“What about this one?” Nora points at yet another sperm donor option and my stomach dips. I scan his face and sneer.
“No.”
“You haven’t even read his profile!” Her voice is shrill with frustration.
A deep breath and a loud sigh do nothing to calm me. I thought this yoga breathing shit was supposed to help stress. Hashtag fail.
I look at the screen again and shrug. “At least fifty percent of this decision is based on looks, right? If I’m not—”
“You’re not banging the guy, Soph,” she says. “This isn’t about attraction.”
“It kind of is, really,” I argue. “I mean, think about it. At a base human level, we’re programmed to be attracted based on looks. Strong jaw, broad shoulders, whatever tricks your brain into thinking, ‘Hey. His DNA would create a superhero baby. Clearly we should mate.’ ”
Nora’s resulting “HA!” is not only hazardous for the ears, but unexpected.
“It wasn’t that funny.”
“It was, actually,” she says. “Thank you for that. Okay, so that’s a no for Hans.”
“His name is Hans?”
“Yeah, he’s of Swedish descent.” Nora clicks back so we can examine his picture again.
“Were his parents related?” I ask and she pushes at my shoulder, shoving me away. “What? His eyes are really close together. If he’s Swedish, shouldn’t he look like Alexander Skarsgård? Ooh, is he on here?”
“Can we just move on?”
I must make an annoyed sound because she groans and shuts the laptop. “I think we’re done for the day. I can’t look anymore. Maybe you should seriously try Tinder again. Or a matchmaking service.”
I make a face. “Really? Why are you insistent that I trick some stranger into fathering my baby?”
Nora’s expression goes flat—I call it pancake face. She half closes her lids until they become slits, her mouth a grim straight line. Somehow, her nostrils even seem thin. “It is not a trick. I’m just saying you get to experiment with all kinds of sexy and hopefully get pregnant, too! Whether you choose to contact the former owner of the sperm is up to you.”
“One, that’s horrible. Not all men trolling social media apps for sex would appreciate being out of the loop if they’ve impregnated someone, and it would be evil of me to do so. Two, while I appreciate the idea of ‘free love,’ I’m sure you know how fucking dangerous it is to act like every other baloney pony might not give me gonorrhea on top of a baby.”
“Ew,” she says, her throat audibly closing around the sound. “Gonorrhea on a baby? That’s just wrong.”
“Argh. You know what I meant.”
She chuckles and sets the laptop on the table. “I do, but the thought is sticking with me. You know, like the curry from that new Asian Temple restaurant. It’s so bad, don’t go there.”
“I thought it was your cousin’s new restaurant?”
“Which is why I can absolutely say that,” she says without missing a beat. “Just because we’re half-Korean doesn’t mean his food is good. Not to mention, Matt’s a total asshole. Borderline psychotic, in fact. So it kind of makes sense that it’s awful.”
“Fair play. And noted.”
“So back to re-Tindering,” she adds, talking to my back as I walk to the kitchen to get some water.
“No!”
“Hold your load, there, lady.” Nora holds out her hands, blinks slowly, and takes control of the floor. “I’m just suggesting maybe another round or two of dates to see if you can find a guy you actually connect with and who would then be open to the possibility of procreating on a truncated timeline.”
Glaring. Glaring SO HARD. “Did you pull out your fancy-pants Stanford master’s thesis for that one?”
She beams, proud of her sarcastic smartness. “Don’t hate.”
Before I can annoyingly remind her she didn’t go to Stanford—because she didn’t correct me, I’m allowed—the doorbell rings. I click the intercom. It’s Cameron and I buzz him up.
When I open the door, Cameron is in full drag.
“I’m sorry,” I say and sip my water, “we didn’t order a stripper.”
“Ha ha,” he deadpans. “Let me in.”
“By the hair of your chinny chin chin?” Nora singsongs from her spot on the couch.
“Fuck you, Bennett,” he snaps, but he’s smiling. “I’m in costume and I’m a lead in the SmartHouse production of 9 to 5.”
Nora cracks up. Cameron looks at me, so I step aside to let him sweep in. I think he did that on purpose just to be theatrical.
“You know it’s a spoof, right? Extra raunchy send-up of the original?” he asks Nora. “I’m—”
“Yes, Dolly, I know who you are,” Nora says and it finally hits me. He’s Dolly Parton’s character.
