I say, “Well, that sounds like a great option And then you could still experience pregnancy and childbirth.”
“Yeah,” she says. “For some reason, carrying the baby is more important to me than the DNA So we’re really optimistic and excited about moving forward, somehow.”
“I’m glad, Daphne. Thank you for understanding.” Then I hesitate, knowing that there is no taking back what I’m about to say next. But I want Daphne to be the first to know.
“What?” Daphne says.
“Well I I just wanted to tell you there’s sort of another reason I didn’t feel right about being your egg donor”
“What’s that?” she says.
“Well, I think I think maybe I should have a baby of my own, after all.”
She stares at me, her mouth dropping open. “You want a baby?”
“I want Ben.”
“So, what? Are you guys getting back together?”
“I don’t know,” I say. “But it’s all I want.”
“And then you’d have a baby?” she says.
“If that’s what it takes,” I say. “I’ll do whatever it takes to get Ben back.”
* * *
twenty-five
I plan on going straight to work the next morning from Daphne’s house, but I left my bra at home. I would go without one, but I’m wearing a tight sweater that is on the thin, almost sheer, side. Daphne jokingly offers up one of her bras but we both know that’s not an option. Her boobs are significantly bigger than mine. So I head home to finish dressing, hoping that I don’t run into Trey.
Fortunately, I don’t.
I do, however, run into Michael, standing in front of the television with a remote in his hand, in all of his naked glory.
“Shit!” we yell in unison.
“What are you doing here?” I say, realizing how dumb the question is. I mean, he’s certainly not here just lounging around in the buff, watching Sportscenter. I avert my eyes, but not before I catch an unwitting crotch-level shot of Michael that is sure to be emblazoned in my head forever. I combine the image with the sound effects from last night and think, Wow, Michael. And I thought you were nothing but another pretty-faced publicist .
At this point, Jess emerges from her bedroom, looking smug. “Have you two met?” She tosses a towel to Michael, who quickly wraps it around his waist.
“Yeah. We’ve met a few times,” I say, smiling.
Michael smirks back at me and says, “We thought you were at Richard’s.”
“I was at Daphne’s actually,” I say, taking my coat off, remembering my bra situation one second too late.
“Nice tubes , Claudia,” Michael says. “Guess it is show-and-tell at Elgin Press today. Or at least show . We can talk about it, though If you want.”
I put my jacket back on and say, “Forgot my bra. Sorry.”
“No need to apologize,” Michael says.
Jess gives him a playful, but strangely possessive, jab, which tells me that this might be a dash more than an isolated hookup. At least in Jess’s eyes. My instinct is to leave the room and get the separate scoop from both parties later in the day, but then I figure that I might as well just ask the question now. So I say, “What’s going on here anyway? How long have you two been creeping around like this?”
Jess slides her arm around and says, “Since you were in Italy, and I found my sperm bank.”
Michael laughs and says, “Don’t listen to her. We use condoms.”
Condoms , plural, I think, as Jess laughs and says, “I’m talking him into it, though,” she says, laughing.
“Seriously?” I say.
“Seriously,” Jess says. “He has good genes, you know.”
I look at Michael, a man who can’t even commit to giving a woman a key to his apartment. He smiles and shrugs.
“But we’re also in love,” Jess says. “So it’s all good.”
“That’s true,” Michael says. “I love her.”
I study their matching inscrutable expressions. They are thoroughly amused with themselves but also strangely serious.
I shake my head and say, “This is too fucking weird.” Then I head to my room to get a bra.
That afternoon, I am trying to work, but mostly contemplating how I should get in touch with Ben, when there is a knock on my office door. I assume it is Michael who has yet to show his guilty face.
“Come in!” I say, leaning back and mentally preparing my one-liner.
The door opens and Richard appears, sporting my favorite literary look: tweed blazer, turtleneck, and glasses. I am happy to see him and still quite attracted to him. But overriding this is a sense of awkwardness due to the fact that in the ten days since our return, this is our first face-to-face interaction.
“I didn’t know you wore glasses,” I say with a nervous laugh.
“Reading glasses,” he says, taking them off and slipping them into his jacket pocket.
I smile and motion toward my guest chair. “Have a seat.”