chapter nineteen

JOSIE

On Monday morning, I take a giant leap forward and call the office of Dr. Susan Lazarus. According to my research, Dr. Lazarus is the leading fertility specialist in Atlanta, known for both in vitro fertilization and intrauterine insemination. My heart sinks when her receptionist briskly informs me that her first available appointment is nearly two months away. I tell her that I’ll take it, then ask if she can please put me on a waiting list.

“If there’s any cancellation…I’ll drop everything and come in at a moment’s notice. I’m pushing forty and a little bit panicked here….”

“I feel you,” she says with a little chuckle, dropping her professional persona. “I turn forty next week. Ugh.”

“Do you have kids?” I ask.

“Yes. Ten-month twins, thanks to Dr. Lazarus.”

“Wow. Congrats,” I say, feeling bolstered by the anecdote, though the mere thought that I could somehow end up with twins fills me with pure terror. “Boys or girls?”

“One of each,” she says.

I congratulate her again as she suddenly informs me that I’m in luck, she just noticed a cancellation on the calendar for this coming Friday at eleven, confirming my belief that sometimes small talk can really pay off.

“I’ll take it,” I say.

I GIVE SYDNEY my entire update at recess that day, the two of us taking our usual supervisory spots on a bench overlooking the playground. As I watch Edie hanging upside down on the monkey bars, her arms dangling, her tiny torso swinging, and her face turning red, I fill Sydney in on Pete, as well as my upcoming appointment with Dr. Lazarus.

“I’m so proud of you, Josie,” she says, turning to give me a sideways hug. “And a little jealous.”

“Hey, why don’t you do it with me?” I say excitedly.

She laughs. “Matching cars and kids?”

“I’m serious! Would you ever consider it?” I ask, as I hear Meredith scoffing in my head, proffering my suggestion as further proof that I’m not taking motherhood seriously.

Sydney shakes her head and gives me an adamant, animated hell no. “I’m seriously impressed that you’re doing this…but personally? If I had to choose just one, I’d rather have a husband than a baby. But definitely in that order.”

I nod, thinking that although I want both, too, the baby part of the equation has always been more important to me—at least since Will and I broke up. And if I’m honest, I think I might have even felt that way then. I loved him, yes, but he also felt like a prerequisite for motherhood. The means to an end.

She gives me a thoughtful look, then says, “Are you scared?”

“A little,” I say. “Mostly just about logistics.”

She murmurs her agreement, then asks if I will still live with Gabe or move into my own place.

I frown and tell her I haven’t figured that out yet, as I hear Meredith’s voice again, mumbling that this is par for the course.

“Gabe knows your overall plan, though? That you want to have a baby?”

I nod and say of course, Gabe knows everything.

“And?” she asks. “What does he think?”

“He’s supportive….Unlike my sister, who is her usual judgmental self.” I pause, then say, “But he’s not really down with the idea of Pete as my donor.”

Sydney raises her eyebrows. “That’s ’cause he’s jealous.”

“Stop it right there,” I say, knowing exactly what she’s getting at. “How many times do I have to tell you men and women can be friends?”

She smirks. “Yeah. That’s what Harry and Sally said.”

“I’m not Sally,” I say.

“Maybe not. But he’s definitely Harry,” she says.

“No, he’s not, Syd….Didn’t I tell you about his new girlfriend?”

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever,” she says, rolling her eyes.

“I’m serious….He really likes her.”

“Yeah. But only because he can’t have you.”

I shake my head. “No. His objection to Pete is purely a practical one. He thinks I should use an anonymous donor rather than someone I know. He’s worried that it would get too…weird. Messy.”

“And you say…?”

“I say I’ll take that chance. Pete’s smart, attractive, and really sweet. It just feels…right.”

“Oh, reeally, now?” she says, her voice dripping with innuendo of the sexual kind.

“The right donor,” I say. “I have no interest in dating him, either.”

“Well, then,” she says, sitting up straighter. “Introduce us.”

