Getting Her Back

by Wylder, Penny

  “Yeah…” she says. “Maybe take some time to think about it?”

  I sigh. “It’s what I’ll have to do.”

  “If you can’t pregnant,” she says, “you could always foster. Or adopt.”

  “I know,” I say. “I have thought about it. I’m not opposed, I’ve just always wanted to be pregnant. I want to experience what that is like.”

  Ellen hugs me around the shoulders. She knows. It’s not like I haven’t been talking about it forever. Everyone in my life knows I have baby fever. I’ve never been apologetic or ashamed of it. But I feel defeated right now. All I want to do is sleep.

  “You should go outside,” Ellen says. “Go for a walk, get some fresh air. If you still want to curl up and take a nap after that, then I think that seems fine.”

  “What, are you my doctor now?”

  She laughs. “Something like that. I just know that if you stay in the house much more you’re going to melt into the floor.”

  “Fine,” I say. “I’ll go for a fucking walk.”

  That only makes her laugh harder, but she pushes me off the couch and I put on some comfy clothes. “Are you going on this walk too?”

  “Sure.”

  We go down to Astoria Park. It’s a bit of a trek, but the day is nice, and the park is always beautiful. Damn Ellen for being right. This does make me feel better. I suppose the adage ‘sunshine is the best disinfectant’ can be used figuratively and literally.

  "How do you feel?" Ellen asks.

  "What are you expecting? That I'm gonna go for a walk and suddenly I'm going to get over Christian?" I shake my head. "I'm sorry. I wish it were true, but that's not going to happen."

  "I know," she says. "I meant more like do you feel like you're a part of the living humans again. When you answered the door you looked like you stepped out of The Walking Dead."

  "I did not."

  “Did too,” she says. "But seriously, how do you feel?"

  "I'm going to take it one day at a time," I say. “That's all I can really do."

  "That sounds like a good strategy," she says.

  We go down to the water and sit there for a while until Ellen needs to leave. "Are you going to be okay?"

  "Probably not," I say. "But I'll just have to deal with it."

  "Okay,” she says standing. "I'll text you later. Please actually answer me this time?"

  I laugh, though it's not very funny. "I will," I say. "I promise."

  I don’t leave the park for a while, enjoying the late summer sunset, and eventually I feel my phone buzz. I check it, thinking it’s Ellen checking in, but it’s not. I’m frozen, because it’s a text from Christian.

  Where are you?

  I glance at the time. It’s more than an hour past when I would have met him at the apartment. Did he think I would be there after what happened? That I would just go back after he left again? Another text.

  Are you all right?

  I don’t answer. In fact, I put my phone back in my pocket. The sunset is nice, and I don’t need the distraction. There’s a few more text buzzes, and then the long, insistent vibration of a phone call. But I ignore it. If he won’t answer my questions, then I won’t answer his. Eventually he’ll give up, and we’ll go back to the old normal. Where neither of us were a part of each other’s lives.

  Another buzz.

  I sigh.

  * * *

  Monday comes and goes, and even though Christian keeps texting me, I don't respond. Even when I’m in art class and the echoes of drawing him are everywhere, and my sketch of him is hanging on the wall and all I want to do is go back in time three days, I don’t respond.

  He calls too, and leaves voicemails. I listen to one, and he talks about how he’s still willing to get me pregnant—all I have to do is show up at the apartment. I'm not anymore willing to do that than I am to listen to anymore messages, respond to his texts, or answer his phone calls.

  On Tuesday, I get a call from a number I don't recognize. Given how many times Christian has been calling me, I am wary that he might've found a different number to use, but I answered all the same. "Hello?"

  "Hi, is this Audrey Robinson?" I don’t recognize the voice.

  "Yes, speaking."

  "Hello Audrey," the female voice says. “I’m Dr. Lang at the Bridgeport Fertility Clinic. I'm calling in response to an application you sent in for a clinical trial a few months ago. I apologize for not getting back to you sooner."