“Shit, I couldn’t place it. You’re so tall. And your boobs aren’t big enough,” I say.
“You’re both assholes,” he says, but ruins the admonishment with a simper. “This isn’t the final costume. It’s still in progress.”
Cameron passes between us both and beelines for the refrigerator. He pulls out three beers. Nora and I exchange a look as he passes out the bottles. I abandon my glass of water. He returns to the kitchen to get the bottle opener. Nothing else is said before we all have got open drinks and everyone is seated. Cameron is between us.
“So I wanted to talk to you, Sophie,” he starts, but quickly turns toward Nora and adds, “but I’m glad you’re here, too, bitch.”
Nora winks and makes a kissy noise. “Love you, CamBam.”
He leans down to touch his head to her shoulder. “I know. I… I’ve been having a lot of thoughts about something that I’m finally ready to share with my people.”
“We know you’re not actually funny, Cam,” Nora says. “You can quit stand-up now.”
He rolls his eyes. “Goddammit, Bennett, I’m trying to be serious!” But he’s still dressed as Dolly Parton’s hulked-out sister.
Nora and I involuntarily snicker, coughing and snorting as we try to smother the reaction. Cameron looks pissed, but after I point to the top of my head, he remembers he’s wearing a massive blond wig.
“Shit. Okay,” he says with a huff before ripping off the wig and the wig cap. He rubs his scalp as his hair falls around his shoulders. “Better?”
Nora and I agree, then apologize. “Sorry.”
“Sorry, baby,” Nora says, reaching out and rubbing his knee. “You might want to shave again.”
His laughter is a bit painful.
“Cam, what’s up, honey?” I ask.
“I’m transgender,” he blurts, looking up at me with a smile. His lips roll inward, flattening into a tight purse. “Weren’t expecting that, were you?”
I freeze. I want to react well and not be an asshole, but I did not see this coming. Nora slaps me on the shoulder. “Huh?”
She gives me WTF eyes.
“Sorry, I-I didn’t. I didn’t see that coming!” I exclaim. “When? I mean, how long have you, um, suspected?”
How am I so stupid that I don’t know how to approach this? I’m not a moron. I understand I am not the only person to hear this kind of news from a family member. Yet, I am the person that completely botches the opportunity to be the perfect sounding board.
He rolls his eyes and looks at Nora. She nods, faux-sadly. “I know, love. I try to keep her brain sharp, but she turns into a right eedgit sometimes. It’s not surprising, is it?” She even dug up some extra accent there for that one. I sometimes forget she grew up in Ireland until she was almost fifteen.
Cam sounds a little uncomfortable, but entertained. “Not really. I grew up with the freak, after all.”
“I’m sorry!” I scrub my hands over my face and stop for a swig of beer. “Sorry. Let me try this again. I… I don’t know what to say. I don’t know why I’m a spaz. Well, maybe I do—you’ve met our mother. Okay, so… what I’m trying to get out is—I mean, if this is you realizing who you really are, then I’m so happy for you. Whatever I can do to help you with your transition… I’m here.”
I bite my lip and raise my eyebrows in question, as if to ask, “Am I less of a dumbass now?”
Cameron looks at me with pity and confers with Nora via a “she’s special” look. “I love you, sis. Even if you’re a bit batshit and slow on the uptake.”
I groan, resting my forehead in my hands. “I’m so sorry, Cam. I totally fucked this up. Are you okay? I mean, what can I do?”
He smiles softly. Or she. Shit. I’m not sure how this works.
“Well, nothing, really. I mean, I’ve started therapy and that’s why I’m starting to tell my closest friends and family.”
“Does Mom know?” I ask.
“No,” he confesses. “But I’m going to her next. I started with you as a preview of how Mom would react.”
I grimace. “Jerk.”
Nora snorts. “You guys are cute. Cam, baby, have you told anyone else?”
“Well, this was the impetus for the Hamilton breakup,” he says with a sigh. “He doesn’t want to date a woman even if she’s in a man’s body, so that’s that.”
He’s flippant, but I know that indicates how hard it was for him to get this far.
