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We’ve hashed and rehashed the topic of her narrow escape from an arranged marriage, and now I’ve no escape from what Jax wants to talk about. Unless I want to skydive out of this Cessna. I might just try it.
When Jax asked me to join her on her would-be honeymoon to The Pearl Crescent islands, I suggested we leave a week early and spend some time in the city on Pearl Island b
efore hitting the resort on Little Loggerhead. After doing some research, I learned the big island’s city center has excellent shopping, a university, good hospitals, and a world-renowned fertility clinic. I decided I can do what I need to do here just as well as anywhere else. My family is not excited about my decision to have a baby on my own. So I might as well do it in paradise, away from their judging eyes.
My parents don’t seem to realize that I’m almost 30 and that I’ve wanted a baby my entire life. As a child, there was nothing I wanted to play with more than baby dolls, toy strollers, and tiny cribs. Now that I’m an adult, I’m more of an adventurer than a homebody, but the idea of having a baby has never left me. When I close my eyes, I see me and a little girl or boy, holding hands, walking to the park. A suitable partner has never revealed himself to me, and that’s okay. I’ve got the time, resources, and the will to raise a baby on my own.
“I can’t believe this is our last girls’ trip. Do you really have to go through with the insemination? I mean, a baby? It’s so…so…final!”
Jax has a flair for the dramatic.
I laugh at her. “My life isn’t going to be over just because I’m going to have a baby, you know.”
She lolls her head back and wags it back and forth as if she can’t believe what she’s hearing.
“Babe,” she counters. “Sierra…my best friend…a mom…I just…wow.”
I smirk and sip from my tumbler. “Solid argument, but I’m going to do it.”
“But why?”
I love my Jax, but having a baby is not the end of the world.
“Because,” I answer her, “I’ve always wanted a baby. I have always felt it in my soul. Somehow I’ve always known I was built for it. And, I’m turning thirty next week, and I always said that if I wasn’t married and pregnant by thirty, that I would go it on my own. And I want to have one big adventure with my best friend before I’m preggers.”
A loud belch erupts from Jax’s throat, and the pilot glances at us over his shoulder. “Tossing your cookies in my plane is one of those things not covered in your all-inclusive package.”
Jax points and laughs at our pilot’s comment. “You’re funny.” She turns to me and mouths, “and hot A.F.”
My eyes roll so hard they might stay that way. “Jax. Oh my god.”
Arching an eyebrow, she leans forward and places a hand on my knee. “Okay. Listen.” Her classic move when she’s tipsy is to remind a person to listen when they are, indeed, already listening. She’s so cute right now I could hug her. “I promise not to bug you anymore about your future relationship with a turkey baster if you promise that on this trip, you’ll at least consider getting knocked up by a romantic, dashing stranger.”
She’s officially drunk now. And bonkers.
I cluck at her. “In what universe does a stranger getting me pregnant make things less complicated?”
Jax chokes on her margarita, and I take the tumbler out of her hands. She’s had enough until we land, I think. “It doesn’t! But it sure is more fun, and romantic, and adventurous. Not to mention you’ll have an amazing story to remember.”
“If by adventurous, you mean a game of ‘Will I or Won’t I Contract Herpes on my All-Inclusive Island Vacation?’ Then, sure. What a romantic adventure.”
“Better than a sterile fertility clinic involving rubber gloves and refrigerated Harvard sperm!”
Now I’m choking. “The donor is a Johns Hopkins University professor, thank you very much,” I correct her.
She glowers at me. “Whatever. Just promise me you’ll keep your options open.”
I stare back at Jax and entertain the prospect of her not harassing me every five minutes to keep an open mind. So, I lie. “Of course I will. But think of it this way, whichever way I get pregnant, you get to be the cool aunt.”
My best friend twirls her long, thick braid and purses her lips thoughtfully. “Mm. I’ve always thought of myself as the crazy aunt.”
Nodding, I christen her Crazy Aunt Jax, and I hand her the tumbler so we can make a toast.
“To Sierra’s Babymoon!”
“To my Babymoon!”
The plane banks left, and I see it. Little Loggerhead Island: An oblong landmass of dense jungle, hugging a dormant volcano on one end and the exclusive Cerulean Resort and Spa on the other end. Pristine white sand beaches circle the entirety of the island. The turquoise water is so clear that I can see the line of coral reefs from the shore for miles out to sea. Beyond the private island is a half-moon-shaped line of smaller islands and keys, as well as a sprinkling of landmasses that amount to little more than sandbars with a few rocks and dense trees.