  Shock runs through me. It’d been so long that I’d given up hope about that trial. I never thought they’d call me, I thought their admission period was over. “Uh, hi. I honestly wasn't expecting to hear from you."

  "Yes, I’m sorry about that. We’re behind on vetting applications. There was some complication with our grant funding and we had to get it straightened out before we chose people for the project."

  I laugh. “That’s ironic.”

  “Why?”

  “Writing grant applications is what I do for a living,” I say, “So if you need help with the grants, let me know.”

  There is no hiding the surprise in her voice. "Really? We would have been better off getting this started sooner then.”

  “Yeah, maybe."

  "Can I ask how it's going with you?" she asks.

  “I’m not sure what you mean?"

  She clears her throat. "I apologize. I meant in terms of your fertility journey? Are you still trying to get pregnant?"

  "Oh," I say. "I was trying, but I haven't been successful. However, I still have the desire to get pregnant."

  "Excellent," she says. "You hit all of our basic benchmarks, so if you don't mind, we can get you set up for an appointment to come in, and start the tests needed to make sure you qualify."

  All of a sudden I'm conflicted. This is what I wanted, right? To get pregnant by myself? It’s the absolute answer to my dilemma, and yet I still feel a twinge. A hesitation. Part of me is still hoping for that non-existent dream for a family. But my mother is right, apparently I’m bad at relationships, and I’m not going to let that stop me from having a child. “How soon can you see me?” I ask.

  “Really anytime,” Dr. Lang say., “We’re so early in the process that our schedule is very open.”

  “Do you have any appointments today?”

  “Sure,” she says enthusiastically, “If you can make it in this afternoon we’d love to get started.”

  * * *

  I hadn’t eaten breakfast yet when I got the call, and it’s good because I have to fast until the blood test. The fertility clinic is warm and comfortable, and you can tell an effort was made to make this place welcoming to people who are dealing with such a sensitive issue. It’s working. I’m not in the waiting room long before I’m called back by a nurse who puts me through the normal battery of tests. I’m weighed, blood pressure taken, blood drawn, and then I’m waiting in a gown in a room with stirrups for Dr. Lang.

  She enters a few minutes later. “Hello.”

  “Hi.”

  “I’m so glad you could come in today,” she says. “Everything looks good, and we know enough from your application that you’re already approved. I just have to make sure you’re not already pregnant and there’s nothing wrong down below.” She winks.

  I always feel a bit like a stuffed turkey whenever I’m in stirrups, but Dr. Lang is quick, professional, and thankfully makes it more comfortable than most gynecologists I’ve had in the past. She pokes around for a couple minutes before extracting herself and letting me down. “Nothing looks out of the ordinary,” she says. “You are very healthy. We’ll need to wait to confirm you’re not pregnant with the blood test, but pending that, we should be able to start the process sometime next week.”

  “Wow,” I say. “That’s fast.”

  She smiles. “We can take more time if you need. We’re on your schedule.”

  “No,” I say, “that’s good. I’ve been waiting a long time.”

  “Then hopefully soon we can help
you get that baby,” she smiles again. “Julie at the front desk will help you set up your appointment, and we’ll confirm once we have your bloodwork. She’ll also give you a code to our donor database so that you can start looking for the one you’d like.”

  “I get to choose?”

  Dr. Lang nods. “Of course. The study involves a new medication process, so there’s no reason to take away that choice.”

  That’s going to be weird, hand picking the father of my child from a list of attributes. But I guess it’s really no different than swiping on an app to decide the same thing. I’m willing to bet the clinic has more detailed information. Dr. Lang finishes scribbling a note on my chart. “I’ll see you next week!” she says before breezing her way out of the appointment room. I put on my clothes and go to the front desk to set up my next appointment, and I choose Wednesday. My office is finishing a big grant proposal on Tuesday, so it will be easy enough to slip away on Wednesday for a bit.

