“I’m better now,” I said, and pushed against him, began moving my hips, almost imperceptibly at first.
“Katya, please!” he said, and let go of me. But I could hear the weakness in his voice.
“Let it happen,” I said, and reached down for his crotch. He pulled away. I pushed back on him, my hand pressing firmly, warm and gentle. I felt him get hard. There was nothing more intoxicating than feeling a guy’s erection in my hand.
“Katya, I’m desperately trying to . . .” His voice trailed off as I pulled down his zipper and worked my hand inside. He tensed up for a moment before sighing in resignation. The room seemed to spin—this time for real—as he leaned closer and hooked a finger around a strand of my hair and, pushing it off my face, he kissed me. I arched my back, leaning against the wall. He rummaged under my skirt, pushed my lace thong to the side, and slid a finger inside me. Later, he scooped me up and carried me to the couch where we finally fucked while I bit on one of the pillows to muffle my moans.
52.
LANA
NOW
I didn’t wake up until after nine on Tuesday morning. The good news was I didn’t have to go to work. The bad news was I didn’t have to go to work.
Over breakfast, I read every article about Katya’s alleged suicide I could find online. I was stunned to learn that every 3.5 days someone attempts suicide off the George Washington Bridge. Further down in the same article, the author quoted an expert from the rescue teams saying, “There are whirlpool currents under that bridge, going in opposite directions, hence it’s hard to find a body.” I shut down my laptop.
The media had so quickly wrapped up Katya’s case as just another suicide from the bridge. But I didn’t buy it. I’d seen her dancing happily just hours before. Could she really have been in so much pain that she’d wanted to end it all? More importantly, could she have hidden it so expertly?
There was only one person who could answer these questions. I called Columbia’s mental-health center, but Josh Wozniak was with a patient. That was what they’d told me yesterday when I’d tried to reach him. Again, I left my name and number and asked that he call me back.
What now? I thought as I put the phone down. Too wired to sit around waiting, I decided to go see Penka. If I was so rattled by the news, I could only imagine how she was feeling.
* * *
Like me, Penka had a hard time accepting that her daughter had committed suicide.
“Katya was always a moody kid,” she told me as we sat at her kitchen table, a cup of tea for me, coffee for her. “Her father’s death, when she was so young, devastated her and then Alex . . . it was too much for a little girl. She had trouble sleeping, was terrified to be left alone in a room. But then she outgrew it.”
Penka took a sip of her coffee and stared at her cup. The refrigerator hummed. From the outside came the high-pitched yap of a pooch followed by the deep single woof of a big dog.
“Did you know she was seeing a therapist?”
“Katya didn’t share much,” Penka said, shaking her head. “I made a lot of mistakes with her. I was young, barely twenty when I had her. And then when Alex drowned . . . I didn’t know how to deal with it. I withdrew in grief, neglecting her for years. By the time I was back on my feet, she’d sealed her heart from me.” Penka’s voice quivered. She ran her hand through her hair before continuing. “We talked on Skype. But you know, she was always busy, always rushing. Except for the time she called to tell me that she was doing the egg donation. She was so excited. I’ve never seen her like that.” Penka smiled at the memory.
A warm feeling nestled in my chest at hearing that. I pressed my hands against my belly and held them there for a moment. I’d been doing a lot of that lately. As a form of communication with my baby, a way of reassurance. As if to say, I’m here, my little one. Everything will be okay.
“I was excited for her,” Penka went on. “She hadn’t been a particularly generous child, never sharing her toys or candy, so it was good to see her happy to be doing something for others.” Penka sighed. “But it was short-lived. By the next time we talked, she seemed low on energy, morose. I asked if she was okay but she dismissed my concerns. Something had happened.” Penka paused, clenched her jaw. “But I can’t imagine her taking her own life. If anything, Katya’s response to pain was anger. You hurt her, you paid for it.”
* * *
I walked hesitantly through the campus gates at 116th Street. It was 12:15 p.m. on a beautiful early-summer day. A pale blue sky, a light breeze swaying the branches of the trees along the pathway. Students hurried to get lunch between classes, passing me in both directions. I could almost see myself fifteen years earlier, going to a lecture, my steps light and buoyant with the promise of things to come—a career, love, family. How had it all gone so wrong so quickly?
When I reached the steps in front of Low Library, I called the counseling center. “Is Josh Wozniak back from lunch?” I asked.
“He hasn’t gone out yet,” the receptionist said. “He’s with a patient until one p.m.”
I thanked her and hung up. I had thirty minutes to get tea and stoke up my courage. He’d never bothered to return my calls, so I’d decided to come in person.
Shortly before one, I stood in front of the doors of Lerner Hall, where the center was located, according to their website. I didn’t have to wait long. The fit young man I’d seen at Katya’s memorial walked out hurriedly and headed toward the sandwich shop at Furnald Hall next door, where I’d just purchased my cup of tea. I couldn’t miss him; he stood out among the students in his baby-blue buttoned-down shirt and brown slacks.
I followed him inside and once he’d picked a sandwich and joined the line, I stepped behind him and tapped him on the shoulder. “Josh,” I said. “I’m Lana, I left you a couple of messages.”
