like me, too.
The more I read, the more interested I get, and the more I wonder…can I do this?
Chapter Two