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It’s another reporter and I give him the same answer. But it doesn’t stop. The phone keeps ringing until I make the decision to use the clinic switchboard, or else I won’t get any work done today. The silence is a relief and as I’m reveling in it, Jace walks into the office.
My heart drops to my feet as I stare at him, looking for signs of weariness. Our gazes meet and my insides clench at the sadness in his eyes. I don’t need to be told that I’m the cause of it. My lips suddenly feel dry and I wet them with my tongue.
I’m the first to speak, needing to fill the silence. “How did it go?”
Jace takes a few steps toward me. “It went as well as could be expected. But now, the problems start.” His forehead has creases of worry and I long to reach out and smooth them with my hand. But I don’t. Even if he hasn’t mentioned my refusal to join him at the press conference, something has changed between us. With my actions, I made it clear that I’m not there for him when he needs me.
“What do you mean?”
“These sorts of stories open a can of worms.” He comes and sits down on the spare chair, giving me hope that maybe he’s not that upset. “Others will come forward with their own accusations.”
I stare at him aghast. I hadn’t thought about that. “Has this happened before?”
“Yeah, but we were clean. The trouble is that there are malicious people out there who take advantage of the situation and spin their own web of lies. We had a woman once, who claimed that we had forced a donor on her. Luckily, the newspaper she went to contacted us first before going to the press and we were able to prove that she was lying. We had followed all the procedures.”
“Why did she do that?” This world of reproduction is turning out to be murkier than I thought.
Jace shrugs. “I have no idea. It was a well-respected newspaper, not a tabloid and no money was being offered.”
Jace is different and it takes me a while to put my finger on it. When I do, it feels like a knife is being pushed into my chest. He’s treating me like a real PA, not someone who is special to me. A lump lodges in my throat and I want to cry.
“We have to send a press statement to as many media houses as we can. We’ll make the announcement for the pro-bono cases that the clinic will take on,” Jace says. “We need to kill this thing as quickly as possible. Hopefully, that will be a good distraction and they’ll stop pestering us.”
We stare at each other without speaking. His words are a reminder that I should have been the distraction. Is he thinking the same thing? I’m the first to look away. A few clicks of the mouse take me to the inbox.
Jace stands up. “I’m surprised the phone is not ringing.”
“Oh, it was. I couldn’t work from the constant ringing so I switched it to the clinic switchboard.”
“Good thinking,” he says and moves away.
The inbox is inundated with requests for interviews. “It seems every radio and TV station wants to interview you.” It’s unbelievable how much attention this is drawing.
“I can do a TV interview in the evening. Send me a list and I’ll let you know which one I’ll go with.” Jace disappears into his office and shuts the door.
Maybe things are not as bad as I’m imagining. Surely, Jace can understand that not everyone likes or wants to be in the spotlight. Still, I can’t comfort myself that way. I saw the detached way he looked at me and spoke to me. The affection that is usually in his voice was missing.
I sift through the interview requests then after compiling them into one document, I send them to Jace. We email back and forth. He sends me the press release, which I forward to the PR department with the instructions that Jace gave.
When I get a break, I make coffee for Jace and myself. He waves me into his office as he’s on a phone call. He doesn’t glance at me once, as I set the mug on his desk. I shut the door behind me as I leave, fighting down my hurt feelings. I didn’t know how much I’d taken for granted the affection that Jace gives so easily. I miss it. Even if it’s just a look or an air-kiss. Anything to show that he still cares. I return to my desk and check my phone. There are several messages from Amelia. My stomach churns with anxiety. I’ve tried not to think of Amelia and how she’ll react to what’s happening all morning.
Amelia: I need something from you. We need to fly with this.
It’s exactly what I was afraid of. I go to my private email where I send myself copies of all my writing. I sift through it, looking for something that will appease Amelia for now. After my drinks date with Melissa yesterday, I went home and banged out a first draft of her story. I called it, “A Journey To Motherhood”, as her husband didn’t want to be interviewed.
I read through it, editing as I go. It’s quite good actually. Melissa was very gracious in taking me through her emotions and the strain that comes with having a baby by a sperm donor. When I’m done, I email it to Amelia. I hold my breath as I wait for her response. It comes a few minutes later.
Amelia: It’s good. Can we get something from the husband? It would be great to hear how he feels knowing that the resulting child will not be his.
Me: He doesn’t want to be interviewed but I can ask Melissa how he feels about that.
Amelia: Not the ideal answer I was looking for but I guess it’ll have to do.
I sigh with relief, crisis averted. It’s awkward to ask Melissa such a personal question and I feel like a total coward when I ask her by text message.
Melissa doesn’t take it that way though.
Melissa: I totally get why you’re asking. A good writer would. Nelson doesn’t mind. We were considering adoption as well so the genetic make-up of the baby doesn’t bother him.