  Then she signs me up for the database and explains how it works. There are no photos but each donor has a profile, complete with physical attributes, medical history, interests and hobbies. I was damn right about them having more information. It’s like having a résumé for sperm. I take the card she gives me, and head home, texting Ellen on the way. There’s no way I want to do this one alone. I’m going to need wine and moral support, and this is right up her alley.

  She promises to meet me there.

  18

  The process of narrowing down a sperm donor is both difficult and weird. But thanks to Ellen we laugh a lot. She created voices for each of the guys and read me the profiles as if they were auditioning. It’s just what I needed, given the last week. It took hours and more than one bottle of wine—definitely a final hurrah—but we eventually got it narrowed down to five.

  I have some time so I’m letting my brain settle. I’m going to look at those five again on Monday and see if one of them stands out to me. But right now, it’s time for a party. It’s Friday and I’m driving out to Long Island for Celia’s surprise party. I actually think it’s going to be a surprise, too. She hasn’t given me any indication that she knows the party is for her. The last few days haven’t been easy. Every time I miss another meeting with Christian, he reaches out and asks me if I’m all right.

  I’m not.

  I’m hurt. Angry. Devastated. And I’m feeling everything more because there’s a part of me that is saying that I shouldn’t be feeling these things. That I knew what I was getting into when I agreed to see him again. But that doesn’t heal the hurt, or change the fact that every time he texts and calls I want to go back. But I can’t.

  When I pull up outside my parents’ house, everything looks suspiciously normal. Which is good. The inside of the house looks normal too, even though it’s empty. But the back yard…holy shit. My mother has out done herself. If I didn’t know that we were in the middle of Long Island I would say we were in a castle somewhere in Europe. There are decorative castle turrets and towers erected around the edges of the yard, with a moat—an actual goddamn moat—that you cross on a little bridge from the house. There are medieval banners hanging from the fake walls, and a long table in the middle of the yard that’s piled with food. It looks like a feast from a historical painting. Candles and torches are everywhere, and I imagine that the whole yard will glow with them after dark.

  There are a few people here, but not many yet. It’s early. People are arriving in the next hour and then we get ready for Celia. My mother spots me and waves me over. “Wow, Mom,” I say as she pulls me into a hug. “You really went for it.”

  “You think it’s good?” I can tell that she’s really asking.

  “Yes!” I shake my head, unable to stop looking around. “I can’t believe you put this together in two weeks.”

  She blushes lightly. “It was fun. The banners are her school colors and a stylized version of their mascot.”

  “This is insane,” I say.

  “Good. We could all use a little insanity from time to time.”

  I laugh, but it’s not real. I, for one, could stand to have a lot less insanity in my life right now. “Do you need help with anything?”

  “Come with me.” She leads me to a picnic table that’s tucked out of site behind a corner of the house, and hands me a piece of paper. “These are supposed to be neat.” The paper holds instructions for folding napkins into a striking bird. “But I don’t think I’ll be able to finish them all in time.”

  “Sure,” I say. I’m good at napkin folding. Over the years my mother has thrown countless parties, and uniquely shaped napkins have always been a staple. I sit and read over the instructions before attempting the first one. My mom hovers by the table for a second. “Are you all right?”

  I look up, and she’s staring at me with unusual intensity. “Yeah, Mom. I’m fine.”

  “Okay. I’ll be back to help in a few minutes.” She disappears back around the corner, and I sigh. I’m not fine, but she also wouldn’t be okay with that if she knew why. It’s okay. I’ll get through it eventually. I did it last time and I can do it this time. I concentrate on folding the napkins. The design is pretty, and luckily not that hard to complete. I have a decent stack of them by the time she comes back. “You’re making progress!”

  “Yeah,” I say. “This isn’t the most complicated design you’ve made me do.” I make an amused face so she knows that I’m kidding.

  She sits down across from me. “Are you sure you’re okay, Audrey? You seem down.”

  “Don’t worry about it, Mom. Today’s not about that.”

  “Is it the clinic? Because it can take time.”

