All the Good Parts (30 page)

She asked me to read through a general statement about the screening process. This inspired confidence. Donated sperm is regulated more strictly than guns or pesticides. A man has better odds at getting into Harvard or choosing the winning square in a Super Bowl spread than getting his guys chosen for this gig. Chromosomal mayhem, inheritable or communicable diseases, any little hitches in the DNA? Forget it. Bald? Rejected. Short? Rejected. Even hay fever will get you the boot. I wondered how these guys can relax long enough to produce a specimen under that kind of scrutiny. But then I suppose they’re superior beings, just a notch below superhero. I don’t know if this bothers me or not. On one hand, it’s safe. On the other, it feels vaguely unfair to stack the genetic deck. Like if you had a rich dad who donated money until an Ivy League school let you in the door, or a relative pulled strings to get you out of an expensive speeding ticket—something you’re eager to take advantage of, but not so eager to let anyone know.

Donors are required to provide health information three generations back. Three generations. I could sketch out my parents’ maladies, but further back than that? My grandfather was named Giuseppe, and he smoked cigars. He liked to make a doorbell noise while yanking on my pigtails. He died of “something wrong with his gut.” That’s about all I could tell you.

I
wouldn’t make it past the gatekeepers.

Frozen semen has no sell-by date. My eggs, however, will expire shortly. According to my doctor, they’ve already fallen once, and next time they might not be able to get up without significant—and expensive—help. So essentially, this visit to the fertility clinic qualified as preventive medicine.

The nurse smiled when I held up my donor choice. Number 12098. Smart, athletic, extroverted, conventionally good-looking—a credit to all mankind. My father would have loved him.

And for about the cost of a flat-screen television, I could bring him home to start a family.

The actual procedure is simple. For financial reasons, I chose the drive-thru method: pick up the frozen sperm, bring it home to thaw out, and—presto!—DIY babymaking. All it takes is for sperm to meet egg. I’ve been assured it’s just that easy.

But is it? As the nurse gathered up the rejects, I looked at the fancy dossier in my hands. It’s one thing to hold your own future in your grubby little paws. It’s quite another to hold someone else’s, and an entire line of futures, started with a single decision. Did number 12098 think about it? I’d like to think he did, the man who was making my dream possible. Did that make him egotistical? Overwhelmingly kind?

Maybe it made him a risk taker. In that, I’d like to think we were alike. Not a bad trait to pass on to our child. The thing was, I’d never know if it came from him or me or both of us.

I told the nurse I had some thinking to do. She didn’t pressure me to commit. If I want to proceed, I’m supposed to call the clinic at the first sign of ovulation. They’ll be ready for me. “You have every reason to feel hopeful,” she said before I left.

Isn’t that exactly what a patient wants to hear when facing uncertainty? That the prognosis is hope?

At the beginning of the term, my philosophy of nursing was simple: try not to be the reason someone gets sicker.

The past few months have modified it: try to help a patient see a reason to get well. Part of being an effective nurse is encouraging someone who feels helpless to take control of her situation.

And that’s what the clinic’s nurse was telling me when she said that I should be hopeful. The decision is up to me, and no one—
including me
—is assuming I’ll make the wrong one.

And for the first time in my life, I believe it.

Nursing 320 (Online): Community Health

Grade Box

Professor Larmon:
Illuminating yet rambling. B-

Nursing 320 (Online): Community Health

Private Message—Leona A to Darryl K

Leona A:
I am the queen of decisiveness. I am officially taking action. Operation Baby is underway.

Darryl K:
You’ve made your choice? Who’s the lucky father?

Leona A:
Oh, you aren’t getting away that easily. I’ve scheduled the insemination for the week before Christmas, ovulation depending. I was wondering, will you come? I mean, you don’t have to hold my hand while Dr. Bridge does the honors, but will you come to the house? You can see for yourself who I’m tangling DNA with.

Leona A:
Darryl?

Darryl K:
Had something in my eye and had to get it out. Yes. I’ll be there. It’ll be a kick to witness cells coming together instead of falling apart. What does one bring to such an event?

Leona A:
I guess champagne isn’t appropriate. Broccoli for me and kale smoothies for you?

Darryl K:
You’re no fun.

Leona A:
You don’t believe that.

