by Cara McKenna
An ad for fabric softener comes on a while later, and I wad my napkin up and toss it at the perfect mother on the screen, swaddling her toddler in a fluffy towel. “She conceived you in a port-a-potty at the county fair,” I tell the child. “Your dad was a carnie. They were very much in love, but he died in a tragic Tilt-a-Whirl accident.”
The child ignores me, lost in the rapture of tumble-dried terrycloth. I zap the TV off and head to bed, praying I’ll wake up a different person.
Chapter Four
I never knew how many kinds of pregnancy tests there are.
For ten minutes or more I stare at boxes in the crowded downtown drugstore near my work, blocking the family planning aisle with my fistfuls of Christmas shopping bags. Eventually I pick two: a cheaper one of the pink-line, blue-line variety, and a more expensive one with a digital read-out.
I grab a can of soup, knowing I’ll be in no mental shape to cook anything decent when I get home, no matter the outcome. The woman in the next line over casts tactlessly nosy looks at my purchases as I pay. I stick out my tongue at her back as she leaves, and the cashier laughs.
As I’m skirting the snowy Common to get on the red line, I’m so lost in my thoughts I practically knock Noah Aubrey down before he gets my attention.
“Oh God. Sorry, Noah. I was worlds away.”
He smiles his nervous smile. We haven’t spoken since the night of the impromptu threesome, but I feel relieved by the simple fact that he intercepted me when he could just as easily have run off.
“How have you been?” he asks. “You excited for Christmas?” I know what he really wants to know—the exact same thing I do: am I knocked up yet?
“Yeah, I’m officially ready.” I waggle my many bags. “You?”
He nods, chewing his lip. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. Just thought I’d say hello.”
“You aren’t making me uncomfortable. I’m just… I’ve got pregnancy tests in my purse,” I say with a laugh. “They feel like nitroglycerin. I’m just eager to get home and…you know.”
He nods again, for longer than I’ve ever seen a person nod before; then he finally asks, “Do you want a ride? That’s a lot of bags to cram on the subway.”
I think for a minute, not knowing what the right answer is. I haven’t seen Noah in nearly two weeks, and if I’m completely honest, I’ve missed him, in spite of the strange way we parted. After a few seconds’ deliberation, I realize what I’m doing is already a hot mess, so blurring our boundaries for another twenty minutes probably can’t fuck things up much worse.
“Sure, Noah. I’d love that.”
He takes a couple of my bags, and we reroute toward the underground garage. “Aren’t you on break?” I ask.
“Technically. But I came in to view some student films. Hence the shabby clothes.” He gestures to his jeans and sneakers.
“I hate to break it to you, but all the cool professors wear jeans to class.”
He nods, smiling. “Maybe. But I’m still pretty new, so I have to trick my students into respecting me in whatever ways I can… What do you do, anyway? I can’t believe I never bothered to ask you that.”
“I work in the legal department of an architectural firm.” I point in the direction of Chinatown, toward my office. “Zoning laws and permits…very sexy stuff.”
He holds open the door to the underground garage’s vestibule. “You like it?”
“I do. I’ve always liked that kind of law. Especially in Boston. The antiquated, ridonkulous little colonial-throwback rules are fascinating.” We take the elevator down two levels and head to his car.
“Are there law nerds the same way there’s film nerds?” he asks.
“Oh God yeah. I bet any field with minutia to memorize attracts its fair share of know-it-alls.”
Noah unlocks his little hatchback, and we shove my bags into his backseat. I strap myself in, and he starts the car. Unable to resist, I open my purse and take out the expensive test’s box, unfold the instructions. I feel Noah’s eyes on me as we get in line to exit the garage.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “I’m probably crapping all over semi-anonymous sperm-recipient etiquette, doing this with you right there. But I’m really nervous. This is a really important night for me.”
“I’ll bet.”
“I haven’t felt like this since I was waiting to hear back about law school applications. Feel free to dump me at a T stop if it gets too weird for you.” I scan the paper, feeling like maybe the looming result is encrypted in the directions.
