The Finishing School

“You want to talk about genes?” Kersti went on, getting more fired up. “She had a brilliant mind. She was scary smart. And obviously gorgeous and perfect in every way—”

“This is madness, Kersti. You know that, don’t you?”

Kersti fell silent when he said that. “Yes,” she confessed, welling up. “I know it.”

And for the first time since she’d left Deirdre’s that afternoon, all her rationalizations and justifications fell silent too. It was madness, even she couldn’t refute that. But it was also exquisitely, poetically ordained.

“I want a baby,” she said plainly. “I know you think I’m losing my mind—and maybe I am—but this opportunity has presented itself and I can’t turn it down. I feel like it’s meant to be, that it’s our last chance.”

“And you’re going to do it with or without me, aren’t you?”

“Of course not,” Kersti said, not sure she was telling the truth. “We’re partners, remember?”

He was quiet for a long time. She had a few bites of her molten cake while his crème br?lée sat untouched. The irony of their situation was not lost on her; in using Cressida’s eggs to make a baby, Kersti was showing herself to be a lot more like Cressida than she ever realized. As poor Jay contemplated her outrageous request, she knew she would get her way one way or another, no matter how scandalous or controversial.

Was she really all that different from Cressida then? In their relentless pursuit of a passionate, personal desire, in their stubborn willfulness and refusal to accept no or back down, did they not possess at the core the very same self-centeredness and single-mindedness? Maybe it wasn’t even a bad thing. Maybe it spoke more to inner strength and perseverance than to poor character. That’s how Kersti decided to frame it, anyway. And with that realization, she came to have a new respect for Cressida and for her younger self.

After a while, Jay said, “Give me a few days to think about it, okay?”

She knew then he would do it. She could tell he was almost on board. She sensed that something about his demeanor had shifted. Perhaps it was the money, as well as the fact that their donor wouldn’t be a stranger, but she was convinced he wanted a child as badly as she did.

It’s a good thing, too, because once the seed was planted there was no turning back for Kersti. The idea of breeding her own little Cressidas was too compelling. Beautiful, intelligent, magnificent creatures just like their biological mother, only with all the love and nurturing that Kersti and Jay would provide. In Kersti’s more stable hands, Cressida’s genes would surely flourish and thrive in a little girl or boy.

She watches Jay now as he follows the nurse down the corridor and her heart swells. He turns back to her and gives her the thumbs-up, a big smile on his face. Desperation can make a person do unimaginable things, she thinks. Or become someone they never thought they’d be.

Two weeks later, Kersti finds herself lying on the couch, waiting for that portentous, dreaded phone call. The pregnancy test results. They went to Mount Sinai this morning for the test; drove downtown in absolute silence, their moods solemn. For most couples, it’s the moment of joy and celebration. For them, it’s sheer anxiety.

Two weeks ago today, on Valentine’s Day, two perfect ABB blastocyst-stage embryos were painstakingly transferred inside Kersti’s uterus with all the promise of a sunrise. They stayed in Denver for a week after the procedure, with Kersti overcautiously lying flat on her back in the hotel room the whole time. Since returning to Toronto, she’s been obsessing over potentially real or imagined pregnancy symptoms. She knows from experience and from having read too many fertility blogs that swollen breasts and fatigue can be symptoms, but her doctor warned her these could also be the effects of the progesterone she’s injecting and not to get too excited.

The call usually comes close to noon, after the hospital gets the blood results back from the lab. Kersti’s had several of these calls before and they usually begin with, “I’m sorry, Kersti.” Twice the results were positive—she was technically pregnant—but in the follow-up blood tests, her hCG levels did not increase the way they should have, and by the time she had her eight-week ultrasound, no heartbeat was detected. Dr. Gliberman called them miscarriages, but later told her that neither of her brief pregnancies had ever been viable. She wasn’t sure what that meant, if it was supposed to console her or be less traumatic since they weren’t “real” pregnancies in the first place, but it felt like a cruel joke after everything they’d already been through.

After an unsuccessful attempt to nap, Kersti goes into the kitchen, boils water for chamomile tea—she’s been forbidden caffeine—and butters toast, just about the only thing she can eat due to her nerves. She settles at the counter with the mail, wishing Jay hadn’t gone to work. She knows it’s how he copes, but it would be easier if he was here and they could talk and pass the time together. Her mother offered to come over, but Kersti isn’t up to facing Anni or any of her sisters. Not if it’s bad news.

There’s a thick envelope from Deirdre in the mail, probably more copies of the legal documents. She had her lawyer draw up a series of ironclad contracts. Kersti opens the envelope and pulls the rubber band off what appears to be a pile of letters. There’s a note from Deirdre attached to the top.

Kersti,

I should have given these to you a long time ago, when you were in Boston. I intended to, and then we were sidetracked by more “pressing” matters. You know me by now and you will soon see why I kept these to myself for as long as I did: shame/embarrassment/prudishness. My daughter never ceased to shock me. I was nothing like her as a teenager, I assure you! I know it’s not the mysterious ledger, which I promise I do not have, but these notes may give you insight into what was going on before she fell. I never knew whom they were from before you told me, though I confess when you were here, I did know she’d been seeing someone other than Magnus. These “love notes” (if you can call them that) were sent to me with her things, hidden between the pages of a book. I have to get rid of them now—Sloane is at a snooping age—and it’s either to you or the incinerator. Perhaps they can help you, should we decide to investigate further after you have the baby.

That said, I’m waiting by the phone for your good news. I have every faith that our Cressida’s eggs will bless you with one if not two (three or four?) beautiful children. Take good care of yourself and our precious cargo. Best, D.



Kersti opens one of the notes.

C,

No one else makes me cum like you. It’s all I can think about all day long. I’ll be waiting for you tonight. Wear that thing you wore the last time.

C-



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