Unfortunately, the morning doesn't come with much more clarity than I had last night. I thought that I would wake up knowing exactly what I wanted, that the answer would fall into my brain overnight like a golden miracle.

That didn't happen because things like that never happened to me. I’m not the luckiest of people—no matter what I seem to do, there's always something that goes wrong. It's how I ended up here in the first place.

I try not to think about what happened three years ago, but now that I’m trying to have a baby, it's on my mind a lot. Maybe it's because I never really got closure from that night. Who knows? I can barely make sense of it, let alone my therapist who’s been trying to guide me through it.

I've always had health problems, and I've always wanted kids. I knew that getting pregnant would be difficult, but it never scared me. And when I finally found Christian, I thought I found my perfect partner with whom to fight that battle. Apparently he didn't feel the same way.

So now I'm here, talking to strangers in the hopes that they'll give me their sperm. I’m not rich enough to afford a fertility clinic or a traditional sperm bank.

I applied for a study a few months ago—an experimental research study involving endometriosis and pregnancy and the correlation between them. The study wanted people who were trying to become pregnant and were aware and willing to take on the risks.

That would've been my first choice, but I never heard back from them and I can't just sit around waiting in vain hope that Christian will suddenly change his mind, that I’ll find a new love of my life, or that the study will accept me. I am ready to be a mother, and if I want that, I have to make it happen for myself.

By three o'clock in the afternoon I'm no closer to deciding whether or not I should get to know this man. So I text Ellen and see if she wants to meet up for the wine she wanted to have last night.

She responds immediately with an enthusiastic yes, and soon I’m out the door to our favorite bar, a corner place in Queens just down the street from my apartment. It’s an eclectic mix of antique furniture and modern convenience, that somehow maintains a vibe of a speakeasy. A little illicit, a little edgy, a little romantic.

I get to the bar first and sit down, ordering a glass of white wine. Ellen is probably going to make fun of me for ordering the wine, but I don't care. White wine is my favorite drink, it's always been my favorite drink, and it will probably remain my favorite drink for the rest of my life.

I only have to wait a few minutes before she arrives, bursting through the door like the chaotic, lovable hurricane that she is. She practically collapses on the barstool next to me, out of breath, and orders a glass of red wine for herself.

"Why on earth are you so out of breath?”

She gives me a look. "You don't ask to go out for wine unless something serious has happened. I practically ran here. What's going on?"

"I have a dilemma..."

"Spill," she says. "Right now."

I take a sip of my wine. "I matched with someone."

Ellen is in the middle of a mouthful of wine and she practically spits it out squealing, "Tell. Me. Everything."

There's honestly not much to tell, but I tell her what I can and show her the pictures. He has a good profile, his body is very clearly hot, and so far, he hasn't been creepy in any way. That still feels like I'm evaluating him in the light of somebody who I'm going to date, but I don't have much else to go on right now. Then I tell her my dilemma about whether or not I should get to know him first. “What you think?”

Ellen thinks for second. "I'm honestly not sure."

“Helpful.”

"Well," she says, "I can see both sides of it. On the one hand, it might be nice to make sure that this guy really is who he says he is. And on the other hand, what if you happen to really like him? Then suddenly you're in a relationship instead of having a sperm donor."

"Yeah," I say. "That's what I'm kind of afraid of.”

Ellen crosses her legs, still full of energy and practically bouncing on her barstool. She raises an eyebrow at me. "I think you kind of just answered your own question."

I sigh. "I know. This is just harder than I thought it would be. You know I don't really do the one-night stand thing."

“It won’t really be that," she says. "I mean, unless you're really lucky you're not going to get pregnant the first time you sleep with this guy. If you sleep with him at all."

"True.”

She continues, "Besides, if you meet this guy and you decide you don't like him, or you don't want him to be the father of your baby, can't you just find somebody else?"

"Doesn't that feel weird?"

Ellen rolls her eyes. "This is all kind of weird, Audrey. And since it's weird, there aren't any rules. It's not like you're cheating on this guy."

"Yeah." I take another sip of my wine. "Should I go for it?"

"I am so not the one to make that decision. No way am I going to decide who's going to be your baby daddy. If you want to give it a shot, then go for it. If you don't, then keep trying for another match."

"I honestly have no idea."

She shrugs. "I will say, even without his face in the pictures I would definitely tap that."

A few people nearby at the bar look at us and I blush. I hadn't considered what talking about this in a public place might sound like. But that doesn't stop Ellen.

"In fact," she says, "if you decide not to go with him, see if he has a Tinder profile and send him my way."

“Ellen," I say, laughing.

"What?"

"You're insatiable," I mumble into my glass of wine.

Her grin as is as wide as the Hudson River. "And proud of it."

I take a couple minutes to think, and the more I do, the more what Ellen said resonates with me. I am not looking for a date, a lover, or husband. Treating the situation like that will only lead to confusion. "I think I’m going to text him," I say. "And tell him that I think it's better if we don't know much about each other. If he responds negatively, then I know that he's not the right person for this job. And if he's fine with it, then I think I'll give it a shot.”

"That's my girl," Ellen says. "Go get some."

I roll my eyes again. "You know that's not why I'm doing it."

"I know, but nobody said that trying to get pregnant couldn't also be fun."

I pull out my phone and open the app. The cursor at the bottom of our conversation blinks, daring me to type. How do I say this?

I think it's better if we don't get to know each other too well. I'm not interested in a relationship right now, that's the whole reason I'm doing this. I think going out and getting to know each other would feel too similar to dating. So unless you can get me pregnant and be willing to step out of the picture, this isn’t going to work. I hope you understand.

"There," I say. "All sent." I put my phone away so I won't know if he responds right away.

Ellen raises her glass to me. "I'm wishing for a successful union to fertilize those eggs." Of course she says it way too loudly, and I'm blushing again because people are definitely noticing.

I finish off my glass of wine, and she finishes hers too. "Should we get absolutely sloshed?" she asks. "It might be the last time you get to for a while.”

"Yeah," I say. "I think that's exactly what I need."