  I feel like I’m being hit in the chest. “I—”

  “If one sperm donor isn’t working, make them give you another one. Those places have gallons of genius level sperm waiting to be used. Don’t worry,” she says with a smile, “you’ll have a baby soon.”

  Someone calls her name from around the corner, and she curses under her breath, running off to solve whatever party crisis just happened. I take a deep breath. She doesn’t know that she’s being insensitive. It’s okay. I duck my head and force my feelings down and away. I seal them in an iron box so hidden that they won’t come out during the party. I can do that for one night. I fold as many napkins as I can, and when my fingers are tired, I go back out and mingle a little with the guests. Some are my parents’ friends, some are people I knew from high school, and some are Celia’s old friends.

  I grab some snacks from the giant banquet table and wander around the edge of the yard by the moat. My mother might not be good at judging my emotional state, but she could put most professional party planners to shame. “Audrey!” my mother calls, and I head back toward the house. She grabs my hand. “It’s time!”

  “She’s here?”

  “Yes!”

  The crowd gathers in front of the little bridge from the house, and we all get quiet.

  “Hello?” Celia’s voice echoes from the house.

  My mother calls back, “Out here, sweetie!”

  Celia appears in the doorway, and her eyes go wide with shock when she sees us, just as we all shout “SURPRISE!”

  She comes across the bridge, looking around in shock, and everyone’s cheering. I get a little teary, because this is amazing. My sister is great, and even though we’re just now getting closer, I realize that this is a big deal for her. She was the problem child, and was never celebrated like this before. No wonder she had no idea it was going to be a surprise because she would never expect it. My mother gives her a hug, and over her shoulder Celia looks at me, and I see her utter shock.

  I try to give her a smile through the tears I can’t seem to stop. She hugs my father and then she finds her way to me. She hugs me tight. “This is crazy,” she says in my ear. “You knew about this?”

  “Yeah,” I laugh. “It’s great. And you deserve it.”

  She laughs too. “I don’t know about that, but I’ll take it.” Pu
lling back, she takes me in and I must be a mess. “Are you okay?”

  “No,” I manage to say. “But there’s time for us to talk about that. Enjoy your party.”

  “You sure?” she asks, and my chest aches with the genuine concern that she’s showing.

  I nod. “Yeah. We’ll have lunch soon.”

  “Okay.” She hugs me again before going to a cluster of her friends and pouncing on them for hugs.

  Slipping away, I duck into the house. I need a minute. The bathroom that I used to share with Celia is empty, and I lock myself inside so I can let the tears fall. I don’t know why this is happening now. I’m so emotional that I could almost think I’m pregnant, but I’m not. The blood test came back, and Dr. Lang confirmed that there’s no baby. But it doesn’t seem to matter.

  I don’t have a baby, and I can’t get Christian out of my head, and every time my mother talks the way she does, like getting pregnant is simple and easy it just…hurts. Sitting on the floor of the bathroom, I let the pain wash over me. Sometimes the only thing you can do is to feel it, and get it out of the way. Tissues are good too, and I keep my dress from being too smudged with my tears.

  It’s good I was able to wait till now, at least with the party in full swing I won’t be missed. No one will come looking for me.

  Hopefully.

  My phone buzzes in my bag, and I look to see who it is. It’s Christian calling. Again. I can’t take it anymore—I answer it. “Christian, I need you to stop, please. It’s hard enough without all of this. You’ve made yourself clear, and I’m not strong enough to let you get me pregnant and nothing else.” My voice breaks and I hate myself for it. “So please, just stop.”

  I hear him try to say something before I hang up, but it’s already done. It only makes me cry harder. I let it happen.

  Finally, whatever crack opened up inside my chest and let out all this emotion seems to have bled out for now. I can breathe again, and I start the process of drying myself out, fixing my make-up so that I won’t be interrogated by Celia or Mom or any other well-meaning party guests. That’s only going to make me have to come back to this stupid bathroom.