“You’re fine,” Noah says, turning us onto Charles Street. “I hope it comes up however you want it to, Abby.” He turns for a second to look at me when he says this.
I smile tightly and nod. “Thanks.” I don’t know what Noah feels for me, but I can appreciate the effort I suspect it’s taking him to sound so casual.
“How’s, um…how’s your family taking this whole thing?”
“They don’t know yet,” I say. “Actually, you and…” I forget his name for a few seconds. As handsome as I know it is, I’ve almost completely forgotten his face in the last two weeks. “Rob. You and Rob are the only people who know about the plan. I figured I’d clue my family and friends in once I’m in too deep to get talked out of it.”
“I could see that. Sounds kind of lonely, though. Not that I know the first thing about it, of course.”
“It doesn’t feel too lonely,” I say. “It feels exciting, like I’m planning something in secret to surprise them. My parents trust my decisions. I mean, they have to since I’m thirty-two, but I don’t think it’ll freak them out. I think they’ll be eighty percent excited, twenty percent worried for me.”
“That’s a healthy mix.”
“I figured if it turned out to be really tough, getting pregnant, I didn’t want to put anybody else through that stress. I want to bring them in right at the happy part and deal with any frustration on my own.”
“They live close?”
I nod. “In Marblehead.”
“Could be an exciting Christmas.”
“They’ll be in the Bahamas, actually.” My heart deflates at the thought.
“Brothers or sisters?” Noah asks.
“I have a younger sister, but she’s out in California. If I’m not preggers, I’ll probably call on my Jewish friends to invite me over for Chinese food.”
“And if you are?”
I make a thoughtful face. “Me and the embryo will probably hang out on our own…drinking sparkling cider. Watching Christmas specials.”
We drive over the river just as light, harmless flakes begin to drift from the gray sky.
“Have you thought about names or anything?” Noah asks. “Unless you’re not comfortable talking about that kind of stuff. With me.”
“Trust me, I’ve thought about pretty much nothing but baby stuff for the last six months. You’re the one I’m worried about traumatizing, talking about this.”
“I don’t mind. I think it’s kind of fascinating. Could’ve been a cool documentary, if I’d thought of it sooner.”
I smile. “Well, I guess I won’t know for sure until I meet the baby, but for a girl’s name, I like Audrey.”
Noah laughs.
“What?”
“Sorry. I just thought, thank goodness this didn’t happen in some alternate reality where you and I were actually a couple. Audrey Aubrey would be in for a lifetime of stolen lunch money.”
I laugh too. “Abby Aubrey’s not much better.”
He snorts.
“But anyway, for a boy I like Lucas.”
Noah nods, and we’re quiet for a while.
When we get to my neighborhood, I feel suddenly scared of being alone with my tests in my empty condo. Still, no way in hell I’d ask this kind, thoughtful man to join me. Mostly because I suspect he’d say yes.
He eases up alongside the curb. “Well, good luck. I’ll have my fingers crossed for you.”
“Thanks. And t
hanks for the ride.”
We sit in silence for a moment.
“Well,” I say through a sigh. “I’ll let you know what happens, so you’ll know to expect a check or not.”
Noah looks poised to say something; then his mouth closes and he just smiles.
I open my door, and Noah does the same. He grabs half my bags and walks me up the front steps.
“Thanks,” I say again
“Have a good Christmas, Abby.” Noah leans down and kisses me on the cheek, well choreographed to be more brotherly than romantic. He straightens and offers me a cheesy smile, holds up two sets of crossed fingers.
“Merry Christmas.” I wave as he slams his car door and glances at me through the window. When he drives away he takes all the warmth in the world with him, takes all the sparkle out of the snow, and leaves nothing but cold air and salty brown slush.