I laugh and say not a chance.

“Why not? He could be my soul mate. You’d deprive me of that?”

“Yes. Because that would be too weird,” I say, feeling oddly possessive, if not of Pete, then at least of his sperm.

THAT EVENING, I find Gabe out back, grilling three hot dogs while listening to Bob Marley.

“Hey,” I say, leaning against the deck.

“What’s up?” he says, without looking my way.

“Is Leslie coming for dinner?”

He shakes his head. “Nope. And she’s a vegetarian. Remember?”

“Oh, right. How could I forget?” I say, only a little snidely.

He either misses or ignores my tone, and asks if I’m hungry. “I threw an extra dog on just in case.”

“Sure. Thanks,” I say, then ask about his day. Gabe’s worked for the same company for nearly a decade, but I’m still not exactly sure what he does for a living—other than that it involves graphic design, computers, and a lot of high-maintenance clients.

“Everyone and everything annoyed me.”

I laugh and say, “So, the usual?”

“Pretty much. How about yours?”

“It was okay,” I say. “I told Sydney about my baby plan. And my appointment with Dr. Lazarus on Friday.”

He nods without looking at me. “So what exactly is going to happen on Friday?”

I shrug and say I’m not sure. “It’ll probably just be an introduction and a discussion of my options.”

“Is Pete going with you?” Gabe asks as he turns down the flame on the grill.

“No,” I say, though the thought did cross my mind earlier today.

“Why not?” he asks. “Have you changed your mind about…using him?”

“No,” I say. “He’s still kind of at the top of my list. But there’s no need for him to go with me…not at this point….I was thinking of asking my mom. It’d be nice to have someone there. You know—for moral support.” I give him a needy look, then add, “Hint, hint.”

Gabe rolls his eyes and says, “You want me to go?”

I put my hands together in prayer. “Would you? Please?”

“I guess,” he says with a big sigh.

“You think Leslie’ll be okay with it?”

“Why wouldn’t she?” he asks.

Because she’s controlling and clearly doesn’t like me, I almost say, but decide to treat it as a rhetorical question. “That’d be really awesome, Gabe,” I say. “Thank you.”

“No problem,” he says with a nonchalant shrug. “Besides. I want to be there to hear this doctor tell you that acquaintance sperm is a really shitty idea.”

“Acquaintance sperm?” I laugh. “Is that a scientific term?”

“Yes…I mean…this Pete guy seems nice and all…but he could be a serial killer with…a recessive cystic fibrosis gene, for all you know.”

I laugh.

“Well, he could be,” Gabe says, transferring the hot dogs to a plate, then turning to walk inside.

“I’m sure Dr. Lazarus will do thorough testing,” I say, following him into the house.

“The ol’ serial killer test?” he says, glancing over his shoulder.

“Well, any sperm donor could be a serial killer,” I say. “So could any boyfriend, for that matter. Hell, for all you know, Leslie could be one….”

“I’ve never heard of a female serial killer,” he says.

“Well, even if she’s not a full-fledged murderer, she could be shady….She could have all kinds of skeletons you know nothing about.”

“I guess,” he says. “But the difference is…I’m not planning on impregnating Leslie anytime soon.”

“Not anytime soon, huh?” I say, my hands on my hips.

“Stop changing the subject,” Gabe says. “We’re not talking about me. We’re talking about you and your…capricious choice.”

“It’s not a capricious choice,” I say, although I can’t remember exactly what the word means.

“Okay,” he says, pulling a bag of hot dog buns out of the bread drawer. “Tell me again, then. One more time. What’s so special about Pete? Why him?”

“Why not?” I say, unable—or maybe just unwilling—to articulate my gut feeling about using Pete.

“That’s your answer?” He gives me an incredulous stare as he tosses a bun to me. I miss it, and watch it land on the kitchen floor.

“Yep,” I say. I pick it up and put it on my plate, deciding to go with the five-second rule. “That’s my answer.”

