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F O R T Y S E V E N
- Maeve -
I glanced at the magazines on the table. Redbook. Good Housekeeping. People. They looked virtually untouched. Perhaps I wasn’t the only patient who couldn’t feign interest in Feng Shui-ing my bathroom at a time like this.
But it was only my mind that was vacillating. My body was ready to go. At least according to the ovulation test kit I used that morning before coming in. I called with the results, but they asked me to bring it along anyway.
Handing it across the counter to the receptionist was beyond surreal, not at all like showing ID at the liquor store. My uterus is ready for probing and here is the proof, I wanted to say. Instead, I told the woman I liked her sparkly pin, which featured a little yellow chick hatching out of an egg. I might’ve considered it a good sign if she didn’t work in a fertility clinic.
“Breathe, honey,” my mom said, likely sensing how tangled in my thoughts I’d become. Meanwhile, she was relaxed, eager to be a grandma, and completely confident that I could pull this off.
I appreciated her optimism. I also wondered what Finn was doing right now. Probably walking along the lake with Otis or tinkering on his piano. I wished he was there with me. His company made me feel brave and sane.
“Remind me again how this goes,” my mom said, using a tone that suggested she’d feel better if I stopped wringing my clammy hands.
I knew what she was doing. It was a trick she used to play on us as kids. Anytime we were nervous, she’d ask us to walk through things out loud. It forced us to focus our mind on the present and on what we could control, so we didn’t get swept up by unproductive thoughts. But I didn’t want to play her mind games now. I was too busy giving myself a headache.
“Maeve,” she said, refusing to be ignored.
The doctor is going to wash the sperm,” I began. “Whatever that means.” Was it dirty? I hadn’t asked. She’d said it so casually I felt dumb for not being familiar with the term. “Then I’m going to lay on the table, and she’s going to inject it directly into my uterus.” My mom’s attentive nodding slightly eased my nerves. As if I was doing a good job. Giving the right answers. “They said it might be mildly uncomfortable, but no more so than a pap smear,” I continued. “Then I’ll probably lay there for a while out of paranoia more than necessity.”
Her eyes smiled. “And after?”
“After we’ll go for pasta,” I said, not wanting to jinx the procedure. After all, if the artificial insemination didn’t work, I’d have to consider IVF, which was nearly four times the cost. Not that I’d care once I achieved the intended result, but still.
“Amazing how far science has come,” she marveled. “What an incredible time to be a woman.”
“Yeah.” I stared at the Georgia O’Keeffe print on the wall across the room, wondering if the vulvic imagery was supposed to set me at ease.
“Can you imagine if I could’ve had the three of you without having to put up with your father?”
“You don’t mean that,” I said, wondering how he’d take the news that he was going to be a grandpa. Not that I had any plans to tell him. “You guys were happy for a while.”
“Maybe,” she said, leaning back against the worn upholstery of her waiting room chair. “But I don’t know if it counts.”
“What do you mean?”
She shrugged. “Is happiness real if it’s a lie?”
I turned to look at her. “It wasn’t a lie.”
“I don’t want to get into it,” she said, as if I was the one who broached the subject. “Last thing I’ll say about it is—”
I rolled my eyes internally. Talk about lies.
“The only thing worse than trying to convince yourself you’re happy when you’re not is trying to convince yourself you’re not happy when you are.”
What was she talking about? Why would people try to convince themselves they’re not happy if they are? It was rambling nonsense like this that drove Maddy nuts.
“Anyway, you’re doing this for the right reasons at the right time,” she said. “So there’s nothing to worry about.”
I wouldn’t say nothing.
No matter how much I tried to quiet the voices at the back of my mind, the fact of the matter was that going through with this would irrevocably change my relationship with Finn. But I couldn’t let that stop me, could I?
I mean, what was he to me really? A lover? A friend? Some guy I met in a bar who gave really good oral and seemed more amused than annoyed by my type A tendencies? Yes. D) All of the above.
I took a deep breath, and I was halfway through exhaling it when a rotund woman in teal scrubs opened the door across the waiting room and said my name.
My mom raised her hand silently and we rose from our seats, glancing behind us to make sure we had everything. Then I returned the woman’s inviting smile as I approached, wondering if her cheeks were rosy from scrubbing my donor sperm by hand. Moments later, we followed her into a compact doctor’s office that contained a silver rolling trolley, a few extra chairs, and a padded table with a folded, paper gown on it.
“We’ve confirmed your test results,” she said. “And you’ll be pleased to know that conditions couldn’t be better.”
I knew what she meant, but in my gut, I knew she was wrong.
“I’ll give you some privacy to get changed and comfortable,” she said, nodding towards the table and gown. “Open side at the back. You know the drill. The doctor will be in to see you shortly.”
“Great,” I said, feeling a bit lightheaded. “Thanks.” But by the time I changed my clothes and lay down on the table, I was filled with the sense that something was terribly wrong. And I realized I was doing that thing, that thing my mom mentioned earlier.
I was trying to convince myself I was happy when I wasn’t.