He blinked at me and looked around before saying in a hushed but stern voice, “I’m not in a position to speak to you.” I wondered if he’d already gotten in trouble with his superiors for talking to the police.
“Of course.” I smiled. “I was just hoping you could help ease my fears,” I said, then added: “And her mother’s.”
He shook his head slowly, exaggeratedly to stress the point, then turned his back on me before stepping up to the cashier.
I waited for him outside, a couple of feet from the door, hidden behind a group of students standing with their cups of coffee, chatting. Wozniak came out, looking around and over his shoulder. Seeing me, he veered in the opposite direction. With a few quick steps, I caught up with him. “You don’t have to tell me anything that you feel uncomfortable—”
He stopped and stared at me like I was a moron. “You don’t understand,” he said. “I cannot discuss patients with you. Or anyone else, for that matter.”
“I know. But in this case . . .” He was already turning to walk away. “It’s not like she would mind,” I said, raising my voice. But he only picked up his pace. “Fucking coward!” I yelled after him.
Passersby turned their heads; a guy behind me whistled in amusement or maybe approval. I blushed, embarrassed, and rushed out of there.
I was going down the steps to the subway, when my phone rang. Surprised to see Penka’s name come up on the screen, having just seen her, I felt my heart begin pounding before I’d even answered.
“Izviniavai che te bezpokoia,” she said. “I’m sorry to bother you.” She paused. “But I found something I think you should see.”
53.
KATYA
THEN
I was on my way to the cafeteria across campus to get something to eat when the lady from the donor agency called. It was midafternoon, about to start pouring rain. One of those quick spring showers that come out of nowhere. I was looking forward to it. The smell of wet soil, the trees heavy, dripping—a respite from the cheerful sunshine. Hooking up with Josh last week had lifted my spirit
s. But the high hadn’t lasted. As usual. If I could only bottle up the feeling and take a gulp of it every time the demons hit, like a cough syrup or something.
I’d continued to miss classes and skip assignments. At least I’d managed to move forward with my postgraduation plans, even if without much enthusiasm. I’d already transferred most of my stuff to Nick’s place. We’d hung out last night but again I hadn’t slept, not even after the second time we’d had sex.
It was starting to drizzle when my phone rang, so I stepped into the library’s lobby to answer the call. I would have let it go to voice mail but I recognized the agency’s number and was curious why the hell they were calling me. I’d already been paid and all.
“I’ve got good news,” said Evelyn, one of the two ladies I’d been working with there.
“Yes?” I said, confused.
“You’re now a proven donor.”
“Huh?”
“The couple you donated to,” Evelyn said cheerfully, “they’re pregnant.”
I swallowed. Leaned against the wall. “Are you sure? You’re not mistaking me for someone else?”
She laughed. “No, Katya. I’m not mistaking you for anyone else. Your donation has resulted in pregnancy. Which is great. Should you decide to do it again, as a proven donor, you could get more money. Now, let’s see if we get a live birth.”
I stood there with my back pressed against the wall, stunned, long after she’d hung up. Don’t worry, Tyler had reassured me. There won’t be a baby, I promise.
“How could I have been so stupid to believe him?” I asked Josh when I saw him two days later.
He was sitting in his chair, his pad on his lap, his head slightly cocked to the side as usual. He’d become colder, more detached since our little tryst two weeks ago—overcompensating, clearly—but I hoped he’d get over it soon. In our next session, he’d given me that whole spiel again about counselor-patient relationships, how we’d severed the trust and it was in my best interest to find another shrink. Bullshit. I didn’t want to work with anyone else and I’d told him so. “You aren’t going to get rid of me so easily,” I’d told him. He might have taken it as a threat though, because he’d let it go after that.
“Tyler thinks he has fooled me,” I went on. “But I’m smarter than he thinks.”
Josh raised an eyebrow and I continued.
“I can’t stop the pregnancy—obviously—but I can tell Lana that Tyler is cheating on her.”
“And you would do that because . . . ?”
“Because I can’t let my baby grow up in a toxic environment.”
Josh was staring at me like I was possessed or something.
“What?” I said.
“I’m just wondering if you shouldn’t perhaps let them sort out their own problems and focus on yourself. Graduation is right around the corner and you’ve missed—”
“I thought you weren’t here to advise me what to do.”
“Katya, I’m worried about you.” I rolled my eyes but he ignored me and went on. “I see how this might be helping you feel better about yourself—like you’re that baby’s savior—but it hasn’t even been born yet and for all we know Tyler has ended the affair and will prove to be a great father.”
“Right. Just like my mother.” I glanced at the clock. “Looks like we’re out of time,” I said, and got up to go. Before I opened the door, I turned and blew him a kiss. He could pretend as much as he wanted, play professional and all that, but I could see the desire burning in his eyes.
* * *
I left Josh’s office more convinced than ever that I had to tell Lana. People don’t change no matter how hard they try. Nobody knew that better than me. Which was why I wasn’t going to sit around hoping that Tyler would get his shit together and make things right. He’d already fooled me once with false promises. It was the right thing to do. The problem was I couldn’t just walk up to Lana. I knew she feared her donor crashing her life and I worried that seeing me approach her would be enough for her to run away and not hear me out. Or worse, call the police on me for stalking her.
