I sent back an emoji rolling its eyes.
And that was the end of it, I’ll be seeing him tomorrow night for babysitting and contract talks.
I frown at my computer screen and readjust the text covering the graphic of the fox and rabbit. Then, the words of the quote sink in. A friend is someone who accepts your past, loves you in the present, and believes in your future.
That’s it. There’s nothing strange about what I felt the other day. I already know he’s able to charm the panties off a nun, so of course I’d feel some attraction on close proximity, but the connection, that was friendship.
That’s it.
We’re becoming friends.
It’s fun to hang out with friends.
Friendship is okay. Friendship is good.
My desk phone rings.
Lavinia glances over at me. She’s been in a sourer mood than usual the past few days. So much so that I’ve stopped pilfering sparkling water from the break room fridge.
“Are you going to answer that?” she asks in a pinched voice.
I pull out my headphones and check the caller ID. It’s Dr. Ingraham’s office.
“Of course I am,” I say and smile blandly at Lavinia.
I grab the phone, “Hello, Gemma speaking,” I say in a business-like tone.
Lavinia frowns at me and narrows her eagle eyes on me. I swivel my chair around to face the quote wall.
“Hi Gemma. It’s Joy, the scheduler at Dr. Ingraham’s office.” I raise my eyebrows. I hadn’t realized the bored, couldn’t-care-less scheduler was named Joy.
“Yes?” I ask, keeping my answers short, knowing that Lavinia is listening. The rest of the staff likes to work with headphones in, but for some reason Lavinia doesn’t.
“So, Dr. Ingraham mentioned the fertility support group, right?”
“Uh, yes. He did mention it.”
“Mhmm. Well, the fertility support group is a benefit we offer all patients as part of our advocacy for mental well-being.”
Joy sounds like she’s reading from a script. I’ve never heard someone so disinterested in what they’re saying. She continues listing off the multitude of benefits to joining a group of women going through the same process.
“Are you interested in joining a support group for the duration of your fertility journey?” she asks in a bored monotone.
I stare at the quotes on the wall and think about the hours I’ve spent trawling the online forums, the books, and all the questions I still have. I think about how nice it would be to meet women who are going through the same thing I am. Women who won’t judge, or question, who will understand.
“Yes. I’m interested,” I say with a happy smile. “Very interested.”
Joy gives a long-suffering sigh. “Fine. I’ll add you to the Thursday night group. They meet weekly at seven o’clock in the basement of Clive’s Comics on East Fourteenth Street. It’s a real dump. Have fun.”
“Um. Okay. Thanks? Wait. Thursday, that’s today right?”
“Uh, yeah,” she says, then she hangs up.
I hold the phone to my ear and smile at the quote wall. I can feel Lavinia still watching me, waiting for my call to end.
So I say, “Of course, yes. I’m very interested. Thank you, Mr. Berners-Lee, you’ve been a real help.”
I turn around in my chair and place the phone back in its cradle. Then I look at Lavinia and smile.
“Mr. Berners-Lee again?” she asks.
I grin. “Real nice guy.”
Lavinia rolls her eyes and turns away, but I swear she has a ghost of a smile on her lips. Good things are happening.
Josh is decidedly in the friend category.
I’m starting my IVF cycle in only three weeks.
Soon I’ll meet my baby. Hold her in my arms.
And tonight I’m going to meet a group of wonderful, supportive, amazing, like-minded woman who want to share their journey.
Everything is looking up. It’s going to be great.
13
Clive’s Comics is a dump. It’s a cluttered, musty-scented shop with cockroach traps sticking out from under the shelves. I tiptoe around a cluster of the traps and a dead cockroach lying on the grimy tile floor. The lighting is fluorescent and overly bright, showing off all the grime, disrepair and clutter. There are stacks of comics in plastic sleeves, those collectible figure things, and bins of monster trading cards.
I walk to the back of the store and spin in a slow circle. There was no one at the cash register near the front door, and I don’t see any sign of a basement or a fertility support group.
“Hello?” I call out. “Anybody here?”
My shoulders slump a bit when no one answers. I look down at my watch, it’s already a few minutes past seven. I’m late. I left work with plenty of time to spare, but the subway was so crowded that I had to wait for two different trains before I could shove, elbow and forcefully squeeze myself onto the car. Even then, I stood for a good five minutes, smashed in the crowd, with my nose pressed into a big guy’s salami scented armpit.
So, anyway.
I start to walk back toward the front door and let out a short sigh of disappointment. I guess I’m at the wrong place. I can call Joy tomorrow morning and ask for the exact address.
I look up when the bell on the front door rings. A small, bony man, with a large nose and a swagger walks in.
He stops when he sees me, and although he’s so short he should be looking up at me, he makes it seem like he’s looking down.
“What d’ya want?” he asks in a thick Brooklyn accent.
I open my mouth to say something, but I’m not sure how to respond. Is this Clive? Or…
“Um. Are you…? Is this…I’m looking for the fertility support group? Is that here?”
Clive grunts then turns back around and pushes open the front door. I stand still, not sure what to do.
He turns back and scowls. “Come on, then.”