A few people nearby at the bar look at us and I blush. I hadn't considered what talking about this in a public place might sound like. But that doesn't stop Ellen.
"In fact," she says, "if you decide not to go with him, see if he has a Tinder profile and send him my way."
“Ellen," I say, laughing.
"What?"
"You're insatiable," I mumble into my glass of wine.
Her grin as is as wide as the Hudson River. "And proud of it."
I take a couple minutes to think, and the more I do, the more what Ellen said resonates with me. I am not looking for a date, a lover, or husband. Treating the situation like that will only lead to confusion. "I think I’m going to text him," I say. "And tell him that I think it's better if we don't know much about each other. If he responds negatively, then I know that he's not the right person for this job. And if he's fine with it, then I think I'll give it a shot.”
"That's my girl," Ellen says. "Go get some."
I roll my eyes again. "You know that's not why I'm doing it."
"I know, but nobody said that trying to get pregnant couldn't also be fun."
I pull out my phone and open the app. The cursor at the bottom of our conversation blinks, daring me to type. How do I say this?
I think it's better if we don't get to know each other too well. I'm not interested in a relationship right now, that's the whole reason I'm doing this. I think going out and getting to know each other would feel too similar to dating. So unless you can get me pregnant and be willing to step out of the picture, this isn’t going to work. I hope you understand.
"There," I say. "All sent." I put my phone away so I won't know if he responds right away.
Ellen raises her glass to me. "I'm wishing for a successful union to fertilize those eggs." Of course she says it way too loudly, and I'm blushing again because people are definitely noticing.
I finish off my glass of wine, and she finishes hers too. "Should we get absolutely sloshed?" she asks. "It might be the last time you get to for a while.”
"Yeah," I say. "I think that's exactly what I need."
3
By the time I get home, I'm both sufficiently and pleasantly drunk. Not so gone that I've lost the sense of myself, but I'm definitely in that happy phase where the alcohol erases all of my worries and concerns. My phone died in my purse while I was at the bar, and I collapse onto my bed and plug it in.
It takes a few minutes to boot up, but when it does I see that I have a new notification from Heartility.
I open it, and I have to focus hard on the screen in order to read the message.
That's fine. That's what I'm here for. I'll set up the time and place and let you know.
There's nothing else. I feel at once a sense of relief and surprise. For some reason, I thought he might have a problem with it. I guess I should have known better, considering what the app is made for. But still, everything about this experience so far has surprised me. I should move forward knowing that. Expect to be surprised.
Great. Look forward to hearing from you.
I send it before I can second-guess, even drunk, I suddenly feel like that was way too formal. Too late now.
Now all I can do is wait. I let myself drift into sleep, imagining the stranger's face.
* * *
A day passes, and then two. My mysterious stranger said he'd set up the time and place so I don't want to bug him about it, but at the same time I'm wondering what's taking so long. I find myself going back and looking at his profile over and over trying to catch details that I missed the first time around. Or the hundredth time around.
I should've asked for his picture at the very least. Just to make sure. But I don't want him to think I'm too eager now that I've made it clear where I stand.
Another day passes, and another, and suddenly it's been five days since I've heard from him. Maybe he was lying when he said it was fine. Maybe I scared him off by not wanting to get to know him better. Should I keep looking for somebody else? I'm not exactly sure of the etiquette in these situations, how long are you supposed to wait for an anonymous sperm donor to get back to you? Is it the protocol to only be involved with one of these men at a time?
I think I might be going a little crazy. Ellen tells me to stay the course, that he'll get back to me, but I tell myself if it goes a full week without hearing from him I have to move on. I can't string all my hopes on a man who can't be bothered to follow through. I've had enough of men who can't follow through.
“You okay?” I hear a voice from behind me. It’s Julia, one of my better friends from work.
“Yeah,” I say. “Why?”
She laughs. “You’re staring a hole in your screen and I think you’re about to murder your poor nail.”
I look down at my hand, and she’s right. Shit. I'm chewing my nails again, I haven't done that in a while. Back when I was with Christian, he used to make up funny ways to help me stop the chewing. He'd fine me by taking away my M&Ms, or taking my hands in his and not letting them go until I kissed him. Eventually, it worked. I was so distracted by all the things that he would do that I stopped chewing my nails entirely. Now I really only slip into it when I'm stressed or anxious. This situation has me both.
And there he is again. Christian. I can't seem to get him out of my head lately. Probably in no small part due to our last night. I don't want to think about it. I can't. And yet I can't help it. That moment in time is the reason why I'm here. If things had been different, I might already have a child, and we might still be together. But he made his choice, and this isn’t about him, it's about me.
I realize that Julia is still staring at me. “I’m okay,” I say. “Just a lot going on that’s…not here.”
“I get that. Let me know if you need to talk it out over lunch.”
“Will do,” I say as she heads to her own cubicle.
After she leaves, I have to consciously force myself to stop chewing. It's not going to help anything, and it's certainly not helping me get any work done.
