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Don’t get me wrong: the material things were fun, too. But as the youngest of five, I always had the sense of just missing out. I had memories of fun times and holidays and even a few vacations with my older brothers and sisters. But they were always tighter, their bonds stronger. Five years behind them, it always felt like I’d missed out on so much. There were too many stories only they could share. Too many inside jokes and wordless laughter that, unfortunately for me, I’d missed by being born too late.
Family. It was extremely important to me growing up. And yet I’d sacrificed the scant blood relationships I had by coming to New York and setting up shop here. Sure I went home sometimes, and I was always welcomed with open arms. But it was during those times I really saw what I was missing. It was during those trips when I’d fawn over little Abby falling adorably asleep in my brother Patrick’s arms, or I’d watch Colin look up at my sister Jessica and give her a 3-year old smile so bright and beautiful it could shatter the world.
There were Andrew’s gorgeous twins, Zach and Kaitlyn. The three little boys my sister Mariah gave birth to in rapid succession; Jonah, Louis, and Randall. I had so many nieces and nephews I practically needed a secretary to keep track of all the birthday and holiday cards and gifts.
And yet every time I went home, my apartment was dark and silent.
I didn’t want to wait five years, and end up with a child too young to play with his many cousins. But it was more than just that. There was an invisible call that tugged at me in the dead of the night, staring up at my ceiling. A piece of my heart that had always been missing, whether I wanted to admit it or not.
I wantedmotherhood.
All these thoughts and more swirled through my head, as I wandered the carpeted halls of the clinic again. I knew what I wanted, now. I’d already gone for the bloodwork and was ready for the series of prenatal vitamins and necessary injections. I’d read all about the procedure of follicle stimulation and extraction. Of embryo creation and implantation.
At times it seemed coldly formulaic and planned, but then again I was always a planner. I realized this suited me. If all went well, I could conceive in two to three months. I would be carrying a child. Growing it inside me…
Devyn’s child.
Biologically yes, but that would be the extent of it. And not just Devyn’s though.
Mychild.
The thought made me warm inside. On deeper levels than even I’d anticipated.
“Ah, Ms. Emerson!”
The director was standing just outside his office, behind the receptionist’s shoulder. He ushered me in, pointing with the tip of his wire-rimmed glasses.
“Please. Come sit.”
His office was exactly the same, the books on the shelves entirely untouched. For some reason that part seemed sad. I wondered how many old, obsolete books at the New York Public Library had been sitting on the same shelves, decade after decade. Untouched, unopened. Wholly forgotten.
“So your bloodwork came back,” the director began, tapping a folder on his desk. “And I have some good news and some bad news for you.”
My stomach rolled, making me abruptly nauseous. It had been doing a lot of that lately.
“Alright,” I sighed. “Give me the bad.”
The man looked me over very carefully, then folded his hands on his desk.
“I’m afraid we’re not going to be able to help you conceive,” he said flatly. “At least not right now.”
Anger seethed through me. My upper lip curled back on its own.
“Why?” I demanded. “Did you lose Mr. Bishop’s specimenagain?”
Slowly, wordlessly, the director shook his head. “No. Not at all.”
“My bloodwork then?” I tilted my head.
“Is all well within normal ranges,” the man assured me. He pulled a piece of paper from my file. “Good liver function. Low cholesterol. In fact, you’re quite healthy.”
Healthy. Healthy was good, wasn’t it?
“I don’t understa—”
“You’d actually be a prime candidate for IVF,” the director said merrily. “Except for one small, but disqualifying thing.”
My mouth was still open as he rotated the lab report one-hundred eighty degrees and then slid it my way.