I thought about it all night and finally came up with a solution just as dawn was starting to break. The trick was to run into Lana “by chance” and strike up a conversation with her. Pretend I didn’t know who she was. One of the last lectures of Tyler’s I’d gone to, he’d talked about probability theory and coincidence. A coincidence is an event which can be divided into components separately produced by independent causal factors.
My plan was to get her to show me a photo of her husband—partner, boyfriend, whatever she called him—and then I’d say, “Oh, that’s Professor Jones. I’m taking a class with him, actually. But wait, I thought he was dating one of the grad students. I’ve seen them kissing.” Then, I would put my hand in front of my mouth as I “realized” the implication of what I’d just said. Oops. But, by then, the truth would be out and in the open.
Lana could figure out the rest for herself. My job would be done. I just had to find a way to “run into her” that didn’t look suspicious. Going to her local coffee shop would be like showing up at her doorstep. I couldn’t crash her infertility support group or her yoga for pregnant women class. Obviously. I wished she took a language or knitting class or anything that would seem plausible for me to join. I kept thinking about what the two of us had in common. And then it hit me. She must be as curious about me as I’ve been about her all this time. She would want to learn as much about me as possible, given the fact that the baby would have my genes. Girls on the online forum who’d done an open egg donation complained about all the questions prospective parents asked them—health, habits, interests, tastes, you name it. I was sure Lana had to be just as desperate to know all that but had chosen the safety of anonymity over the comfort of knowledge.
The coincidence example Tyler had discussed in class was about meeting a long-lost friend at the train station. Both of them had their own independent reasons to be there. Which gave me the idea to create my own “chance meeting” on the subway. I gambled that if Lana were to see me, she’d follow me, the way I’d been following her for weeks. It was a long shot, but I had to take it. And so, the next day, an exceptionally warm day for May, I put on a bright pink dress—one that would attract attention—and went to wait for her at the subway platform two stops after hers. I knew what time she returned from work. I also knew that she always boarded the first car on the train so that she could exit right in front of the steps at her station.
“It was a piece of cake,” I told Josh when I saw him next. “You should have seen her, running across the street to my rescue after I pretended to fall. She was so sweet and nervous.”
Josh was shaking his head in disbelief but I ignored him.
“It was all going according to plan until I brought up the question of her boyfriend. I was getting ready to ask for his photo when she announced she was single. How’s that for a twist, eh?”
Josh frowned.
“It turned out Tyler had left her for that stupid TA I’d seen him with. Left her pregnant on top of it. Lana, of course, didn’t know who the woman was or anything. But I did. And I was bursting with anger while Lana went on and on, blaming herself. Can you imagine?” I said, and Josh nodded, scribbled something in his notebook. “So right then and there, I decided: if she wasn’t going to make him pay for what he’d done, I would be happy to do it for her.”
Josh looked up. “What are you planning to do?”
I smiled, took my time before I said, “I went to the Ombuds office earlier today and told this very sweet woman that I’ve been hooking up with my philosophy professor.”
“You did what?” Josh jolted back in his seat. I was prepared for his disapproval. But maybe it was plain old fear that had drained the color from his face. Josh Wozniak was worried that I would tell about our little dalliance.
I ignored him. “
I told her that after I ended the affair, he kind of lost it. So I asked her where I could file a complaint against him because he’s been creeping me out, waiting for me outside the dorms, showing up at my favorite coffee shop.”
Josh was staring at me aghast. “Why would you do that?” he asked finally. “He could lose his job over something that never happened.”
“Bullshit. They’ll just have a talk with him. Give him a warning and tell him to stay away from me.”
“You don’t know that.”
“Oh, c’mon. It’s not like I said he’d raped me or something.”
Josh winced. “You are claiming he’s stalking you, which is punishable by law.”
“Well, I haven’t filed a complaint yet, have I?” I said, angry with him for putting me in a position where I had to defend myself. “I’m thinking about it, though. Because, you know, someone has to make Tyler pay. For Lana and for our baby’s sake.”
“Our baby?”
“Well, yes. Now that Tyler is out of the picture and Lana and I are becoming friends . . .” I shrugged before I went on. “She’s carrying the baby, sure. But it came out of my egg. It has my genes. Plus, she’s choosing to hang out with me.”
Josh squinted at me like he didn’t believe me.
“We’re actually going to a club on Saturday. Celebrating Mother’s Day together. Can you believe it?”
“Katya, you can’t do that. Any of it. It’s crazy.”
I stared at him with my eyebrows cocked.
He clasped his hand to his mouth. “Sorry.” His neck was crimson. “I’m having a very hard time—”
I waved him away and with a victorious smile continued, “She must be feeling it, too. That special bond. I mean, we have this baby in common, whether we like it or not. It’s a thread that runs through both of our bodies. Think about it. A part of me is growing inside her. And I’m not talking about a kidney. I’m talking about an actual human being.”
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