Point, Click, Love (13 page)

They sat for a moment, looking at each other, no longer smiling.

Claudia leaned in close to Fred. She smelled his hair. Then she smelled his neck. Then she brought her mouth close to his and kissed him gently on the lips. She pulled back and looked at him. Then she went in for another kiss. This time, Fred responded. They sat in the car and kissed for about fifteen minutes.

“What time is it?” asked Claudia.

“Two-thirty,” said Fred.

“I want to go to your place,” said Claudia.

And Fred said, “Okay.”

Chapter Nine

I
t was fun for Annie to use the online sperm bank’s searchable database to create her own wonder child—randomly choosing straight hair over curly, blue eyes over brown, Welsh ancestry over Irish. But when it came right down to it, she couldn’t stand the idea of weeding out prospective donors so mindlessly. What if the man who was meant to be the father of her child was hidden within the less-than-five-foot-five range? Besides, she had heard that height was inherited from the mother. So Annie was forced to methodically go through hundreds of profiles, essays, and statistics in her quest to find the perfect man.

Then there was the problem of defining what the “perfect man” was. Was he a blond-haired, blue-eyed Viggo Mortensen? A
dashing and confident George Clooney? A sly and silly Ben Stiller? Annie was reminded of the first time she walked into Bloomingdale’s as a child, of being completely overwhelmed by all of the departments, all of the choices, all of the different personas she could create for herself there.

Annie’s dilemma was crystallized one day when she found herself stuck on two prospective donors who could not have been more different.

Donor No. 59873—whom Annie referred to as Rick—was twenty-eight years old, six foot three with thick light-brown hair, an athletic build, and a 3.8 grade point average. He was in his last year of business school. He played varsity basketball in high school but his favorite sports were tennis and golf. He went to Northwestern for college and majored in economics with a minor in political science. He hoped to make it big in the business world and then one day run for public office. He spoke Spanish, played piano, loved to cook, and had traveled extensively through Europe. His favorite foods were Thai and Italian. The places he most wanted to travel to were Vietnam and Kenya.

Donor No. 43009—whom Annie referred to as Bob—was twenty-two years old, five foot ten with dirty-blond hair, an average build, and a 2.7 grade point average in his last year of college. He played pickup basketball and handball but didn’t play organized sports. He was an art major, aspiring to be an illustrator of children’s books. He spoke only English, played a little harmonica, and had never traveled outside the United States. His favorite foods were steak, peanut butter, and mangoes. He hoped to one day travel to Mexico to see the Mayan ruins.

Rick was a star and knew it. According to his personal essay, he was raised by doting parents who always told him he could be whatever he wanted to be. He considered himself confident, outspoken, and brave in the face of adversity, even though he’d never
really had any. Under “Staff Impressions,” they wrote that Rick was charming and friendly and always asked staff members about their lives and how they were doing.

Bob had modest goals and was comfortable with himself. He wrote that his parents probably could have been more encouraging and affectionate, but he loved them anyway. He was shy and uninterested in politics, tending more toward quiet activities such as reading and listening to music. The staff wrote that Bob was sweet and thoughtful, with a lovely smile.

In his note to the child who would be born of his sperm, Rick wrote: “I am honored to have played a role in giving you life, and I hope my genes serve you well. I wish you a happy, healthy, successful life full of fun and adventure.”

Bob wrote: “No matter what life might throw at you, always know that you can handle it. Maybe someday you will read one of my books and you will like it and you will think that you have a special connection to the author—because you do.”

Bob or Rick? It was like during the presidential election, when everyone asked: “Which candidate would you rather have a beer with?” Basing one’s choice of a president on whether they’d be a good drinking buddy was ridiculous, thought Annie. But when it came to fathering her child, it seemed like a relevant question. Who
would
she rather have a beer with?

A
t work one day, Annie received an email from a familiar name—Jeff Briggs. “Hi, Annie,” he wrote. “Remember me? I’m doing some consulting work for Sprint. You still there? Would love to get together. Jeff.”

Ah, yes, thought Annie. Jeff Briggs. Too big for his britches was what she always thought of when she heard that name. But a nice enough guy. Annie hadn’t seen any of her old Wharton classmates in years.