ON FRIDAY MORNING, after Gabe and I both call in sick to work, we walk into a nondescript Midtown office building for my appointment with Susan Lazarus. As we sit in the waiting room, I fill out endless forms, answering exhaustive questions about my medical history, while Gabe plays solitaire on his phone. At one point, I glance over his shoulder and read a text from Leslie that says: Where are you?

With Josie, he writes back, which both surprises me and piques my curiosity enough to covertly read the rest of the conversation, in real time:

Oh. At lunch?

No. Just out and about.

Can you call me?

Can’t at the moment—but will in about 30?

Sure…Imy.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see him smile, then type: Imy2.

At this point, he catches me reading over his shoulder.

“Nosy,” he says, tilting his phone away from me, just as my name is called by a young woman in lavender scrubs.

I stand and look at Gabe. “You coming?”

“You want me to?”

“I want you to,” I say.

A moment later, we are ushered into a small office. A diminutive woman with a pixie cut sits behind a large, antique desk that seems too heavy and ornate for her. She stands and says, “Josephine?”

“Josie,” I say, nodding.

“Josie,” she repeats, giving me a warm smile. “Please come in. I’m Susan Lazarus.”

I like her immediately—perhaps because she uses her first name—and I smile back at her as we shake hands. “This is Gabe,” I say.

She nods, shakes his hand, then tells us to please take a seat, gesturing to the chairs across from her desk.

“So,” she says brightly, “what brings you here today?”

“Well, um, I want a baby,” I say, overcome by a sudden rush of excitement.

She gives me an even wider smile, then says, “Well, you’ve come to the right place….So tell me, Josie, have you been trying to conceive?”

I shake my head and say, “No. Not at all. I’m not married….I’m single….I want to use a sperm donor.”

She nods, completely unfazed. “Perfect,” she says, then turns to Gabe. “And will you be donating your sperm?”

“Nope,” he says. “I’m just here for moral support.”

“That’s wonderful,” she says. “And so very important given Josie’s journey ahead.” She turns back to me and says, “Have you thought about your donor?”

“Yes,” I say. “I’ve been reading and researching quite a bit.”

“Good,” she murmurs, nodding. “And tell me about that.”

“Well. I’ve read a lot about sperm banks…women who have gone that route. Children who were conceived that way…and I don’t have a problem with it….I get that it’s more straightforward, with fewer strings attached…but I just think that I’d like to use…acquaintance sperm,” I say, exchanging a look with Gabe.

“You mean the sperm of an acquaintance?” she asks with a calm poker face.

“Yes. A guy I’ve recently met. I guess you could call him a friend,” I say. “Do you think that’s a bad idea?”

“I think this is entirely a personal decision. A very personal decision.”

Gabe makes an exasperated sound and says, “But aren’t there a lot of risks to doing this with some guy she barely knows?”

“There are pros and cons to every reproductive scenario,” Dr. Lazarus replies. “We believe in helping women make a choice that is right for them…and supporting that choice, both medically and legally. We have a family law practice we work closely with….They can help you draw up a contract that works for you. And of course we would handle the insemination in the office.”

“See?” I say, looking at Gabe, jubilant. “I told you, if I do it at the doctor’s office, it’s foolproof.”

“I wouldn’t say foolproof,” she interjects. “Nothing ever is foolproof when it comes to the ever-shifting body of reproductive law…but the way we handle it is as close to ironclad as you can get. And we’ve done it that way for many women.”

I glance at Gabe, who crosses his arms in not-so-subtle protest.

“Of course there are emotional issues that can’t be provided for in a contract. And it sounds as if that might be your concern?” she continues, now looking at Gabe.

“Yes. As a matter of fact, it is my concern,” he says, nodding. “What if this guy she barely knows turns out to be crazy? And he won’t leave her or her kid alone? What then?”

“Well, that could happen with any guy,” I say, turning to him. “And I’d handle it the same way I would if I were dating the guy and he turned crazy. With a restraining order.”

