Sophia
Aweek goes by, and then another. For some strange reason, I continue to track my ovulation. I buy a kit from the Internet, and every day, first thing in the morning, I pee on a wand. It’s a little complicated when I stay over at Damien’s or Julian’s, but I manage.
The three of us spend a lot of time with each other. By now, all my siblings know something is going on. My oldest brother Ben has always known, I’ve asked Aurora for advice, and Simon’s working on Julian’s house. I haven’t discussed Julian and Damien with Andre, but he’s not completely oblivious. He’s bound to notice something when I'm not sleeping in my bed more than three nights a week.
But two weeks in, and I still haven’t discussed children with them.
“What is wrong with me?” I ask Ben one Sunday afternoon as I drive back from Damien’s place. “Why am I not telling them? What the hell is holding me back, Ben?”
My brother doesn’t reply right away.
“It's a real relationship; I know it is,” I continue. “So why am I not telling them that I'm thirty-five, I'm on a timeline, and I want children? Why am I avoiding having this conversation with them?”
“Well, it's only been a few weeks,” my ever-practical brother points out. “It’s quite soon.”
“They told me they wanted to be in a relationship with me. They didn't have any trouble expressing their feelings. Why am I struggling with this?”
“They didn't have our childhood. When things get intense, I run, and so do you.” He hesitates for a moment. “Don’t tell Papa and Dad because I don’t want to hurt their feelings. But I've been seeing a therapist. About never feeling safe because Denise could take us away at any moment. Talking it out helps; it really does.”
“Ben, I can't afford a therapist, not with the fertility treatments.”
His voice sharpens. “You aren't still thinking about going the sperm donor route, are you? Shouldn’t you at least have a conversation with the men you’re dating first?”
He's absolutely right. I don't know why I spent three hours on the sperm donor site last week. I don't know why I've narrowed it down to two candidates. I don't know why I’m peeing on a wand every morning. It’s as if I’m stuck on a path I can’t deviate from, which makes no sense whatsoever. I don't understand my brain.
My silence speaks volumes. “You don't trust them,” Ben says.
“No, that’s not it. I do trust them.” We went to Club M again last night. Julian and Damien found out about my trapeze fantasies, so they suspended me from the ceiling in a sex swing-like contraption in a private room. They blindfolded me and spun me between them. Unable to see, I couldn’t tell if I was going to swallow cock, get fucked in my pussy, or in my ass. (Spoiler alert: I did all three.) It was the hottest thing I’ve ever done, and I could only do it because I trusted them completely.
Right?
“Is it still about them getting you fired?”
“No,” I reply instantly. Is it? “Damien told me he had nothing to do with it, and I believe him.”
But I’ve never found out how Mrs. Caldwell knew that we’d slept together.
“It was ten years ago, Ben.”
“I know that. The real question is, do you? Because something’s bothering you, whether you want to admit it or not. If you tell me they haven’t done anything to erode your trust in the present, then it has to be about the past. You still have unresolved issues.”
Could he be right? But that's insane. Yes, getting fired changed my life, but it turned out to be a good thing in the end. I have a job I truly enjoy, working in a field where I can make a difference. Our community health center does so much good. Patricia is someone I can look up to. I have a beautiful home, good relationships with my family, and now, an amazing sex life. Surely I can’t still be hung up about something that happened ten years ago.
I’m never going to learn how Mrs. Caldwell found out about us. I haven’t kept in touch with anyone from the hospital; I’m never going to get closure on this. I'm never going to learn the answers.
And it doesn’t matter.
I can’t let the past stand in the way of my future.
On Monday,Patricia corners me in the kitchen. “Sophia,” she says as she heats her lunch in the microwave. “I want to talk to you about two things.”
My heart beats faster. After Julian brought me flowers, I expected Patricia to ask me about it, but she hasn't. Maybe she's just been biding her time.
“Of course.” My grip tightens on my coffee mug. “Shall we head to your office?”
She looks puzzled. “If you want, but these are quick things. First, dinner with Damien Cardenas. You were supposed to schedule that?”
Oh, right. Patricia wanted to take Damien out to dinner to thank him for his million-dollar donation. “I completely forgot about it,” I tell her honestly. “I’ll set it up.”