by Lynn Galli
“Well, yeah, but he’s my blood.”
“And that’s important?” my idiot self asked. There was no mention of Jamie wanting to experience pregnancy. That would be a completely understandable argument. This was all about a blood tie to Glen.
“Of course!” She leaned into that one. “Blood is everything.”
“So if you’re not blood, you’re not family?”
“It’s the definition of family.” Glen was liking this superior stance she got to take.
“What about kids who are adopted? Are they not also family?” This was a particular hang-up of mine. I probably shouldn’t be letting my personal feelings on the subject affect this interview, but Glen’s superior attitude pressed the wrong button.
She sat back, a mixture of guilt and embarrassment overtook her expression. “Obviously, if someone adopts a child, he’d be family. I just wanted a kid that looked and acted like me.”
“Because you think it’s all genetics that dictates actions and looks?”
“Yes,” the former nurse spoke up when it became clear that her partner was getting flustered.
I let that settle over the table before deciding to push it one step farther. “My extended family is filled with biological and adopted kids. We all have similarities and differences in the way we act, and some of us look as if we’re siblings, not just cousins.”
“That’s what I’m saying,” Jamie spoke up for Glen again. Only she hadn’t said it, Glen had.
I considered how much I wanted to share, then pulled out my phone and found a photo to show them. “This is everyone together at my cousin’s wedding. Can you tell which of us are adopted?” They each took the phone and zoomed in on all the cousins before making wrong guesses. I pointed to the bride. “She and I could be twins, and she’s adopted. These two,” I pointed to my brother and my ranching cousin, “look most alike among the boys, but nothing like me. The three of us act most alike because we spent so much time around each other growing up. My brother’s adopted and our cousin’s biological. Our bloodlines may have accounted for some similarities, but they certainly didn’t prevent similarities, either.”
“Well, well…” Glen tried to come up with an argument that wouldn’t belittle my family nucleus but would prove her point that it was absolutely necessary that her offspring were biologically tied to her.
“I’m not saying one way is better than another.” I backed off after she got stuck on what else to say. It was hard to back down when I thought about all the kids who needed adoptive parents. How different my life would have been without my brother. How it took a situation like this to remind me that he was adopted because it never occurred to me otherwise. He was as much my brother as any other baby my mom could have had. “I’m just saying that choosing your brother as the sperm donor was an interesting choice.”
Curious, really. I could never get past how I’d explain my child’s parentage to anyone who didn’t know us. “My baby’s father? Oh, uh, he’s my brother.” It would need more explanation to deflect the immediate conclusion that most people would come to after that statement.
“He’s been very understanding,” Jamie inserted.
“We wanted our son to have a male role model in his life,” Glen added.
And the close uncle wouldn’t have been an appropriate enough male role model? He also had to be the father? “Will he be involved in decisions about the kid?” Who will one day become president if he can somehow make it through the intense scrutiny that comes with any campaign. Intense scrutiny that will include, among every mistake he’s ever made, finding out he has a father who is also a biological uncle.
“He’s not raising our son. He’s there for talks when our boy wants another man to talk to.”
Mm-hmm. And when the boy decides he hates both his mommies, because all kids get to that stage with their parents at some point, will he scream that he wants to live with his dad? If the boy decides he wants to become a ballet dancer instead of play football like his uncle daddy, will daddy stay quiet about that?
“Was this a casual arrangement, or do you have legal documents?”
Glen clamped a hand on Jamie’s arm to stop her from answering. “Why do you want to know? I thought this was supposed to be about how we met and fell in love.”
“It’s about your love story and much of it involves your child now.”
“What does it matter if there are legal documents?” Glen slanted a skeptical look at me. She was picking up on my opposing stance and didn’t appreciate it. Most likely she thought me selfish because I didn’t have kids of my own. Thought I lived a life without responsibility. That belief always made me laugh. I’d responsibly chosen not to inflict my bad parenting skills on some kid, and the planet had enough people without me adding to the population count.
I responded in my most informative, nonjudgmental tone, “Some states don’t recognize sperm donors unless the sperm is acquired from a facility and implanted by a medical professional.”
“We know he’s the sperm donor.” Glen shot me another pitying look. She really thought I was an idiot. A selfish, irresponsible idiot. “It doesn’t matter if the state recognizes him as one.”
As suspected, they hadn’t thought through all of the ramifications. My reporter’s training forced me to look at all sides of any situation. At most, people without the same kind of training thought all the way through their chosen path. Glen and Jamie wanted a biological child; they figured out how to accomplish that with someone they loved and trusted. Thought process ended. It may turn out that they didn’t need to look at any other angle of this multisided issue. I certainly hoped that would be the case for them, but it didn’t stop me from analyzing everything they might have missed. And the smug, pitying look on Glen’s face didn’t stop my mouth from voicing some of those concerns.
“If you’re in one of those states and something happens to one or both of you, your brother will be given all the same rights and responsibilities as any other father. He won’t be let out of those responsibilities just because you say he donated sperm only.”