“You’d be okay getting a restraining order against the father of your kid?” Gabe’s voice is slightly raised and agitated.

“He wouldn’t be the father,” I say.

“Right. He’d just be the creepy sperm donor you got a restraining order against,” Gabe says with a shrug. “No biggie.”

Before I can reply, Dr. Lazarus clears her throat and tentatively interrupts our sidebar. “Might I make a suggestion?”

“You may,” I say, feeling fairly confident that she will be on my side.

“Let’s focus on you, Josie,” she says, pointing at me. “Because we know that part of the equation. We know you want to use one of your eggs and carry your child, correct?”

“Yes,” I say, nodding emphatically. “We do know that.”

“So. Let’s focus on your preconception care and check for any potential risks to you during your pregnancy.”

I tell Dr. Lazarus that I think that’s a fabulous idea.

She continues earnestly. “No matter which donor sperm you decide to use, we want you to be your healthiest self, both physically and emotionally.”

I nod, feeling another burst of excitement, as Gabe manages to look slightly less glum. We both watch and listen as Dr. Lazarus puts on her reading glasses, glances through my forms, and begins to ask detailed follow-up questions about my health history. She then asks me if it’s okay if Gabe stays while we discuss my reproductive history. I tell her yes, he can hear anything. “We’re best friends.”

She smiles, nods, then asks if I’ve ever been pregnant before.

“A few scares,” I say with a laugh. “But no.”

“So no miscarriages?”

I shake my head. “I don’t think so. I mean…occasionally I’m a little late and have a really heavy period…and sometimes I wonder if that could be a miscarriage….But no, I don’t think so.”

I glance at Gabe, who grimaces, then crosses his arms, as Dr. Lazarus continues to ask questions about my cycle, menstrual history, vaccinations, and contraceptive use. I tell her I have a very regular twenty-eight-day cycle, that I’m all up-to-date on my vaccinations, that historically I’ve been on the pill and use condoms, though I went off the pill a few weeks ago, and have not been sexually active in several months.

“Any abnormal Pap smears?”

“Umm…just one,” I say. “It turned out to be nothing, though. Just a yeast infection.”

“All righty, then,” Gabe says under his breath. “Can I please wait out there?”

“No,” I hiss, glaring at him. “You can’t.”

Gabe sighs and stares at the ceiling as Dr. Lazarus segues into a conversation about nutrition and exercise, alcohol and nicotine. I tell her I don’t smoke, but I do drink socially.

She nods. “Okay. A glass of wine here and there is fine before conception, but try to limit it to that.”

“What about coffee?” I ask.

“I recommend limiting your caffeine to three hundred milligrams per day….So about two eight-ounce cups.”

I get out my pad and start to take a few notes, but she reassures me that all the advice will be on my printed materials. “I’ll also give you a prescription for a prenatal vitamin, as you will need plenty of folic acid. Additionally, you should make sure you’re eating a variety of foods rich in fiber, calcium, and other nutrients. Avoid sugar and processed foods….You just want to be as healthy as you possibly can to get your body ready for pregnancy.”

“Okay,” I say, feeling determined. “Gabe’s a great cook. And we live together.”

“Well, that’s a big help,” she says, smiling at him, then me.

I smile back at her. “So is that it?”

“Almost,” she says. “I’d like to do a quick physical exam and then we’re going to take some labs.”

Gabe looks horrified.

“You may skip the exam,” Dr. Lazarus tells him with a smile. She stands, walks around the desk, and shakes his hand. “It was very nice to meet you, Gabe. Josie’s lucky to have you in her life.”

The comment seems to catch him off guard, but he mumbles a polite thank you.

“I trust you’ll help her make a sound decision about her next steps?” she says.

I hold my breath, awaiting his response, half expecting something snarky to come out of his mouth. Instead, he simply nods and says, “Yes. I will. We just want a healthy baby. Right, Josie?” He turns to look at me.

I swallow, feeling a little teary, then tell him yes, that’s all we want.