“Cammy, you said it yourself he wasn’t the sharpest tool in the box, so it’s not a stretch that he can’t wrap his crotchety Brit brain around what you’re going through.” I set down my bottle and scoot closer to him. Her?
“I’m not mad at him. It’s not a terrible thing—he and I weren’t totally simpatico anyway. Sex was good, but that was the best part. It was difficult, because part of me hoped he’d surprise me. I knew he wasn’t a long haul relationship,” he says. “I just hoped he might be a friend while I get used to the idea of becoming someone else—”
“You mean, yourself,” Nora supplies.
He closes his eyes and smiles. “Yes, that’s what I meant. Anyway, I’m not sure how I’m going to pursue transitioning exactly. I want to talk to some more friends and work through coming out, again, to Mom and Dad. And Ruben.” He slumps. “God, coming out twice. How is that shit fair?”
Nora leans in and rubs his back. “Coming out isn’t fair, period. People shouldn’t have to make an announcement because who they are isn’t accepted as another normal, you know?”
“Damn, Nor, you are a fucking poet.” I narrow my eyes at her. “Why couldn’t I say something like that?”
“Oh my God, would you guys stop fighting over being the awesomest shoulder for me to lean on? You’re both pretty.” He shakes his head and chugs from his bottle.
Nora and I both lean into him and hug him from our respective sides. He sighs again.
“Look, all I want you to do is not change how you treat me. I’m still Cam, I’m just… I identify as a woman, so if you could help me out and refer to me as ‘she’ once I give the all clear?”
We both nod. He—dammit, she—groans and moves to get up. She turns to look at us and says, “I’m not changing my name. Cameron is thankfully gender-neutral, so no reason to mess with it. I might start experimenting with clothes on a regular, not drag, basis, but otherwise nothing’s, um…”
“You’re still Cam,” I say, standing. “I love you, baby bro—dammit. Sister?”
He shakes his head, smiling sadly. “I will not crucify you for calling me your brother. I don’t expect you to get it all right at once because I’m still working on it myself. Okay? I just might need to lean on you if I need to bounce ideas or vent. Try to start saying ‘sister’ just to get used to it a bit, you know?”
Nora stands and wraps her arms around us both. “Lean on me anytime, hot stuff. And if or when you decide to make any permanent physical changes,” she begins, “I want to help you pick out boobs.”
Cameron laughs genuinely and rolls her eyes. “Thanks, Nora. Knew I could count on you. For tits.”
We fold ourselves into a tight hug and mumble “I love yous” to each other. I worry about my brother-turned-sister. I hadn’t even told her about my dysfunctional lady business and potential mommyhood, but now seems like a bad time to add more drama to the mix. Plus, I hadn’t even come up with a plan. I feel like I’m still waiting for a sign or something to tip me in the right direction. Of course, Nora takes it upon herself to push me where maybe we all need to go.
“Soph has some news of her own,” she says. “Tell Cammy about your faulty oven.”
After a round of pointed glaring, Cameron makes a bunch of stupid baking and kitchen appliance jokes before insisting I spill and that she’d love the juicy gossip. I roll my eyes and give in.
“Expiration date came up sooner than expected,” I say. “The biological clock is retiring early.”
“Menopause?” Cam shrieks. “Is that possible?”
“It is, baby girl,” Nora says. “Which is kind of accurate to say since you’re a new woman.”
Cam groans.
“Nora!” I say, but Cam kisses my head.
“Humor is the only way through this, Sophie Ann,” she says, adopting a voice much like our grandfather’s. He grew up in Georgia and had the remnants of a stately southern accent when he spoke. “I know where it’s coming from, and I know who loves me. And given my tour of the showbiz trenches, I live for the comedy side of it all. I can say ‘when’ if it’s too much.”
I’m so proud of him—her—for being so easy with us about this. I can’t imagine what’s going on inside, but she’s handling it beautifully. I’m guessing some of the worst was private. She’s always come prepared for battle, so to speak. I wish I could say the same for my pathetic attempts to deal with ovaries that are throwing in the towel.
“Okay, listen,” I say. “The point isn’t exactly the menopause, but the fact that I’m going to try to have a baby.”
“What?” Cam shrieks again. “With who?”
Nora howls. “That’s exactly what I said.”
