Page 9 of Say My Name

The twitch disappears. “Dominic.”

“I’m asking one question.”

“You’ve asked four.”

“Have you?”

She watches me for several seconds, probably trying to decide whether ignoring me is worth the follow-up questions. “No.”

The relief is immediate. It’s also fucking insane.

There is no reason for me to care which anonymous profile she chooses. No reason for the idea of her reading through these men’s medical histories to irritate me. They’re files. Donors. People she will probably never meet.

“Does Cliff know?”

“No.”

“Your parents?”

“No.”

“Who have you talked to about this?”

“I’ve talked to the clinic.”

“That isn’t what I asked.”

“I know.” Her voice sharpens. “I don’t need a committee to approve my decision.”

“I didn’t say you did.”

“You’re doing a pretty good impression of someone who thinks I do.”

She shifts the binder under her arm, and the movement presses the blouse tighter across her breasts. My eyes drop before I stop them. Hers narrow.

Fantastic, now I’m being a fucking creep too.

I drag my attention back to her face. “You’re planning to have a baby by yourself, and no one in your life knows.”

“That’s generally how privacy works.”

“This is bigger than privacy.”

“It’s also my life.”

“I know that.”

“Do you?” She walks around the desk and lowers her voice when the call reminder starts chiming again. “Because right now I’m getting a secondary big-brother speech I didn’t ask for, and I already have a fully functioning primary big brother.”

The words hit me with enough force that I go completely still.

Big brother.

She thinks I’m standing here imagining myself in the same category as Cliff. Concerned about her. Protective in a clean, familial way.

Meanwhile, I’m staring at a sperm-donor binder and thinking about Elena pregnant.

Her body changing. Her stomach rounding beneath one of the fitted dresses she wears to work. Her carrying some other man’s child while I stand across a conference table pretending I don’t want to know what she looks like naked.