“Hey, Jeff,” she wrote. “Of course I remember you. Gimme a call when you get in and I’ll show you the town.” Show him the town? thought Annie. Jeff’s firm was based in New York. She always dreaded having to show New Yorkers around Kansas City. The snide remarks, the Dorothy references, the where-are-the-cows comments.

They agreed to meet at an Italian restaurant near Sprint, located in one of the high-end shopping centers that had recently sprouted up all around the campus. These establishments were like little oases amid the eight-lane roads and endless parking lots and treeless fields of Overland Park, their plush, elaborate, dimly lit interiors a welcome contrast to the stark landscape outside.

Annie recognized Jeff Briggs right away, not because he looked the same as he did in school but because she could instantly pick out a misplaced New Yorker among a sea of midwesterners. She didn’t know what it was about him exactly, whether it was the suit, the haircut, the briefcase, or the way he stood at the bar with an air of nonchalant discomfort. Annie wondered if she still looked like an out-of-place easterner or if she had taken on the characteristics of a Kansan.

“Hey, Jeff.”

“Annie!” he said, giving her a hug. Jeff stood a good eight inches over Annie, so she had to raise herself as high as she could on her tiptoes to reach him. “Wow. It’s been so long.” He took a moment and looked into her eyes, as if he was taking in all that had happened to her since they last saw each other. Then he put his hand on her back and guided her to the hostess desk. “Come, they’ve got a booth waiting for us.”

Of course Jeff had already negotiated just the right table with the hostess, thought Annie. But she wasn’t annoyed by his assertiveness. It felt good to be with someone who so willingly took control of the situation.

“This is kind of weird, huh?” said Annie as she slid into the booth.

“Why weird?” asked Jeff.

“I don’t know. When’s the last time we saw each other? Graduation?”

“Didn’t we see each other in the city that summer?” said Jeff. “We met at that bar in the Village with Grace and Peter.”

Jeff had dated Grace, Annie’s roommate, for a few months, and Annie had dated Peter, Jeff’s roommate, for a few weeks.

“That’s right,” said Annie. She remembered that night, how she’d ignored Peter and drunkenly flirted with Jeff and worried that Grace was mad at her. “And now here we are in Overland Park, Kansas.”

“So who do you keep in touch with?” asked Jeff.

“A few high school and college friends. No one from Wharton.”

“Really? You should join our class on Facebook. Everyone’s up there.”

“No, thanks.”

“Annie! When did you get to be so antisocial?”

“I’m not, but it’s hard maintaining friendships so far away. I really don’t go back east much at all.”

“I understand.”

“I guess you keep up with the old crowd?” asked Annie.

“Pretty much. They’re a good group. And very helpful when it comes to recommendations and all that.”

So which is it? thought Annie. Are you keeping in touch as friends or are you holding on because you think they can help you advance in your career? Annie knew she was being too tough on Jeff. He was just playing the game like everyone else. Maybe she was mad at herself for letting all those connections go—connections that could have one day gotten her somewhere.

“What about Grace? She’s one person I wish I’d kept up with,” said Annie.

“She was at Merrill for a while. Then she got married, had two kids, and now stays home and writes a blog.”

“She’s a blogger?” asked Annie in disbelief. Now that her old friend had joined the ranks of the blogerati, Annie wondered if she’d have to start taking the whole thing seriously. “What does she blog about?”

“Something about kids—eating, sleeping, bad Mommy, good Mommy. I don’t know. I can’t keep track of all that stuff.”

“I guess you don’t have kids,” said Annie.

“I’ve got two but I’m not interested in dissecting every last detail of child-rearing.”

“I hear ya, babe!” said Annie.

“I mean, when my kids were really little, I couldn’t believe the amount of time other parents spent discussing their children’s sleeping patterns, eating habits, and pooping schedules.”

“How old are your kids?”

“Four and six. Now all anyone talks about are piano lessons and soccer games and what schools they’ll go to and what we need to do to get them into Harvard.”

“Sounds fun.”

“Oh, I can’t complain,” said Jeff.

“Sure you can,” said Annie.

“I mean, things are good. I still have a job, we’ve got a great place right in the city. But what about you, Annie? Tell me what’s going on in your life.”

