“Thanks,” Harold said. “I never knew I had a motility rate, let alone one that would make an OB/GYN so gleeful.”
“Your boys and girls swim fast,” Shay noted. “That’s why we’re depressed that it hasn’t worked. Six tries in eight months.”
“My eggs are old,” Anthea said flatly. It was the truth, and no one argued. Three tries ago everyone had assured her that it didn’t matter, she wasn’t old, but the process made it hard to think positive.
It just was a fact of life she had to face. Forty-one-year-old eggs were not as viable. Shay was six years younger, but her tubes had fibroids and her cycle was all over the place. They’d agreed Anthea would try for a year before Shay undertook the painful testing and flushing to clear out her tubes and started on the drugs that would regular her cycle.The four of them had a single goal: they wanted children, at least two, if not more. Depending on mechanics, the kids’ genes would be WASPAfrican, Japanese-Jew, WASP-Jew or Japanese-African, with four parents to explain it all, too. All of them were prepared to do whatever it took to get a pregnancy started. For more than a year, they’d discussed all the medical interventions, the drugs, the legal agreements. Everything.
They’d talked about everything except what Anthea and Shay were going to propose today. Although it made perfect sense, this particular fertilization technique had not been in their frame of reference. Anthea opened her mouth to start the ball rolling, but the waiter’s shadow fell over the table.
They knew one another so well after almost ten years of friendship that they could have placed one another’s orders. Anthea and Adrian went back even further, having gotten to know each other in the cost accounting unit at a Bay Area oil refinery. Shay and Anthea had met through the car pool. When field geologist Shay had introduced co-worker Harold to Adrian, the two men had hit it off right from the start. It had taken Anthea and Shay a little longer to recognize the inevitable.
Anthea pointed at Harold and said to the waiter, “You need to hold the cucumbers on his salad.”
“Got it,” the waiter said, then he zipped off to get their drinks.
“Thanks, I forgot.” Harold was grinning. “You realize that the waiter has got us paired up all wrong in his mind.”
“Paired up. That’s sort of what we wanted to talk about, wasn’t it?” Anthea was glad to see that Shay did look a little nervous, but now she also looked like she was going to laugh. It wasn’t funny.
Certainly Anthea had undergone the more unpleasant aspect of the inseminations so far. After all, Harold had Adrian—and other aids Anthea wanted to know nothing about—to help him fill the cup for testing at the doctor’s and for use by them. The needleless syringe Shay used to inject the sperm wasn’t particularly comfortable, and neither was the half-hour on her back afterward. But they were minor inconveniences. Charting her temperature every day and spending two weeks out of four wondering if every twinge in her belly meant something—it was emotionally draining. Getting her period a day late was very hard. But Harold might not be too thrilled with their proposition. Maybe he wouldn’t mind at all. As Shay had said this morning, men are different.
Harold sliced into the crusty loaf of bread the waiter had left. “So what did you want to try? Doctor’s office? That process where they wash the sperm and then inject it directly into your uterus?”
They’d all become so clinical. Anthea tried to stay with that tone. “No, not that invasive, not yet. Shay and I thought that we should try a couple of times, um, directly introducing, um—”
“Without the syringe,” Shay added. “Directly introducing, um…”
Harold was obviously puzzled. Adrian figured it out first. “By direct you mean he delivers…um…” Adrian’s violent red hair seemed to quiver with astonishment. He pointed in the general direction of Harold’s lap. “The old-fashioned way?”
Anthea’s cheeks were hot. Harold’s dark cheeks did not show a blush, if in fact he was embarrassed that they were talking about having intercourse. His babies would be so handsome, she thought irrelevantly. “That’s what we were thinking about.” It had actually been Shay’s idea. She glanced at Shay and had to say, “This isn’t funny.”
Shay let out the laughter she had obviously been bottling up. “It’s the look on your face,” she choked out.
The salads arrived. After the waiter had left them alone again, Anthea said, “I’m not sure why we picked a public place to discuss this.”