Darryl K:
You’re right. This is the most fun I’ve had since I got divorced.

Leona A:
So I’m RSVP’ing you as a yes to my almost immaculate conception party.

Darryl K:
I’ll be there with bells on. And, Leona? Thank you. It seems I needed a bit of fixing myself.

CHAPTER 35

I was in my bed. I wore an ancient Nirvana T-shirt, worn soft, and nothing but a thin blanket hiding my bottom half. A homemade poster covered the crack in my ceiling. On it, phrases were written in neon marker.
Think positive! Zygotes rule! I get my badassery from you!

“You’ve turned me into a total cheeseball,” Maura said. She sat on the edge of the bed and scooted close enough to give me a hug. “Good thing it doesn’t interfere with our badassery.”

“We are women of many contradictions,” I said.

“That’s a good thing, right?”

I planted a kiss at her temple. “Let’s not put a label on it. How about I just say thank you for the poster?”

Maura beamed up at me. “You’re welcome. This is so exciting, Auntie Lee.”

“Don’t get your hopes up.”

“Why? Aren’t yours?”

“Yeah,” I admitted. “I guess they are.”

“Good. Hopes should always be up.” She toyed with a rip in my sleeve. “So, what’s this baby going to call me?”

“Aren’t you getting a little ahead of yourself?”

“Hello? What did we just talk about?”

“Maura,” I said, sighing. “The baby will call you Maura.”

She scrunched her nose. “That’s it?”

“Okay, how about Miss Maura?”

“That’s better. I always liked it when Garrett did that.” She paused, then added, “Are you sad it’s not him?”

“Not a bit.”

“Do you ever think about him?”

“I do. I hope he’s happy.”

She sighed. “Everyone deserves happiness.”

A noise, the dull, muffled thud of a limb hitting a wall, echoed through the room.

“I can’t believe
that
is going on in your bathroom,” Maura whispered.

“Maura, get your butt over here to help,” Carly hissed from across the room. All the women began talking very loudly in an effort to drown out any sounds coming from my tiny bathroom. I didn’t hear anything else except the hum of the heating vent, but Maura shrugged and walked over to where her mother and Darryl watched Dr. Bridge set up for the procedure. She’d insisted on wearing hospital scrubs, which I teased her about, but now I was grateful for the formality. It made what we were doing feel official.

I heard a knock. Dr. Bridge returned the sound on the bathroom door, and a hand holding the specimen cup shot out. After an abrupt thank-you, the door slammed shut again. Dr. Bridge instructed me to bend my knees and relax.

“How do I do that?”

She rolled her eyes. “Think of beaches or slow-moving chocolate sauce, or . . . how the hell should I know? Just don’t tense up.”

“Do you want us here?” Carly asked.

“Don’t leave,” I begged. “Any of you. Not yet.”

Dr. Bridge knelt between my legs, careful to tent the blanket over them, preserving the remaining shreds of my modesty. “I’m going to start now. Deep breath. I wasn’t kidding when I said you need to relax.” She flashed a smile at me. “Think of something happy. Anything at all.”

I took a deep breath and thought about the first time I saw my father hold Maura. She was hours old, crinkly and squinting at the bright and shiny world. He watched her, marveling over every twitch and blink, until something shifted in his face. It was like he’d been given a vital piece of information that finally cleared up a puzzle he’d spent a lifetime longing to solve.

“All done,” Dr. Bridge said, patting my leg. She shoved a pillow under my hips. “Let’s make it easier for the little swimmers. Keep your knees together and draw them to your chest for a few minutes.”

I closed my eyes, and when I opened them, Dr. Bridge, Darryl, Maura, and Carly surrounded the bed.

“I feel a little bit like Dorothy.”

“We’re being creepy, aren’t we?” Darryl said. “Do you want to be alone for a while?”

“Yeah. For a little while.”

They each kissed my cheek for luck and headed upstairs, all except for Carly. She smiled softly at me for a moment, and then whispered in my ear, “This baby might not have been conceived in love, but it was conceived surrounded by it. Everyone in this room felt it. Did you?”

“I did. I love you, Carly.”

“And I love you.” She put her palm to my cheek. “In his own way, Dad would have been proud of you.”

“Do you think so?”

“I know so.”