* * *
Two days later on Christmas morning, I find a letter in my mailbox from Noah. He must have dropped it off himself, since there’s no stamp. The thought makes me feel warm even as the message hidden inside the business-sized envelope sets my nerves buzzing. I drop the thank-yous I’d brought downstairs into the box and carry the mystery letter back up, heart beating harder with every step. I take a seat and a deep breath and rip the end open, pull out the letter. Three slips of paper flutter out as I unfold it: his checks for services rendered. Rob deposited his a week ago. I let them sit on the rug while I read Noah’s small, tidy handwriting.
Merry Christmas, Abby. I hope everything is going well for you. I decided to return the checks. I don’t feel wrong taking them, but I wanted to say I enjoyed everything I may have done to help you, and I don’t really want any money for it. Consider it a Christmas present. If you got good news and you don’t need my genetic materials anymore, please don’t worry about the big check either. Use it to spoil your future baby. That’s better than anything I would have thought to spend it on.
If you didn’t get such good news yet, feel free to give me a call next time you’re ovulating, if you want. I’d be happy to help again. But hopefully I’ll run into you in the park again in a few months, and you’ll be as round as a beach ball. I hope you’ll forgive my indiscretion if I give you a thumbs-up as I pass.
All the best, Noah.
I fold the letter and slide it and the checks into the envelope, file it away neatly with the waivers. I head back to the living room, click on the TV, and skim through the channels, taking nothing in. I pick up my phone and turn it over and over in my hand, and soon enough I mute the television, flip it open, and dial Noah’s number. I realize as it’s ringing that it’s Christmas morning, and Noah picks up just as I’m about to hit End.
“Hi, Abby.” His voice is hushed, and I hear music and voices in the background.
“Hi. Sorry, I totally forgot it was Christmas. I can call later if you’re busy.”
“No, now’s fine. I’m at my sister’s house in Arlington. All the exciting stuff’s already done with. My nephews had everybody up by six. I don’t recommend having twins if you can help it.”
“Oh…that sounds nice.” I feel so suddenly lonely I want to burst into tears. “Well, I just called because I got your letter. That was very sweet, thank you. And if you change your mind about the money, feel free to tell me so.”
“I won’t, but thanks.”
There’s an awkward silence, me wanting Noah to ask about the test, him surely wanting me to shit or get off the conversational pot.
“I um…I didn’t take the test yet,” I finally say. “I chickened out.”
“Oh.”
“I might just wait and see if my period turns up. Anyhow, no word on whether or not I’ll need you next month.”
“That’s cool,” Noah says. “If you do, my schedule’s wide open till classes start on the twentieth.”
“Okay. Great. Well, anyway. Merry Christmas.”
“Merry Christmas, Abby.”
I slap my phone shut and rub my face, surely beet red with embarrassment. At least Noah and I are equal in our utter uselessness about knowing when to call or turn up.
I spend a couple zombielike hours puttering, wondering if I should go hang out with friends tonight. I want the company, but I don’t want anyone asking why I’m not drinking. I guess I could say I don’t feel well… Just the thought of this excuse is a relief, and I realize that lonely or not, I don’t want to go out.
I’m just settling in with a fresh stack of thank-yous and a DVD of It’s a Wonderful Life when my doorbell rings. I frown at my pajama bottoms and flip-flops and camisole. I grab my robe off the back of the couch and launch myself down the stairwell, practically suffocating on hope. My wish comes true, and there’s Noah standing on the front steps, a Tupperware in one hand. I work hard to keep my smile friendly, suppress the crazy grin that’s itching to consume my face. I look between Noah and his car parked on my curb like an old friend.
“Hi.”
“Hi, Abby. You um, sounded sort of down on the phone. So here I am.”
My face crumples, and I start crying, as shocked by my reaction as Noah must be.
“Uh…”
I take a step down onto the stoop and toss myself into his arms, not caring if I frighten him away or not. I just need another human to hug me, and he’s the one who showed up. He’s the one my heart suspected would appear when I needed him most, and here he is. The best kind of predictable. Dependable. He squeezes me hard and keeps his strong arms tight until I pull back. I rub my sleeves over my face, glad I didn’t have any makeup on to smear.