“Because Harold and I have mooched enough dinners off you guys. When I said we should just go out I didn’t know we’d be talking about you and Harold doing the nasty.”
“Adrian!”
He shrugged. “There’s no point in being a prude about it, Anthea dearest.”
“I’m not being a prude. I just have no experience at this, okay?”
“Don’t look at me,” Harold said. “I know where all the parts are, but I’ve never been up close and personal.”
They ate their salads in silence. Anthea ignored the fact that Shay and Adrian were barely holding back giggles.
They were onto their entrées when Harold finally ventured, “Okay, I suppose it makes sense to try it.”
Adrian chortled and Shay had to cover her mouth with her napkin.
Anthea glared at both of them. It was not funny. “If this doesn’t work it could be you two in the bed, you know.”
Adrian laughed so hard he had to put his head on Harold’s shoulder. Anthea kept her shoulder out of Shay’s range. Shay had no right to be having hysterics.
“I’m glad you two think this is amusing.” Anthea really didn’t want to have sex with Harold. Nine women out of ten would think she was a fool—he was a god. Broad shoulders, cocoa skin, the deepest bedroom eyes. “We all agreed at the very beginning. If any of us doesn’t feel comfortable we just stop. If we can’t get through this part in harmony, we’re not going to be able to handle the stress of four people parenting.”
“As I see it,” Adrian spluttered, “all we have to get past is the fact that you two are virgins.”
Harold choked on his water.
“I’m not a complete virgin,” Anthea said haughtily. “I dated men in college. For a while. And it’s not like you two aren’t in the same boat!”
“Oh yes,” Adrian said thoughtfully. “You are certainly an impetuous creature, especially when it comes to sex. I think I can count the women you had before Shay on my thumbs.”
“What exactly is your point?” Adrian knew nothing about her sex life. She glanced at Shay, which was a mistake. Shay’s eyes were dancing with laughter.
“If I know you, dating men was a handshake proposition. Maybe a handjob proposition—”
“Adrian, for God’s sake!”
“I love it when you get mad.” He speared a slice of grilled squash and contemplated it before popping it in his mouth. “You only get mad when I’m right.”
Anthea glowered at him. “Fine. Okay, I never actually had sex with any of them. I was a lesbian. I hadn’t figured it out yet. I just thought I had great self-control with men.”
Shay dove for her napkin again. Harold had to turn his face away, and he could usually be counted on to be mature.
“This isn’t funny,” Anthea said again. “At least not to me.”
Shay sobered enough to pat Anthea on the thigh. “I know, honey. When the time comes I know we’ll all be serious. We want the baby.”
Adrian whipped out his Palm Pilot to note the dates for their next try, 13 days in the future. “We did the turkey baster twice each cycle. Do you want to do this twice too?”
“Want is the wrong word,” Anthea said slowly and clearly.
“Inseminating twice every cycle doubles the chances,” Shay said. She seemed a little more in control.
“So Tuesday the thirteenth and Thursday the fifteenth.” He jotted with the little stylus and then tucked the PDA back in his jacket.
Afterward, Anthea knew it was the cake that was to blame. Harold and Adrian were splitt
ing a fudge cake with a ganache filling.
“This is almost as good as yours,” Harold said.
“Well, thanks,” Anthea answered, pleased. Cooking was one of her passions. Ever since Harold and Adrian had moved out of San Francisco and into Oakland’s Montclair district she’d been happily making dinner for the four of them at least twice a month. She wished they’d just had dinner at home tonight. Talking about the next insemination with a waiter hovering had not been at all easy.
“I do have a concern,” Harold said slowly. Anthea ought to have been suspicious of the tiny quirk in his lips.
“Yeah?”
“Well, I don’t want to seem egotistical. I don’t want to perpetuate stereotypes.”
Adrian dropped his fork. “Oh my God. Oh. My. God. I didn’t even think of that.”
Harold went on, now obviously suppressing laughter. “But since you’re not used to, um, you know, well, it might be a little bit—”
“Nothing little about it,” Adrian gasped.
