Wednesday, February 14
(Franco)
I've been in the midst of an internal battle the past several days. Normally, I'm the type of person who trusts his instincts without question. I listen to my gut because it never fails me.
But this is different.
Because it doesn't just involve me.
It involves another person.
And potentially, if all went well, another.
I'm trying to look at the situation logically, and it's to the point where I've thought about it so much that I'm just confusing myself.
That's why I'm making this phone call, because I feel like she's the only person who can help me decide if my idea is batshit crazy or honorable.
"Hi, Franco." I rarely call her on the phone, but every time I do she never sounds surprised to hear from me. I swear that she has a sixth sense about the people in her life and she's part fairy godmother.
"Hey, Audrey. Is this a bad time?" I know she's at work—it's eleven o'clock in the morning on a Tuesday—so I ask to be polite.
"Of course not." Gus's mom puts everyone's needs ahead of her own, so I don't know if she's lying or not. "What can I help you with?" See?
I delve in, despite my reservations, because I don't want to waste her time. "Can I ask you a few questions about Gus and Gustov?" Gustov is Gus's biological father.
"Sure." There's no apprehension. She's one of the only people I've ever known who holds back judgment until they know the whole story. Gus inherited the gift from her. It's the way we should all live, but most people don't.
"Did having a child fathered by Gustov complicate your friendship with him?" I blurt, and I feel like an ass for the lack of grace on the lead in and delivery.
She doesn't falter. "Quite the contrary, I would say it strengthened an already solid friendship and bonded us for life."
"Did you look at him differently when you were pregnant, or after Gus was born, knowing that you'd created a child with him? I'm sorry if this is all too personal. You don't have to answer if you don't want to." I'm sweating, this conversation is so uncomfortable.
"Other than being supremely grateful to him and appreciating his kind heart that much more, I would say no."
"Again, you don't have to answer this, but hypothetically if having Gus would have been the result regardless of the father, would you still have involved Gustov or would you have gone with an anonymous donor?"
"Without a doubt, Gustov. Familiarity, and the fact that I knew his participation came from a place of deep friendship, made all the difference. I knew I was carrying a child that was half of a man I already adored and admired. There's comfort in that that's irreplaceable."
That's the answer I needed to hear. My intuition feels like it's just received a standing ovation. "Thanks for being so candid, Audrey."
"Anytime. I'm always here if you need to talk. About anything," she adds knowingly.
"I appreciate that."
"Franco?" she says.
"Yeah?"
"You are a blessing. Your children will be too." There's no pause before she goes into her next offer. "Stop by sometime soon, we'll all have dinner."
"Will do. Thanks again."
"You're welcome. Bye, Franco."
I don't have to ask her to keep this talk between us because Audrey can keep a secret better than anyone I know. "Later, Audrey."
When I end the call, I set my cell down on the kitchen counter and stare at it.
And then I run to the bathroom and take a piss. Because I'm stalling, not because I have to go.
Walking around the house, I'm trying to quiet my mind and my heart rate. I'm pacing from one end of the living room down the hallway to the bedrooms and back again because it's the longest straight shot in the house.
It isn't long enough.
My mind is racing, reeling, dizzy.
Bending over, I rest my hands on my knees and take a few deep breaths. Deep breaths are supposed to be cleansing, not add fuel to the fire.
"Fuck me, this is crazy," I say out loud.
Then I answer to verify and validate, "It's good crazy, though."
Marching, on a mission, I walk to the kitchen, pick up my phone and dial the one person who will always give me a kick in the ass when I need it.
"What up, fuck nut?" Gus answers.
"Tell me to stop being a fucking pussy, or I'll regret it for the rest of my life." The request is loud but rushed, he probably didn't understand it all because I was talking too fast.
"One more time for the kids back home?" He should sound confused. He doesn't. That's why our friendship works.
I repeat slowly, "Tell me to stop being a fucking pussy or I'll regret it for the rest of my life."
"Franco." That's his serious voice to get my attention. He busts it out only on rare occasion.
"Hit me with it."
"Stop being a fucking pussy, dude. Regret is a motherfucker that follows you around for life. It haunts you. You don't want that shit. Do you hear me?" He's good. That was convincing. Well done.
"I hear you," I answer.
"You go do what you gotta do," he commands.
"Gracias, homie." I mean it. "Adios."
"De nada, homie. Peace out."
I don't hesitate in ending the call, finding her name in my contacts, and tapping it.
It goes immediately to voicemail.
Shit.
At the beep, I'm rambling. "Gem, it's me...obviously, it's me...you already know that because phones are smart and shit." Insert sigh, because I'm hopeless at adulting today. "Call me. Please. As soon as you get this. Call me—"
I'm interrupted, not because I've come to my senses and stopped the babbling, but because there's ringing in my ear. And it's her ringtone. For half a second, I think, Jesus, it's like we're on the same wavelength and she knows I'm trying to reach out to her with something really important. But then I realize she has an iPhone and probably just saw she missed a call from me.