Jamie fidgeted and gave a whimpering sigh this time. She was the one in the precarious position. Many things could go wrong in the future. They could get divorced, and with Gene being a known donor, he could insert his own parental rights at the custody hearing. All of a sudden, Glen, with Gene’s help, gets the kid two-thirds of the time. Or worse, if Glen’s eating and sleeping habits wreaked havoc on her health to the point that she dies prematurely, Jamie might find herself fighting a legal battle over the child’s custody if she ever tried to move on with her life and marry someone else. Those were just two problematic scenarios based on using a friend or family member as the sperm or egg donor. Find the right homophobic judge, and the biological mother might end up sharing equal custody with the sperm donor. Or the judge doesn’t have to be homophobic. He might have just gone through his own custody battle and understands the plight of a father who now wants to be part of his child’s life.
“I’ve read a few cases, that’s all. Not the norm, certainly,” I rushed to say because Jamie was looking more and more perplexed. With Glen’s career experience, she should have known to protect themselves with a contract. In some states that would be sufficient, but not all states.
“We won’t have to worry about anything, kiwi.” Glen turned Jamie’s face to focus on her. “Gene won’t ever be a problem.”
As long as you two stay together, possibly not, I wanted to tell Jamie. The law on this issue was way too fluid to predict all that could happen. Especially with known donors, which is why using a sperm bank can offer more protection.
“Of course, sorry,” I apologized because Jamie was getting upset. We’d gotten off track, even if they insisted on talking only about the baby and their family unit. “I’m just a worrier. You obviously have a close relationship with Gene.”
Jamie looked like she might vomit. Perhaps the closeness Glen talked about was all for show. Hopefully thi
s little chat would be good for her. She could institute some ground rules on how much influence Gene would have. Set the right boundaries from the start, and he might never be a problem, so long as they stayed together.
“Yeah, she’s a reporter.” Glen kissed Jamie’s cheek and patted her arm in sympathy. “Her whole job is following bad news.”
Yeah, bad news reporter, that’s me. “I think I have enough here. Thanks for sharing, and those baby pictures sure are cute.” Even if he looked exactly like the pictures of Cameron’s baby from yesterday. They could honestly be the same baby.
“You did a good job of scaring them off,” Lane said as she came up behind me and leaned down to scoop up the ticket book.
My eyes tracked their progress as they walked past the front window outside. I gave my own heavy sigh, which prompted Lane to drop into the seat next to me. “I’m a cynical doomsday bitch.”
Lane blinked twice and chuckled. “Doomsday?”
“That’s the word you have a problem with?”
“You are cynical, but I like that about you.”
“And bitchy, which you also like.”
She squeezed my shoulder. “It’s always good to have a friend that’s bitchier than you are.”
“For comparison purposes you mean?” I teased, and she gave me the same deadpan look she gives Iris whenever her friend says something cocky or lame.
“What’s with the doomsday?”
“They used one of their brothers as the sperm donor for their child—who’s a genius future president, by the way—and all I could think of is that if the brother wants to become a real dick, he could make their lives hell.”
Lane crinkled her brow. “I’m with you on the many complications they could face.”
“Let’s just hope it all works out. The kid could become the most well-adjusted, lovely human ever to live because he’s got two moms and a dad in his life.”
“Well, he is going to be president, so yeah, everything will be perfect.” Lane smirked and left to tend bar again.
“Vega,” Riley called out as she slapped my back in greeting. “I so guessed right last Wednesday.” She’d been bragging about her guesses on my articles for weeks now.
I thought for a second before a grin tightened my lips. “That’s because you introduced me to one of those couples.” Montana and Mac to be exact. I wasn’t sure if Riley might be eliminated from the contest because we were acquaintances, but I wouldn’t burst her bubble right now. The probability that she would be one of the finalists was slim. Many of her other guesses had been wrong. She wouldn’t have enough of a cumulative correct total to win.
“Like I said, got it right. Give me a bunch more of those, and I’m taking that trip.” Another back slap and she disappeared up the staircase to the game room where she practically lived. We’d played a few games together when her friends weren’t around. I liked her better without her friends, which probably made me even more of a bitch.
“You’re going to need a chiropractor if you keep hanging out with Riley,” Iris said as she took Lane’s vacated seat. She hadn’t been around when I started the interview. I wasn’t sure she was coming in tonight.
“If you wanted to have a baby, where would you get the sperm?”
She gave me a blank stare. “I can’t even give that a hypothetical answer. It’ll never happen.”
Once again, I marveled at how identical her view on a specific subject was to mine. “Just say, where are you getting the sperm?”
She continued to squint in confusion at me. “Are you trying to get me to say I’d pull a gun on some dude or something?”
I laughed and shoved at her shoulder. “No, I’m trying to see what you think of as the first option for getting sperm?”
“A sperm bank?” she responded like it was a trick question. “Isn’t that where the available sperm for purchase lives?”
I laughed again. “It does live there. All that sperm, and yet so many women go to their brothers.”
“Oh, ick. Now I get what you were looking for.” She glanced around and back at me. “Was that your story tonight?”
“Part of it. They wouldn’t stop talking about the baby as if he was their whole love story. He’s a genius, by the way.”
