“THAT NIGHT WE met,” Darcy said, “at the Lucases’ house, when I told you the chair next to me was taken, Dr. Lucas had asked me to save a seat for him. He never sat in it, but I couldn’t have ignored the request of my host, who also happens to be one of the directors at a hospital where I see patients. I wasn’t being rude to you for the sake of being rude.”
“I hope that’s been weighing on you all summer.” Liz was naked, though only recently so, as was Darcy; he was lying on the bed on his back, his head elevated by two pillows, and she was sitting on him, her legs straddling his waist. Again, they had met by semi-coincidence rather than specific plan; they still hadn’t exchanged cellphone numbers or email addresses. “When I overheard you trashing me, my family, and Cincinnati,” Liz said, “was that also because you didn’t want to offend Dr. Lucas? I’m sure you must have been showing your good breeding somehow, because it couldn’t have been that you were just acting like an asshole.”
“Touché,” Darcy said. Both his hands rested on both her hips, and there was something ludicrous and suspenseful—pleasingly ludicrous and suspenseful—about having this conversation unclothed, prior to the main event.
She said, “Anything else you need to clear the air about?”
She’d been kidding, but his expression became serious. “Do you want children?”
“If you’re trying to convince me that we shouldn’t use a condom, the answer is absolutely not.”
He shook his head. “It isn’t that. It’s a sincere question.”
“No,” she said. “I don’t want children.” The ambivalence she usually feigned during such conversations seemed in this instance unnecessary; she was not, after all, trying to endear herself to him. She said, “If you want, I’ll give you possible ways to respond and you can choose the one you like best. A) Oh, Liz, you’ll change your mind—you just haven’t met the right person.” Before continuing, she raised her eyebrows and tilted her head with fake earnestness. “B) But who will look after you when you’re old?” Switching to a scolding tone, she said, “C) Yeah, I bet you don’t want children, you selfish East Coast narcissist.” Pretending to be concerned, she said, “D) Wow, your childhood must have sucked. Or—” For the last one, she reverted to patronizing: “E) You just have no idea how rich and wonderful parenthood can be. In fact, you haven’t really lived until you’ve wrestled a shrieking four-year-old to the ground at Target. Now, keep in mind, Fitzwilliam Darcy, that you can choose all of the above.”
“That’s quite a list,” he said. “Though I think of you as more of a midwestern narcissist than an East Coast one.”
“Believe it or not, I do understand why people have kids. For most of my life, I assumed I’d be a mother, and I’m sure it is rewarding, when they’re not having tantrums. But the older I’ve gotten, the less I’ve wanted it for myself. Watching Jane go through her insemination process was the clincher. I like my life now, there’s stuff I want to do in the future that isn’t compatible with having kids, and it’s not even a big, tortured decision. It’s a relief.”
“What do you want to do that’s not compatible with motherhood?”
Liz shrugged. “Travel. Write a book. Run a marathon. Be a super-doting aunt, without having to deal with things like potty training.”
“I don’t want children, either.”
“Really?” She was genuinely surprised.
He smiled slightly. “Which reason do you think applies to me?”
“You’d know better than I would.”
“When I went into neurosurgery, I was making a choice that either I’d be the kind of person who lets his partner do ninety-five percent of the parenting or I wouldn’t be a parent, period. Anyone who claims that surgeons pull their weight in their own families is lying. The hours make it impossible, and for me, that’s before you factor in research. And, yes, I’ve heard the argument that not having children is selfish, but that’s ridiculous. If you really want to do something unselfish, adopt a seven-year-old black boy from foster care. I assume you’ll make fun of me for saying this, but I believe the skill set I have means I can contribute the most to society as a scientist and doctor. Any man with a viable sperm count can become a dad, whereas only some people can perform a decompressive craniectomy.”
“Why would I make fun of you for that?” Liz grinned. “I already knew you were an egomaniac.” The truth, however, was that he did not seem egomaniacal to her; he seemed principled and thoughtful, and she felt a vague embarrassment that she worked for a magazine that recommended anti-aging creams to women in their twenties and he helped people who’d experienced brain trauma. But surely this wasn’t the moment to turn obsequious.
Aside from disrobing, they hadn’t engaged in any additional preliminary activities. Nevertheless, a few minutes earlier, she had wondered if he had an erection, and she was now sure that he did. She rocked her hips forward once. “I think it’s time to get this party started,” she said, and she leaned down and kissed him on the lips.