I try to boil it all down, but when I get to the part that I’m sperm shopping, Cam winces. “Really? Daddy in a tube? That’s so, so… cold.”
I jump back and look at Nora. “See? I told you! That’s how I feel about it, but it seems like my only option.”
“Darl,” Cam says to me, “there’re many more options. Well, more than frozen baby batter—which is fine, honestly. I didn’t mean anything against it.”
I make a face and hold up my hands. “What? What else can I possibly do? I have no money to freeze my eggs and go through the whole idea of implantation and all that. It sounds so damn expensive even in the hypothetical! I can’t wrap my head around it.”
“Well, that certainly would be the ideal, I’m guessing, but what I’m thinking is asking a friend to be the baby daddy. Doc? He’s so gorge. That beard, the sex hair? God.”
Nora hisses and slams her beer on the coffee table. She and Doc—who is not a doctor, Declan is his given name—have history. They were hot and heavy for about ten minutes last year until Nora realized he wasn’t into monogamy. Or at least that was her story. She all but threatened my life to drop the subject and I had to promise never to mention it to him.
“Ouch, didn’t know there was an issue there,” Cam says. “You can tell me later, Nor. But in the meantime, think about it, sis. Is there anyone, other than me, because gross, that you might see fit to donate? I mean, aside from Nora’s ex—”
“We never dated,” Nora growls.
“Okay, sweet buns,” Cam says, tossing an eye-roll at me.
“I heard that, bitch,” Nora adds.
“Aside from Nora’s not-ex ex”—Nora hisses at Cam again—“are there any friends or acquaintances you could ask? I mean, I’d recommend riding that hobby horse, because that way you might at least get an orgasm out of it, too.”
Nora bites her lip and looks at me. “The man’s not wrong. Shit, the woman’s not wrong.”
Cam titters and tightens her arm around Nora. “I mean, you don’t have to screw him, whoever you choose, but in my mind, the option sounds more fun. Or at least more… natural.” She makes a humorless sound. “Natural. That word.”
Nora and I wince. “Cam,” I say.
“No, no. Let’s not make it sad. It’s not sad, lovelies. It’s change. That’s all. And you, my dear sister, need to choose a man to ride. Samson? Maybe Fox? Would that be too weird?”
After Cam and Nora leave, my mind is a blur of my situation and Cam’s. I worry for the both of us. What he said about asking a friend to be a baby daddy keeps sticking out. Names and faces swim around my head for hours. I can’t sit still after a while and end up taking a ride down to the beach to feel the ocean breeze. I plant myself in the cool sand as the sun sets and let the smell of the salty air filter through me. Fox? That would be weird. We’ve been friends for so long, how could we… no. Maybe. He’s certainly a consideration. Gorgeous, perpetual noncommittal sort of guy that he is, I suppose the arrangement could be ideal.
What about Samson? Delicious in his own right, his caramel-colored long hair, full lips, and ever-changing facial hair. He’s broad-shouldered and funny, warm. He looks a little like a lumberjack except that he’s almost always lived in a big city. Sam’s funny and easygoing, and currently not in a relationship. Not as casual as Fox, but could be open to the idea.
Doc’s obviously out, since I’m pretty sure Nora would have my head. She may insist that they’re not “exes” or never dated officially, but I know she was falling for him hard and fast. When things exploded, she told me he was fucking around and she didn’t know. She never expanded on it. I had the feeling it was better to leave it alone, even if she hadn’t forbid further questioning. In any case, despite his good looks and amiable personality, Doc is disqualified on the basis of drama.
I stand, my bare feet digging into the beach. I turn sharply and walk toward the pier just to keep moving. Am I really considering sleeping with a friend for a baby? This feels wrong and right, and I’m not even sure I have the capacity to make a decision like this. Have I gone insane? As in, legitimately, diagnostically insane? Someone send help.
I stop, sending a shockwave through my body when I realize I’m at the end of the pier. I settle my hands on the railing and look around. The sun has almost completely slipped below the horizon, and the water appears to be bleeding with the bright red of the sun’s disappearing reflection. It makes me feel peaceful, and yet terrified. Maybe that combination of feelings isn’t exactly possible, but I never believed this kind of situation—not to mention Cameron’s news-bomb—was a possible story arc for me.
I need to fire my personal life editor.