“A little bit uncomfortable for you unless you’ve been, urn…” Harold’s eyes were gleaming with laughter.
Adrian coughed to clear his throat. “If you’ve been using a dil—”
“Adrian!”Anthea slammed her hand on the table. Everyone in the vicinity turned to stare at their booth.
Shay did not help things by saying, “You don’t need to worry about that.”
“Shay!” Anthea felt completely out of control.
“I only meant that the female body is designed to expand, given the proper hormonal response.” Shay’s clinical detachment was completely undermined by her wide grin.
Adrian tried and failed to look concerned. “All I’m saying is that something expansive for practice would be helpful.”
Anthea gave him a glare that ought to have set his Art Garfunkel hair on fire.
Harold had more success at assuming an air of innocence. “I was just worried, for your sake.”
Adrian made a point of examining Shay’s hands. “If you’ve done any fist—”
“That is it! I’m out of here.” Anthea gestured at Shay to let her out of the booth. “I am not talking to this adolescent about my sex life. Move, move.”
After a few minutes Shay came to find her in the restroom. “I’m sorry, honey.” The quick kiss made Anthea feel a little better. “I’m nervous about it, too. I thought if we just got past the inevitable giggles we’d be better off.”
“I suppose. I’m just not in the mood to laugh about it right now.”
“The boys have gone home.” Shay added sympathetically, “It’s just as well you missed Adrian’s discussion of which male porn star to tape to your back.”
The pharmacy had been out of the pee-in-the-cup, dip-the-stick ovulation tests. Anthea stared blearily at the instructions and the test tube. Her arm was not long enough to read the tiny print and she wasn’t going to put her contacts in yet. “Honey, I need help.”
Shay yawned her way into the bathroom. “What the hell is that?”
“My ovulation kit. I peed in this cup and now I’m suppose to use this itsy bitsy dropper to combine exactly three drops of urine with the stuff in the tube.”
“What do you need me for?”
“There’s more.” Anthea gestured at the instructions, printed in five-point type on thin, crumpled paper. “It’s too early in the morning for this. You’re the scientist.”
Shay took the cup and dropper. “Okay, three drops. One, two, three. Thirty seconds—one Mississippi, two Mississippi…”
Anthea squeezed paste onto her toothbrush and fought a yawn while she attacked her molars.
“Fifteen Mississippi, sixteen Mississippi…”
Anthea paused with the brush in her mouth, struck by the fact that not many women had a partner who would, first thing in the morning, cope with someone else’s urine and a junior chemistry set.
“Thirty Mississippi. Now in goes this capsule and in five minutes we find out if you’re going to ovulate in the next twenty-four hours.” Shay dumped the contents of the cup in the toilet, then tossed cup and dropper into the wastebasket.
“Thank you. It was the counting and the capsule that did me in.” Anthea put her arms around Shay, loving as always the way their bodies nestled together. Shay was so warm. “I love you, you know.”
“I know. I want to brush my teeth now.”
Anthea wandered back to the bedroom. She was bending over to get her book off the floor next to the bed when Shay tackled her. They ended up tangled on the carpet.
“I’ve always liked that view,” Shay said. “Makes me crazy.” Her hands were busy untying Anthea’s robe. “Good thing, because it’s not getting any smaller.”
“I don’t want it smaller. I fell in love with all these curves.”
Anthea arched her back, abruptly reminded of how hot Shay’s hands could feel. Her robe was open and Shay was nuzzling at her breasts. It felt quite…good. Very good. Excellently good.
“We don’t have time for this,” Anthea murmured. She wanted to spend the next couple of hours at it.
“Neither of us will get fired if we’re fifteen minutes late to work.”
“Fifteen minutes? Is that all I’m going to get?” Shay’s fingertips flowed over Anthea’s thighs.
“We’ll skip breakfast, too.”
“Now you’re talking. Can we use the bed, please?”
Shay laughed as she pulled Anthea from the floor to the bed. “You know, we could avoid the ovulation kit altogether. I can tell when you’re ready.”
“You can? How?”