I try to focus on the document in front of me but I find the words just swim in front of my eyes. This grant application is due at the end of next week and it's nowhere near in the shape it needs to be. I have a call tomorrow with the client to chat about how the application’s going, and I need to be further along than this. But my mind simply will not cooperate, running and rerunning through the list of possible reasons why mystery man hasn't reached out. I don't even know his name.
In my head I think that somebody with a body that jaw-droppingly sexy has to have an equally sexy name. But that's not necessarily true.
His name could be Chet. Or Brian. Or Doug.
But I'm blocked in now; I'm not going to message him again unless he messages me first. That's probably unnecessarily stubborn, but that's the way it is.
With newfound resolve, I put down my phone and try to focus on the grant application in front of me. I’m preparing this application for an artist, specifically one who doesn’t have the means to provide for herself while she works on her art. She is a young woman whose paintings are absolutely exquisite. She deserves to have my attention entirely focused on her application and not on my personal problems.
I won't look at my phone again for the rest of the workday. I won't. I won't think about mystery man. I won't think about Christian. I won't.
Who am I kidding?
4
Three years ago
The timer in the kitchen goes off just as I finish adjusting the setting on the table. Everything is perfect. I've spread candles around our small dining room—which is basically our living room with a table in it—and I've made sure that the dinner is cooked to perfection. Christian's favorites. I want to have a conversation with him, and I want to show him how much I love him while I do it.
I don't know what it was about today, but suddenly I realize that this is it for me. He is it for me. I want everything with him: a future, house, children. And I want to know if he w
ants that too. I mean, I know he does, but we've never talked about it.
Running into the kitchen, I take the lemon chicken off of the stove, put green beans in a bowl, and arrange a dish heaping with mashed potatoes. Quickly, because Christian should be home any second, I put all the food on the table. I enjoy cooking, and we have an inside joke that I would've made a good 50s housewife, so I've leaned into that tonight. I'm wearing a vintage style dress and pearls with the high heels.
I know he'll get a kick out of this dress, and after we eat dinner, I know he'll get just as much of a kick taking it off me. I can't say that I'm not looking forward to that part. In fact, if our conversation goes well, we might even be trying to make something more than love.
I hear keys in the lock, and I go and stand near the door so that the first thing Christian sees is me in this outfit. When he comes through the door, he doesn’t look happy. His face is downcast and his posture bent, like he’s exhausted. But he stops when he sees me, and his reaction is exactly what I was hoping for. He freezes, his eyes travel up and down my body before he breaks into a smile.
"What have we here?"
"The 1950s housewife of your dreams."
His smile slides into the sexy smirk that I love so much. "And what did I do to deserve this?"
"Nothing. You get it for just being you."
Christian drops his bag on the floor, and reaches out to me, tucking me against his body. "Come here." He kisses me, hands slowly exploring my body through the dress. "I like this," he says against my lips.
I laugh softly. “I thought you might say that. But you have to wait until after dinner."
There’s a sound in his throat that's almost a whine. "Why?"
"First, I made you dinner and I want you to enjoy it. Second, I want to be able to tell you that I'm wearing something very special under this dress and for you to have to squirm a little bit before you get to it."
He chuckles against my skin. “You're an evil woman."
"I know."
I grab his hand and pull him into the living room where the table is set, and he whistles. “Damn, Audrey. You weren't kidding."
I sit across from him and pass him the first of the dishes, but he doesn't take it. He looks at the table, and then he looks at me, "What is all this about?"
"I wanted to do something nice for you."
"I appreciate that," he says. "But this feels like more than just a nice thing."
I pause for a second, trying to find the right words. "I was at work today, in the lunchroom. And some of the women there were complaining about their spouses, and all I could think about was how I didn't have any of their complaints. We don't have the kind of problems that they have. And I realized… That you're my one."
Christian goes still. He’s staring at me and I'm not sure what that look means so I just keep going.
"I'm not saying anything has to happen right now, but I just… Knew. You're the one I want to be with. And I want to live with you, and have babies with you, and do everything else in the world with you. And after I realized that, I just wanted to do something special. Because I know that we've never talked about it, and I wanted to see how you felt.”
I finish my thought, and silence hangs in the air. There's a piece of chicken on Christian's fork, and he doesn't move to eat it. Instead, he just stares at me. He stares at me for such a long time that dread starts to grow in the pit of my stomach. Did I say something wrong?
"Say something, please."
Christian puts down his fork, and slides his chair back. "I have to go."
“What?”
He's already in the foyer picking up his bag, "I have to go."
"Christian, what's going on?" But he's already out the door, the sound of it slamming cutting off my words.
I don't know what to think right now. But the dread that started to seep in to my stomach is now pouring in full force. Should I not have said anything? Did he want to be the one to bring it up?
Maybe he just needed some time. Maybe I caught him off guard and it wasn't what he was expecting me to say. Maybe he just needed to go for a walk to clear his head.