Annie was always surprised when a man asked her about herself. Most men she knew would go on and on about themselves and never ask her a single question. She remembered this about Jeff. How attentive he could be. Curious. He always made her feel like she was the most interesting person in the room.

“Well, I also have a job—certainly not a given these days. And a nice place—not in the city.”

“Where is it?”

“I’m actually just about half a mile from here,” said Annie. “Oh, you would die if you saw it. It’s a big hulking mass of stucco in a subdivision right off a golf course.”

“Really?” asked Jeff. “You play golf?”

“No. I don’t use the golf course. In fact, I don’t even use three-quarters of the house. I’ve got all these bedrooms and like four bathrooms and a rec room in the basement and I don’t need any of it.”

“So why’d you get it?”

“Because I could,” said Annie. “You know how in New York, it’s all about space and how much square footage you have and everyone’s always complaining that they don’t have anywhere to put anything? I guess I’m rebelling against all that.”

“Well, I think that’s great. Next time I’ll bring the whole damn family and we can stay with you!”

“Of course!” said Annie, trying to picture Jeff, his lovely wife, and his two kids taking over her nice, quiet, well-ordered home.

“Just kidding.”

“But you could!” she reassured him. Maybe it would be kind of nice to have houseguests.

“Thanks. My little boy would want to poop in all of your bathrooms.”

“There you go, talking about pooping again,” said Annie.

“Sorry,” said Jeff, smiling. “You always make me feel so comfortable, Annie.”

“You know us midwesterners, we’re so down to earth.”

“So now you’re a midwesterner?”

“Kind of. I think I’d feel out of place in New York now. Maybe that’s why I don’t keep up with our classmates. Maybe I’m a little intimidated by all their wealth, fame, and success.”

“Oh, come on,” said Jeff. “It’s not like everyone is so rich and famous. Most of us are struggling to get by like everyone else.”

“Well, maybe not like everyone else.”

“Of course, you’re right.”

“I do wonder sometimes,” said Annie, “about what I left behind. About what might have happened if I’d stayed.”

“That’s only natural,” said Jeff. “But it seems to me like you’ve got a good thing going here, Annie.”

“Thanks. But I’m sure it must seem incredibly provincial to you.”

“Not at all,” said Jeff. “My work has me going all over the country, so I see what’s out there. My friends in New York, they don’t know the difference between Kansas City and Oklahoma City.”

“Is there a difference?” asked Annie.

“If you’d ever been to Oklahoma City, you’d know,” said Jeff. “I think this is a great place to live.”

“It’s not so bad.”

“Remember what it’s like in the city? Everything is so hard. Sometimes it gets to me. Then I come here and I’m tooling around in my BMW convertible—”

“Doesn’t your company know we’re in a recession?”

“They feel sorry for sending me here, so they try to make up for it with perks.”

“Little do they know you love it here!” said Annie.

“I do! I love how easy it is to park and how you can walk into a place like this without reservations.”

“It’s not Del Posto.”

“Who cares? I don’t like al dente anyway.”

“So move here,” suggested Annie.

“Part of me would love to,” said Jeff. “But I can’t see myself ever living anywhere but New York. It’s, like, not an option.”

“You can do whatever you want, Jeff.”

“Maybe I’m just not as strong as you.”

Much to her surprise, Annie enjoyed her evening with Jeff. It was fun being out with a handsome, smart, funny guy who wasn’t a snob and actually listened to what she had to say. Even though she knew men like Jeff were not flooding the streets of New York, she began to long for the city in a way she hadn’t in years.

Annie imagined that if she had stayed in New York, she might have married a guy like Jeff. They would have had two kids and talked about pooping patterns with their friends and researched preschools together. They would have hired a nanny so she could keep working, and every Thursday they would have met for a nice lunch at the Gotham Grill or Pastis.

Annie knew it was much too late for all that. She had made her decision and she had to live with it. But maybe she was being too quick to completely discount the idea of moving back to the city. Maybe she hadn’t fully morphed into a midwesterner. No, she couldn’t start over, but she could create a different life for herself there. She could find a job with a cool Internet start-up, hang out with some of her old friends from school, maybe even date some nice divorced guy with two kids of his own.