“Well, there’s the Spinnbarkeit factor, of course. All that wonderful stretchy mucous.” Shay bit Anthea’s earlobe while her fingers went exploring. “Mm-hmm. Looking good on that count.”
Shay’s fingers were sliding around so easily, Anthea abruptly felt engorged. Her hips tipped up by themselves. Lord, that felt good.
Shay was whispering in Anthea’s ear. “If we hadn’t been charting your cycle for the past year, I might not have realized that you feel different at different times of the month. Like you do now—you feel like this when you’re ovulating.” One slender finger dipped inward, then withdrew.
Anthea gulped. “How long are you going to tease me?”
“I haven’t completed my scientific examination.”
“How long will that take?”
“Just one last thing.” Shay bit softly on Anthea’s shoulder, then trailed her tongue lightly over Anthea’s breasts. “You taste different.”
Anthea had not forgotten about Harold and wanting a baby and the chemistry set and Adrian’s jokes and her endless worry that she couldn’t conceive at her age. She didn’t forget any of it until Shay’s mouth was on her—then it all went away for a while. There was just Shay and her hands and tongue and the love behind every movement. Glorious minutes of feeling alive and female and loved.
None of the other worries crowded back until Shay wrapped her arms around Anthea’s shoulders. “Sweeter, definitely sweeter. You’re ovulating, baby. I guarantee it.”
The test tube confirmed Shay’s diagnosis.
What do you wear to have sex with a man? The question had plagued Anthea all day, where she gave less than her best attention to her work as a chief financial officer for a large charitable foundation. After the drudgery and idiotic management at the oil refinery, she loved that her practical accounting skills were doing good for somebody. But financial projections just didn’t rank high on her list of priorities this day.
She tried to be clinical about it. Sperm can pass the cervix in less than ninety seconds. The desired result was that Harold ejaculate while inside her. She did not care how he managed that. She did not want to distract from his effort. So what would not distract him? She didn’t want to wear anything sexy. She thought that would either remind him she wasn’t a guy or he’d laugh or, a secret fear, it might work. They weren’t supposed to enjoy it. She was a lesbian and she wasn’t supposed to enjoy it, if only
on principle. Harold wasn’t supposed to enjoy it either, though it was, well, important that he enjoyed something about it, or he wouldn’t ejaculate.
Did men ejaculate when they weren’t enjoying themselves? She had no idea. She wasn’t going to ask Harold either. Certainly not Adrian.
Regardless, she was committed to someone. If either of them enjoyed it she’d feel like she had been unfaithful to Shay. So what should she wear? Pajamas, preferably flannel? A bag over her head? A robe—the thick chenille one, not the short thin one that Shay particularly liked to remove? She didn’t want to be naked. She wanted to preserve some sense of dignity.
Dignity. Right. She was going to have intercourse with a man while both of their lovers waited outside. Good lord, she thought. What if he needs help? She did not think she could handle Adrian being in the room. They were too much like brother and sister. She had been relieved, and unable to say so, that Adrian wasn’t providing the sperm. It would feel so unbelievably icky.
She flushed hot and cold on the train, and shivered in spite of the broiling heat inside the car. The hot weather was a reason to shower when she got home. She hadn’t been able to find the courage to talk to Shay about how she felt because she hadn’t wanted Shay to think she wasn’t willing to do it. She was willing. But she was scared.
By the time Shay got home Anthea had chosen an old T-shirt and a pair of shorts. The boys were due in about an hour and a half.
Anthea went about making dinner. It kept her mind off the impending encounter with Harold. Even after the chicken breasts were in the oven, she busied herself with the oranges, making spirals with the peel of one and zesting the other for the rice.
“That smells delectable.” Shay stood on tiptoe to kiss the back of Anthea’s neck. “How long before it’s ready?” “About thirty minutes.”
“Good.” Shay’s hands slipped under Anthea’s T-shirt. “You
owe me.”
“I’m not sure that…”
Shay rested her head on Anthea’s back. “I was just thinking
Frosting on the Cake Page 6