All these rational things flow through my mind, but deep in my gut I know that that's not the answer.
I need something to do, so I start to clear the table. I put away the food, I make sure that there are leftovers packaged for lunch. I put all the dirty dishes into the dishwasher. I changed out of my dress and my heels and my pearls and put on more comfortable clothes. And when all that is done, and more than an hour has passed, I realize with a sinking sensation that he's not coming back.
Quickly, I think of where he might have gone. Where does Christian go when he needs to be by himself? Where does he go when he needs to think?
I grab my bag and head out the door. It's still early enough in the summer that it's light out even though it's getting late. I walk to the park, because I know he likes to go there. But I can find him. I walk our entire neighborhood, until I think he may have gone somewhere else entirely. The sun is finally setting and I'm about to head home when I remember one last place.
Christian isn't a huge drinker, but there are times when he and his friends go to a local bar to hang out. I hadn't thought he would go there after something like this, but at this point, I'm willing to check anywhere.
Walking up to the bouncer outside the door, he looks at me with recognition. Which is strange, because I'm not here nearly enough to be recognized. He waves me through the door. "He's inside."
"How do you know who I'm looking for?"
"Given the fact that he's been ranting about you and showing off your picture," he says, "I figured you'd show up sooner or later."
Pure terror runs down my spine, and I push past him into the bar. Christian is very much here, and I can see from the doorway just how drunk he is. So drunk that I don't think I've ever seen him this way. Everyone in the bar is looking at him out of the corner of their eyes, trying to make it look like they're not staring even though they are. Christian is speaking loudly enough for everybody in the city to hear. "… And then I sit down, and she tells me about how she wants all the babies. Just so many babies. And I just can't deal with that right now, you know? Like this is the worst possible time for this to happen. Why did it have to be today? It’s not that I never want kids or to get married or whatever, I’m just not ready. At all. After everything, it’s not the time."
That's all I need to hear. I turn and exit the bar, not stopping at the bouncer’s suggestion that I should take him with me. We aren’t on the same page at all. He wishes I'd never brought it up. Everything I wanted is crumbling apart in front of my eyes.
I feel numb, the way you feel when you see something bad happen on the news. It's so bad, that you can't figure out how to handle it. The numbness holds until I get back to the apartment. I walk through the door and just stand there. Only a few hours ago I was so excited about the rest of my life. Now I don't know what to do.
Except that I do. I can't stay here. Suddenly, I have a burst of energy and conviction. I will be gone before he gets back. I’m going to move quickly.
I send a text to Ellen explaining what happened, and within ten minutes she's arrived and helping me pack. I don't know that I've ever done anything so quickly in my life.
It takes less than two hours to remove my entire life from the apartment. We shove all of my things into our cars, and Ellen graciously agrees to follow me out to my parents’ house on Long Island. It's not until I pull onto the highway that I begin to cry.
5
I’m sitting at my desk when the text comes just after 5 o'clock. There's a little flip in my stomach when I see the notification. What will he say? Are we still going to do this? I open the app to see.
Hi, I'm sorry that it's been a few days. I got a cold, and I didn't want to give it to you. If you're still interested in meeting up, would tonight or tomorrow work for you?
Oh my God. This is real. I'm going to do this. A thrill of excite
ment and terror runs through me. And even as nervous as I am, I want to do this as soon as possible.
Tonight is great.
The little text bubble of him typing appears at the bottom of the screen, and I wait, chewing on my lip.
Here's the address. I figured someplace more private would be better for something like this.
I quickly Google the address and find that it's an upscale apartment building on the Upper West Side. That's fine with me. I’d expected to be doing this in a relatively low budget hotel room. this is a nice surprise.
Thanks, that's nice of you.
I thought you might be less nervous if it weren't at one of our apartments. And since you said you wanted to keep this as businesslike as possible, I thought it might help with that as well.
I'm surprised at how well he's managed to read my mind just now. Of course, I suddenly have a tinge of doubt. I'm about to meet up to have sex with a stranger. In a location that I do not know. What if he's dangerous? What if I'm walking into a trap?
I shake my head. Everybody on the app has been extensively vetted. Just don't be stupid. I quickly text Ellen and tell her where I'm going. The only thing she sends back is a string of eggplant emojis and I roll my eyes even though I'm laughing.
What time should I be there?
Seven?
Works for me.
I close Heartility and gather my things, time to go home and decide what to wear to make a baby.
* * *
It was harder than I thought to decide what to wear. Again, my traditional dating instincts wanted to kick in and I was tempted to wear cute underwear and a cute outfit. But that isn't exactly necessary, sex is guaranteed on this 'date.' But at the same time, I don't want this guy to think that I don't care, or that I don’t appreciate what he's doing for me. So I ended up going somewhere in the middle. A bra and panty set that is cute and makes me look put together without being too sexy, combined with skinny jeans and a cute top.
Getting Her Back Page 2