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“But the enrollment forms are due. With payment. And then, it’s like…commitment. I’m scared.”
“Of what?”
“I have a young child. My husband is worried about how I’ll manage family and school. I’m worried about the extra debt. And then, what if I don’t make it?”
“What? Through law school? Don’t be ridiculous. You can do anything you set your mind to.”
“I’m old, though.”
“What?” I glance down at her skin. “You can’t be older than twenty-eight.”
“I’m thirty-two.” She sounds deflated. “That’s old for law school.”
“So? If it’s something you want to do, go for it.”
“That’s what everyone says, but then when I go to put the envelope in the mail, I freeze. Maybe it’s a sign it’s not what I really want to do.”
“I don’t know about that.” I move on to a light conditioner to prep the skin before applying steam. “I think sometimes we give our worries more power than we should. Sometimes you have to envision the future you want, think through all the steps to get there, and take that first step. Think about how proud your child will be when you graduate from law school. A boy or a girl?”
“A girl. Five years old. She’ll enter kindergarten this fall, which is why I thought…”
“Tell me about her.”
By the end of Barbara’s facial, she has moisturized, clean skin, and I learned all about her adorable daughter named Maple after the tree her husband carved their names in when they were in fifth grade, and how after having Maple they tried but hadn’t had luck getting pregnant again. She came to terms with it, and now she really does want law school, but she’s scared to take that step.
She gives me a hug before leaving the treatment room. While we hug, I tell her, “Just go for it. Don’t let the worries hold you back.”
It’s not bad advice. Fear and worry hold too much weight. It’s advice I could give myself. Like Barbara, I want a baby. This is my year to try to do this. And, if I’m aiming for a dream, I should just do it. Maybe not conceiving after the first anonymous donor is a sign. I pull out my phone and, before I can second guess myself, shoot off a text to Ian.
Me: If you’re really serious about this, I’ll take you up on your offer.
ChapterFourteen
Ian
Last Year in June
Sunny: If you’re really serious about this, I’ll take you up on your offer.
Astonishment strikes first. I reread the text. Over and over again. She’s going to do it. Breathing becomes more difficult each time I read the text. We’re going to do it. I’m going to do it. Or, well, my sperm will. Procreate.
“Dude. Did you get bad news?” Harrison returns from the bar and slides a beer across the table.
We both had early morning surgeries and finished up early. Or somewhat early. It’s almost five. The humidity and heat outdoors surpass one hundred degrees for about the tenth day in a row, so we’re sitting in the air conditioning, by a picture window staring out onto the empty baking patio.
I check the time of the text. She sent it a few hours ago. My response is late, but she knows I store my phone in a locker when I’m in surgery. I got caught in a conversation with a patient’s wife that put me late meeting Harrison, and I ended up rushing here.
Harrison, like the nosy ass he is, leans over the table and reads the message upside down. “What offer?”
“Sperm donation.” I swallow my beer and avoid Harrison’s open-mouthed face by watching the baseball game on the television over his head.
“Dude.”
My beer hits the table with more force than intended. Harrison leans back against the booth, giving us some much needed room.
“Is there a reason you sound like a surfer today?”
He shrugs. “I watchedBill and Ted’s Excellent Adventurelast night.”