“Sorry,” I say. “I was feeling really lonely. Christmas is a lousy time to not be able to talk to your family or friends about your crackpot conception scheme.”
He nods. “I’ll be your friend, if you want.”
“You want to come up?” I ask through a laugh. If anything’s going to scare a man away, it’s got to be the hysterical neediness of the woman who solicited him for his sperm. But Noah doesn’t look terrified, only kind.
“Sure.” He follows me up the steps. “I brought you some cookies.” He rattles the Tupperware as he pushes his shoes off, slides his coat from his shoulders, and leaves his apple green scarf on. His sweater is deep red, and he looks like six feet of much-needed Christmas standing in my living room.
I shut the droning TV off and take the cookies. “Thanks. Sorry again about the phone call. I promise I wasn’t trying to get you to come over like this.”
“I don’t mind if you were.”
His answer scares me a little, the old fear of complication sneaking through as the relief endorphins dissipate. I nod.
“Can I do something? Make you some coffee?” he asks.
I pull my shit together. “No no no. I’ll make you some coffee.”
He follows me into the kitchen, and I arrange the sugar cookies on a plate. It’s easy to spot the homely ones that were frosted by a child. They make me smile. I set the plate right where Rob’s daisies had been. I tossed those a while ago, before they were even officially wilted.
Once the kettle’s on to boil, I excuse myself for a minute to get my face in order and pull my messy hair back—it curls up like nobody’s business when I don’t bother with the blow-dryer, and I hadn’t been in the mood to bother with much of anything today. Noah’s flipping through a book about pregnancy at my breakfast bar when I come back in, and I grin at him, feeling caught.
He closes it. “It’s crazy what complicated stuff you ladies get up to, biologically. Makes me feel like nothing more than a DNA squirt gun.”
“I like to think of myself more like an Easy-Bake Oven.” I sit beside him, let him take hold of my knees and swivel me on the stool until my feet are dangling between his.
“You know,” I say, “it’s strange that I know your blood type and sperm count and what your grandparents died of, but I don’t even know like…your favorite band.”
Noah smiles. “Sonic Youth.”
“You know what I mean�
�� Sometimes I feel like I’ve known you for ages. Then other times I look at you and I think, ‘who is this strange man in my kitchen?’”
“Which do you feel right now?”
“Right now I feel like we must’ve gone to kindergarten together. But then tomorrow it might take me a minute to even remember your last name.”
Noah just nods, and we’re silent for a few moments. I’m adrift in a sea of what-ifs. What if I’m pregnant? What if I’m not? What if I am and it’s Rob’s, not Noah’s? Would I love it any less?
Noah interrupts my racing internal dialogue. “I’ll stay with you. While you do the test. If you want.”
“Things feel blurry between us,” I say. “Do they feel blurry to you?”
He nods again. “I like you. You probably knew that.”
“I wondered.”
“I know that’s really shitty of me. And it was probably shitty of me to come over today or give you back the checks or even stay the night those two times. I know I’ve broken a lot of unspoken rules. It’s pretty unfair. I’m surprised you’re not royally pissed off at me.”
I shrug. “I let you do all those things. We broke the rules together.”
“I guess.”
“Can you tell me how you feel, exactly? About me? Like, what do you want to happen with us now?” I hold my breath, not sure what reply I want to hear. One answer could break my heart, but the other could turn my life upside down and force me to rethink a decision I already accepted as best.
Noah stares at our knees. “It’s hard to say. I mean, we really don’t know each other. But I think you’re just…fascinating. And part of it is the idea that you could be carrying my child. It’s hard to just push that concept out of my head, you know?” He meets my eyes.
I nod, impressed by his honesty and self-awareness. “I’ll bet.”
“But I don’t have any expectations. I signed your waiver, and I’m not going to try and renege on it. That said, I won’t lie to you… This whole thing is a million times more complex than I ever expected. I don’t know how I’ll feel if I see you pushing a stroller in the park someday.”