"Bye," I blurt out, because I'm an idiot, and tap the screen to end the voicemail message.
I then, immediately, tap again to answer her incoming call and put it on speaker because my hand is shaking and I don't want to hold the phone because it makes it worse. Sitting down at the kitchen table, I place my cell on the table in front of me and bend over to talk directly into it like a lunatic who doesn't know how a phone works. "Hi, Gem." Fucking hell, I'm so glad she can't see me right now, or she'd turn me down flat before she heard the entire offer.
"Hiya, Franco."
"Happy Valentine's Day." It sounds mechanical. I feel shitty about that because I do mean it, I just should've saved it for after I get the hard stuff out in the air instead of before while my mind is freaking the fuck out.
"Happy Valentine's Day. How's your day?" She doesn't sound put off, maybe she can't hear the crazed overtones in my voice through the phone.
"Good." I glance at the clock, it's noon, which means it's eight in the evening where she is. "How was yours?"
"Good. Just got done with tea and I'm sat down to watch the telly."
"When's your appointment again?" I know when her appointment is. It's next Tuesday at ten in the morning.
She knows I know, but she confirms anyway. "It's next Tuesday at ten in the morning."
"Gem?" Jesus, just say it.
"Yeah?"
"You have a second option available. If, you know, you wanted to go a different route."
"What would that be?"
"You could come here. To my house. Instead." I can't believe I actually got the words out.
"Franco?" It's quiet.
"I'm offering to help you try to conceive," I pause because I'm suddenly sweaty and feeling asshole-ish again because she may think this is the worst idea she's ever heard, "naturally."
"Hold on a sec," she says quickly. I hear a racket and shuffling, doors opening, doors closing. Another door opening. Another door closing. "Sorry, couldn't talk, my roommate was in the room."
"Where are you now?"
"In my car."
"Can you talk now?"
Silence.
"Gem?"
Silence.
"Gem, talk to me. Please."
"Are you serious, Franco?"
"I couldn't be more serious if I tried."
Silence.
"You don't have to answer me now—"
She interrupts. "You know I only want a child, right? God, that sounded insensitive," she adds under her breath. "What I mean is, I value you and your friendship very much, Franco. More than you know, I've never had a friend like you. But at the end of the day our lives are on different continents. I would never try to force my way into your life." She's stammering through her thoughts. "I just want a child with my last name to raise and love." She pauses and whispers, "Shit, this isn't coming out properly."
It's my turn to interrupt and try to help because I'm the one who barged in and turned her world upside down. "Gem, listen to me. I would like you to fly to San Diego and stay at my house with me for a few days where we have some privacy. We've had sex. It was fantastic as I recall. We'll do it again. Repeatedly. I'm healthy. I'm clean. I'm a pretty outstanding dude, if I do say so myself. I come from good parents, I didn't have a fucked up home life. There's no history of disease or mental illness on either side of my family, other than my paternal grandmother's Alzheimer's. I drink a few times a week, but it's rarely in excess. And I'll admit to smoking weed on occasion, though it's been almost a year since I last did, and nothing harder than that...ever. I'll do everything I can to give you the baby you want. And when you go home, no one has to know. Even when, yes I said when, you get pregnant, no one has to know who the father is. You can tell them, and the kid, you went through with the appointment you have scheduled that they don't know about anyway. I'll remain anonymous."
"What's in it for you, Franco?" she whispers.
"Your happiness." That's it. That's all I want.
She sniffles. She's crying.
"Gem, I'm going to be honest. The thought of you going to some sterile clinic and being filled with some stranger's seed makes me sad. Conception should be more personal than that. I'm not perfect, but I could offer you a connection that you wouldn't get otherwise. Just think about it. Not to mention that you'd be carrying the coolest kid ever created. Our genes? Together? The possibilities? The potential for sarcasm alone would be off the charts. And forget about looks, Jesus, she'd be adorable."
She laughs, it's muffled through the tears. "She?"
"Or he, whatever. Either one would be graced with good looks unlike those the world has ever seen."
"Sarcasm and looks, that alone is tempting." She's playing along now, which means the shock is wearing off.
And now that I've relaxed too, I can bow out and give her some space. "Please don't answer me tonight. Think about it. This is important, and I want you to do whatever feels right for you. If it's what you already have planned, that's awesome. If it's me, that's awesome. Our friendship doesn't change either way, you're stuck with me in that department."
Silence.
"Gem, did I just fuck everything up?" I whisper. Oh God, I just fucked everything up.
The silence is only hesitation this time before her voice says softly, "No. Not at all. I was just thinking how thankful I am that my blind date was such a wanker or I wouldn't have a friend like you."
"God bless the wankers."
"Cheers to that. God bless the wankers."
"Now go back inside. And call me tomorrow."
"I will. Thanks, Franco. For everything."
"Anytime. And always. Night, Gem."
"Night."
Tapping the red circle on my phone, I sit back in my chair, close my eyes, and begin the countdown to tomorrow.