After she left, I placed my hand on my belly and tried to concentrate on feeling something. Was anything happening? I imagined the movies from sixth-grade health class, the sperm careening through the birth canal like a waterslide, the burst of cells connecting, the existence of something there that wasn’t there before. Was my body being hospitable? Could I hear its inner workings if I concentrated hard enough?

I could hear something.

It wasn’t the voice of God. Or my dad. It wasn’t even the voice of
me
. It was more a vibration, a slight movement, the most subtle push into a world of endless possibility.

“There you are,” I whispered. “I’m going to promise you something. If you decide to start things up with me, little one, I’ll do my best to make sure you’re never, ever sorry.” I wanted to say more, but my legs started to cramp up from their awkward position, and I stretched them out, hoping I wasn’t screwing things up.

“Did you forget about me? Can I come out now?”

I hadn’t forgotten about him. Silly as it was, I figured if this baby was being conceived, I wanted its father nearby while it happened. “Of course,” I called. “Come out so I can thank you.”

He was red in the face when he came out of the bathroom and approached the bed warily. “Do you think it worked?”

“I don’t know. It feels like it did. That’s weird to imagine, right? Sperm meeting egg. Like, introducing themselves and getting busy immediately.”

“Can I . . . would it be weird if I . . . ?” His hand hovered over my abdomen.

“Go ahead. It might help things along.” His palm warmed my tummy, the expanse of it covering me hip bone to hip bone.

He closed his eyes. “I really do hope this works for you.”

We stayed like that for a while, until I said, “I think I can sit up now.”

He carefully pulled me up, sliding pillows behind my back. “I should probably go. You might want to take a nap or something.”

“I don’t think I’m at that stage yet, but . . .” His eyes were open, but they were unfocused and shiny.

“Do you need a minute, Paul?”

“I’ll be fine. I wasn’t expecting to feel something.”

“It’s okay to feel something. You know that, right?”

Paul didn’t say anything, and busied himself by shrugging into his jacket and pulling on his boots. I watched him, wondering if one day I’d be looking at another person with his broad shoulders and quiet determination. The thought was strangely pleasing.

“Leona,” he said, “I’d like to have you over for dinner. I’ll cook, probably something with lots of folate and iron. You’ll need to start thinking about modifying your diet. I can make a variety of—” He paused, laughing. “Something good. I’ll just cook you something good.”

“I’d like that.” I could feel my smile. It felt too broad, too goofy, and I tried to tamp it down.

“Don’t take it away,” he said softly. “Did I make you smile like that?”

“Yeah.”

“Because of what happened today?”

“No,” I said, teasing, “because I think you honestly like me.”

Paul didn’t laugh. He bent over and brought his face very close to mine. He brushed my hair from my cheek and kissed it, then drew his mouth over my skin until he grazed my lips, his touch featherlight. “I do like you, Leona.”

He pulled away slowly. I liked the reluctance in his movements, the way his fingers felt threading through my hair.

“So, what are you going to do when you leave here?”

“I’m heading over to my dad’s place.”

“Will you tell him about what just happened?”

He thought for a moment. “I think I will. It’ll surprise him. He’ll get a kick out of that.”

“Tell him I’ll stop by tomorrow with hot cocoa, the real kind.” I watched Paul’s internal battle play across his face. “I’ll use organic milk and fair trade cocoa.”

He let out a breath. “That would be great.”

We stared at each other until the moment grew awkward and one of us had to do something.

“I feel like I should say something important,” Paul said, taking one for our very odd team.

I held his gaze. “I think you already did.”

Once alone, I lay back and listened to the laughing women upstairs. I heard a cork pop, and maybe a bag of chips being ripped open. Eventually, I’d get up and join their party, but not yet.

I fished under my bed until I found my Community Health notebook, grabbed a pen off my nightstand, and drew boxes for a heredity chart.

Paul could be gentle. Big
G
. He was (K)ind and (M)oral and probably still a little bit of an (a)sshole.

I could be (D)etermined. (N)urturing and (A)rtistic.

Okay, maybe a tad (f)laky.

We were both (u)nsettled.

We were both trying. Capital
T
.

Obvious dominant trait? There was only one answer, no matter how you calculated it.

Big
L
.

For (L)ove.

It always wins out in the end.