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“On that note,” I shudder, not needing to fake it at their flirting – while I’m grateful they’re still gaga over each other, I do not need or want to see it – “I’m out. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”
“You’re no fun,” Mom scolds. “You don’t do anything.”
“Exactly,” I agree as I drop a quick kiss on her cheek and make my exit.
I pull in my driveway about ten minutes later, the take home bag of lemon bars considerably lighter, and wait for the garage to close behind me. Inside the kitchen, I hang my keys on the hook beside the door, then set the tote from mom on the counter.
I’m tempted to eat another, but I refrain, reminding myself I’ll regret not being able to have any tomorrow. I do remove the container, intending to fold Mom’s bag up to return to her.
When it won’t close at the worn in bends in the fabric, I frown. She didn’t mention putting anything else in it. Plus, it wasn’t that heavy. Maybe the bottom isn’t flat. Putting my hand in an attempt to fix that, my palm instantly touches what feels like an envelope.
Withdrawing it, I’m shocked to see a letter from the Making Dreams Happen Donation Bank. It’s not that I forgot about what they have of mine, merely that I’m surprised they’re contacting me.
I hope nothing is wrong.
While I may not be ready to proceed with my sample quite yet, it’s been a source of relief over the last few years to know it’s an option.
Guess I should change my address in their system. That’s probably what it’s regarding. I’m surprised Mom didn’t mention it.
She probably assumes, as I do now that I’m thinking clearly, that it’s a standard check in. Or they’re updating their records.
Ripping it open, I begin reading the letter, stopping long enough to grab a chair before I fall on my ass.
It’s a legitimate reaction to discovering my sample was mistakenly used and it was a success.
Holy hell. I’m gonna be a dad!
Chapter Three
Zoe
January 13th…
“You’ve got to be kidding,” I say, thankful I sound somewhat calm.
“No, Ms. Kirkley,” Rebecca corrects me. “We take this very seriously. We wouldn’t joke about such a thing.” Of course not. You just eff up and give me the sperm of a guy that didn’t want his donated.
“Why am I just being informed of this?”
“We were waiting to hear back from the uh, other party.”
Nice phrase for unwilling participant. I’m trying my level best not to be upset, it won’t change the current situation at all. It could, however, entirely change my plan for the future.
The anonymous donor I’d selected had given of himself knowing there would be no contact between him and whoever opted to use it. What came of that would be able to decide for themselves once they’d reached a certain age.
Four and a half months, in utero, is not it.
“And?” Breathe, Zo. You’ve overcome so many obstacles. This is just one more to get through.
“He wants to meet you.”
“He can’t have my baby,” I angrily tell her.
“You do have rights, Ms. Kirkley,” she reassures me, and it works until I realize he does, too.
He didn’t sign up for this.
“Okay,” I concede, hoping he and I can just as easily come to an agreement where my,our, child is concerned. I doubt she’ll answer, but I have to ask, “Has this ever happened before?”