“What baby isn’t?” Iris joked. “Especially if it belongs to a lesbian.”
“I know, right?” I smiled at her. “What’re you up to tonight?”
“Stopped in to see if you were around. Want to hit a movie, or do you have to write tonight?” Her blue eyes sparkled and I knew something else was coming. “Or are you going on another date?”
“Another date?”
“Weren’t you on a date yesterday when we saw you?”
My mouth nudged ajar. “She doesn’t come into this bar, I didn’t tell anyone in the bar about it, how would you know?”
“You were sitting with a cute woman at a restaurant without your notebook. Odds were good you were on a date.” She studied me closely, more anticipation than I would expect to see.
“Another…blah. Dating bites.”
“Yeah it does.”
Not that she needed to worry about it. Her idea of dating was escorting someone home from the bar. “She was nice in the bike store.”
“Good pickup spot. What was her story?”
“She, like the couple tonight, kept showing me baby pictures. Only her kid is seventeen now, and she’s still clinging to the baby pictures and talking about how high he scored with development.”
“Is he headed to MIT or something?”
“More like serving burgers at the fast food joint down the street so he can ‘take a few years’ as his mother put it.”
She pulled in on her lips to keep from laughing. “Dating sucks. C’mon, let’s hit a movie.” She grabbed my arm, and I didn’t resist being yanked up and over to say goodnight to Lane. A movie would be just the thing to temper my critical eye tonight. A movie with a friend would be better than any date I’d had in months. Years actually.
36 |
The rain splattered against my window. On a Thursday morning. Everyone talked about the rain here, but it mostly rained late at night. Any rain during the day was more mist or sprinkles than rain. The downpours I’d been through in the Midwest could soak me in thirty seconds, causing many a train ride home in wet clothes. Nothing like that had happened here yet. Of course, it was still summer and, according to the locals, a dry summer. But it was raining today. On a Thursday when I was supposed to be playing tennis.
The phone buzzed with a text from Iris. My mood lightened when she suggested we get together anyway. Since I’d been living for our scheduled Thursday tennis as a reliable and fun break from writing and interviewing, I jumped at the chance to see her.
Fifteen minutes later, I was buzzing her into my place. “I’m so glad you still wanted to get together.”
A smile touched her lips. “Thursdays are my favorite, Vega.”
My ears heated, which almost never happened to me. I’d get embarrassed occasionally and feel my face flush. Generally, I could will it to stop. Only when something happened that I didn’t quite understand or couldn’t get a handle on did my ears heat. The lower lobes, inner canals, and space between my jaw and ears flashed almost to boiling.
I took stock. I didn’t feel confused about anything. Didn’t feel like something was too much to handle. It certainly couldn’t be that I was—no, absolutely not. Okay, yes, Iris was attractive. We’ve already established this. Hot and alluring and yes, sexy. But not for me. That couldn’t be what this was.
“Something wrong?” Her eyes wandered my face. I’d never checked to see if my ears got red when this happened. Surely, she would catch that.
“Nope. Everything’s fine.” Except my ears were on fire for some unexplained reason in the presence of someone sexy but not for me. “Coffee? I’ve got some banana bread that Helen made.”
“Yes, to both, thanks.” She took off her overcoat and joined me in the kitchen.
“Is this what winter’s going to be like around here?” I looked at the rain sprinkling against my windows.
“It’s a lot of overcast, gets pretty chilly, and yeah, rain.” She glanced at me, tentative. “Are you regretting the move?”
I tilted my head at her worried tone. “Chicago winters are brutal. This’ll be soggy but fine.”
“You learn not to let the rain keep you from doing things. If it rained in San Antonio, we’d have a bunch of indoor activities to tide us over. When it rains here, it really depends on how hard it rains. There are some days that staying inside is the only option. But days like today, throw on a jacket and do whatever you need to.”
“Except tennis,” I guessed.
“Well, yeah, the court would be too slick, but the walk we’re going to take won’t be an issue.”
“We’re taking a walk?” I smiled at what I thought was a joke.
“As soon as we have the coffee and banana bread.”
“In the rain?”
“It’s barely sprinkling. You don’t even need an umbrella. Throw on a hat or put up your jacket hood, and we’ll tour the campus.”
I gave her a disbelieving look. The difference between walking through rain when dashing from the car to the grocery store and walking in the rain for no reason at all was obvious to me. To a Seattleite, walking in the rain was a way of life. “For serious?”
“Has a U-Dub graduate taken you through campus yet?”
My eyes darted to the window where I could make out the tops of a few campus buildings in the distance. I’d walked the bike trail that traversed the lower parts of campus and over to the athletic fields, but I hadn’t really walked through the campus. “In the rain?”
“Get out of that mindset, darlin’. You’re going to learn to love it.”
“Let’s walk in the rain, yay.” I gave a little fist pump.
Once I got used to the constant feel of mist on my face, I had to admit I liked being wrong. Iris told me a story about almost every building on campus. I soaked it in, knowing the college was the reason she’d converted to being a Washingtonian. With cowboy boots, because she couldn’t give up everything about Texas.