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Last Year in June
Sunny crosses her long, jean-clad leg and flexes her ankle, sending the pointed end of her tan high heel in my direction. Her white blouse beneath a loose blazer and matching heels gives off a casual business vibe. Two long gold necklaces adorn her chest, and the pendant on one dips between her breasts. The necklace I gave her glimmers in the light. Straight, silky-smooth locks cascade down her shoulders, and her makeup artfully highlights her cornflower blue irises.
The woman sitting in my parents’ kitchen chair represents the grown-up version of the teenage girl I once lusted after.
I lean against the counter and cross my arms, waiting for whatever serious conversation she wants to have. And yes, having a child together deserves a serious conversation.
I’d like to think I’m preferable to an anonymous donor. If I vow to keep our arrangement secret, there really shouldn’t be an issue.
I count Sunny as one of my closest friends. I would be honored to do this for her. Admittedly, unlike myself, she has an extensive social circle. The possibility exists that within her circle of friends someone else more fitting exists.
When I threw myself into med school and residency, she remained in our hometown, fostering friendships. But, to my knowledge, the only other guy she is close friends with is my brother Oliver. He crossed my mind as a potential donor, but he would likely settle down with someone. He’s already been engaged once. And Sunny referenced the future-wife scenario as a concern. And in Oliver’s case, he lives down the road from her. There’s no way Oliver is ever leaving this ranch.
I live three hours away. I could be completely absent from the child’s life if she wanted, or I could be there to assist periodically. Financial and emotional support are elements I could provide from any location.
She mentioned worrying I would marry and my wife wouldn’t like this arrangement, but a wife isn’t something she has to worry about with me. I’ve seen enough relationships fizzle and die, a sort of collateral damage from the time-intensive job. Relationships that are constantly placed in lower priority status simply don’t thrive. And the life on the operating table will always be my highest priority. I took an oath.
“Ian,” she says, but the tone and her apologetic smile say it all, “I am so touched you want to give me this.” A chill falls upon my hands, and I shove them in my pockets for warmth. “I truly appreciate your offer. It’s incredibly sweet of you. But it’s too much to ask, and it’s just not a good idea.”
“I think you’re missing one important point here.” She tilts her head, observing me. “I want to do this. I really want to do this for you.”
“But I’m not looking for a man to step into the father role. I want to do this on my own.”
“There are contracts for these arrangements. You can stipulate exactly what interaction you want me to have with the child. You can have full parental rights. No one needs to ever know who the father is. You can tell everyone you chose an anonymous donor. But should health problems arise in the future, you’ll know the family personally.”
“Health problems?”
“You never know. The baby might need a blood donor or a kidney.”
She waves her hand dismissively, as if I’m being ridiculous.
“You may think I’m being an extremist, but I’m not.” The unexpected happens every single day.
“Ian,” Sunny scolds, “you don’t want to be a parent. You told me so.”
“True. I can’t be the traditional dad.” My dad spent time with me every single day. Ate dinner with me every day too. That’s not the life I chose. “But you’re saying that’s not what you want. In this situation, I’m the best of all worlds. We’re close. We’ve been friends pretty much our whole lives. You love my family, and my family loves you. And I will let you completely call the shots. You dictate how you want to structure the arrangement.”
“And what would I tell my child about her father?”
“Whatever you want. If you go with an anonymous donor, what will you tell him?”
“The truth.”
“Well, the truth is an option. When he’s old enough to understand, you can tell him that two close friends wanted a baby, and that we chose an admittedly nonconventional path forward, but that those two friends love him very much and will be there to support him.”
She narrows her eyes, and her lips purse. “That sounds really nice.”
The tiny pucker of a frown warns me she’s thought of another rebuttal. “What about your family? Think about what they would say. Ian, I love you for wanting to do this for me, but it’s just not a good idea.”
A frustrated sigh escapes. Sunny is one of the most magnificent people in the world. She’s kind and unassuming. Loyal. Trustworthy. Giving. But her constant concern about what others think or say frustrates the absolute hell out of me. However, her mention of my family leads to a topic worth probing.
“Is this about Sam?”
They broke up almost twenty years ago, yet she remains single. She avoids him. She never talked about what happened between them. Admittedly, I’d been fourteen years old and probably not a likely confidante, but still. She never talked about it to Oliver either, and they were in college together.
Her chest rises, and a loud, dramatic sigh fills the room. I’m sighing, she’s sighing, there’s a lot of sighing in the room tonight. I suppose that’s par for the course when she’s disappointing me and I’m exasperating her.
“No.” Those blue eyes look directly into mine.
