One uncomfortable pap smear later,I’m at the front desk. “The doctor said you’d give me some information?” I ask Laura.
“About sperm banks, right? Hang on, I’ll print a list of places we typically use.” She stuffs a dozen brochures into a binder and hands it to me.
“Dr. Hernandez also said something about a support group.”
“The group Nadya organizes? Yes, she left a flyer here somewhere.” She hands me a sheet of paper. “They’re meeting tonight.”
“Tonight?” I can't do that. That's too soon. Plus, I have other things going on this evening. Things like coming up with the curriculum for Damien's How to Become a Better Person course. I should have done it yesterday, and I started to browse the Internet for ideas, but I fell asleep on the couch instead.
But Damien's only in town for four weeks, and he's held up his end of the bargain. No matter what I think of his motives, his gift was exceedingly generous. I need to do my part.
“I don't think tonight is going to work,” I tell the receptionist. “I'll just attend their next meeting.”
Ben,my oldest and most responsible brother, calls me as I'm driving back from the clinic. “Papa's birthday is coming up,” he says. “He's had his eye on a set of golf clubs, but they're not cheap. Do you want to go in on it? I talked to Andre, and he's in. So is Aurora. I left a message for Simon.”
In true contractor fashion, Simon only checks his messages twice a week. If that. “Good luck getting a reply,” I tell Ben. “The house that he's working on is giving him problems. He's there fourteen hours a day.”
“He works too hard,” Ben says disapprovingly.
“As if you’re any better. Yeah, count me in on the clubs. I’ll tell Simon about them if I see him tonight.”
“Thanks, I'd appreciate that.” He’s about to hang up when he remembers to ask, “What's going on with you, Soph? Are you really thinking of doing the pregnancy thing?”
“I'm on my way home from the fertility clinic. I had my first appointment today.”
He whistles softly. “You're moving quickly.”
“I don't have a lot of time to waste,” I point out.
“Hmm. There’s no guy in the picture, then? No one you want to do this with?”
For some inexplicable reason, I think about Julian and Damien. And then I laugh at my imagination. Damien and Julian as parents? Julian might be father material, maybe, but Damien? Hell, no. I would never have a baby with somebody that wealthy. If there's any custody dispute, he'd be able to steamroll over me. “No,” I tell my brother. “There's nobody in the picture. Why do you ask? You don’t think I should have a baby via sperm donor?”
“You should do whatever you want,” he replies immediately. “Whatever makes you happy.” He hesitates. “Do you know my friends Tony and Leela?”
“I’ve heard you talk about them. Why?”
“They’ve been trying for a baby. Leela did fertility treatments last year. It wasn’t good. They’d get their hopes up with each cycle, and when it didn't work, their hearts would shatter.” His voice turns sad. “This year, Leela desperately wanted to keep trying. Tony didn’t. They can’t figure out how to get past it. They're separated now. Probably getting divorced.”
“That’s brutal.” The car in front of me stops abruptly, and I have to slam on my brakes to keep from rear-ending him. Blissfully unaware, he turns right. Asshole. Ever heard of a turn signal? “The doctor suggested a support group.”
“You should go, Soph. Make sure you know what you're getting into.”
I emailthe support group when I get back home. Nadya, the organizer, writes back almost immediately. “There is a meeting tonight,” her email says. “We meet at Grounds for Thoughts, the coffee shop on Main Street.”
Attached to her email is a schedule of their upcoming meetings. I'm about to reply saying I can’t meet tonight when I notice that they aren't meeting next week.
And next week I’m meeting with Dr. Hernandez again to discuss the results of my fertility tests.
Crap. So much for Damien's curriculum.
There are five women at the coffee shop, all roughly the same age as me. I walk up and introduce myself. I’m not naturally extroverted, but my job makes me good at faking it. When you routinely have to ask people for money, you learn to get over any sense of embarrassment.
There’s Nadya, Poppy, Jennifer, Felicity, and Malia. After some initial chitchat, everyone goes around the table to talk about what they're struggling with. Felicity, a freckled redhead, is the only woman apart from me who is single. “I went on a date last night,” she says when it's her turn to share. “It was weird.”
“Why?” Jennifer asks.
“It’s the first time I didn’t tell a date I was planning on getting pregnant.” She turns to me. “Sophia, you’ll probably run into this too. Dating is hell when you're trying to have a baby.”