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A photo and a short message. Jamey loves mint-chocolate-chip ice cream now.
Chapter 4
Sophie
Sunday
The scraping of cutlery on porcelain had always ground my gears, but today, it made my anxiety peak much higher than the usual limit.
My parents sat across from me, their knees knocking against each other beneath the kitchen table. They’d insisted on paying me a visit and checking out my new condo. Dad wanted to make sure it was “up to scratch,” as he put it, which seemed like the kind of thing one would do before their daughter set up a mortgage, but whatever.
The afternoon sun shone harshly through the windows that looked out at my back porch, glinting off the polished countertops and illuminating the little specks of dust in the air. I watched as they danced, floating amongst each other, and wished I could feel as weightless as them.
No matter the topic of conversation, I found my mind spinning. When they would tell me about Aaron’s baby girl, my stomach tumbled, my own broodiness overwhelming, and the idea of having to tell them what I was doing made me nauseous. When they would tell me about literally anything else, like their planned cruise to the Bahamas next year or their bingo nights, my mind filled with thoughts of my next-door neighbor and what I’d done yesterday. I still couldn’t believe I’d stayed in that window. I couldn’t believe he’d offered me to join him, buck naked in the midday heat and glistening with sweat. Even from a distance, I could tell how large he was. It made my mouth water even now.
“Soph?”
I blinked away the thoughts fogging my mind for a moment as I turned my head toward my dad. “Sorry, I missed that.”
He laughed the way he always did when something tickled him—full-bellied, head tipped back. “I asked if you’d made any plans to see Aaron and Michelle. You’d love Brynn.”
God dammit. Back to babies again. I wrung my hands under the table, fighting the urge to say what bubbled on the tip of my tongue. “Uh, no, not yet. I’ve been so busy, you know, with the business. Haven’t had a chance to think about it.”
“We’re going up there next week if you’d like to join us,” Mom piped up around a mouthful of macaroni and cheese. Aaron had moved to Bar Harbor, Maine, a couple of years ago after meeting Michelle on one of those dating apps. It was a lovely place, but it was quiet, and I didn’t quite understand the pull of it when there was so much more to do even here in the suburbs of Boston.
I rolled my lips between my teeth. “Uh, yeah, maybe. I’ll have to see if I have time.”
“Oh, come on, sweetie. You can make time to meet your little niece, right? She’s at that cute stage where they stop lookin’ like a raisin and start lookin’ all plump?—”
“Martin!” My mother's open hand slapped him lightly in the gut. “Brynnie does not look like a raisin.”
Dad laughed again as he grabbed for my mother's hand, planting a little kiss on the back of her palm. “I know, darling. That’s what I was getting at.”
I chuckled as I imagined a newborn, wrinkled skin and fragile, weightless in my arms. I’d seen the pictures of Brynn that Aaron had sent me, had seen the ones Michelle had posted online, but in my imagination, it wasn’t Brynn in my arms. No, it was a brown-haired little girl, a mini-me with bright blue eyes and olive skin, her tiny fingers wrapped like a vice around my finger. The ache in my chest from the intense want for her to be real nearly stole the breath from my lungs.
“Why do you look so sad, bug?” Mom asked, evaporating the image from my mind within a second as if it were only passing smoke. “I thought you’d be excited to hear about Brynn.”
“No, I am, Mom. And I’d love to meet her.”
“Then what’s going on with you?” Her hand snaked across the table, finding mine. I hadn’t even realized my fingers were balled into a fist until she loosened the grip I had. “You don’t seem like yourself.”
I could be honest. I could say what I’m feeling without giving anything away, right? I took a deep breath, forcing a small smile across my lips. “To be honest, Mom, I’m just a little jealous.”
Her head tilted, her brow furrowing as she blinked at me in confusion. “Bug, you’re only twenty-six. And you’re single. You’ve got to focus on finding someone and getting married before you even start to want that.” Dad fiddled with his watch, clearly a little uncomfortable with my admission.
“I know,” I sighed. “It’s just… I’m so ready for it. It’s just a little hard knowing it’s not within reach yet, and that when it finally is, it won’t be easy.” Not a complete lie.
“Oh, bug.” Mom flashed a sad smile at me as she squeezed my knuckles together, something that should have been reassuring but just felt wrong. “I’m sure when you find the right man, God will make sure it isn’t hard for you.”
I wasn’t sure if she caught the flinch that rippled across my face in the blink of an eye. I didn’t need a man to get what I wanted, and I definitely didn’t need a god to make a miracle happen—not unless they wanted me to be turned into some kind of Mary figure. I needed IVF, I needed sperm from the donor facility, and I needed myself. That was it.
“Right, sorry sweetie but it’s getting late and we’ve got bingo tonight,” Dad said, an effort to clear the awkwardness in the air. He stood, picking up his plate and Mom’s as well. “You’re welcome to join us next week at church if you’d like. I know it’s across town, but it could help you.”
After taking the plates from my dad and picking up my own, I scraped the leftover bits into the garbage disposal. It was enough to distract me for all of two seconds. “That’s sweet, Dad, but I’ve got plans. Maybe the week after,” I lied.
Dad nodded. Placing his hand on top of my mom’s blonde mop, he ruffled her hair, annoying her the way he always did and the way she loved most. “Come on, darling. Let’s get going.”
Mom pushed her chair back from the table, the squeak along the tile floor making me want to grind my teeth. Despite only being in their mid-fifties, Dad still offered her his hands, hoisting her up the way he always did.
