Quality DNA

by Beth Martin

  When they reached the counter, Annette waved her device under the scanner. A receipt printed out with a friendly computer voice saying, “Please take a seat and a server will bring your order shortly.”

  After some searching, they were able to find a free table. As soon as they sat, a server came out with their food and drinks. “I’ve got two strawberry salads, a coffee, and a decaf cappuccino with extra foam.”

  “Decaf?” Irene asked, raising a brow.

  “Yes,” Annette said slowly, a cheshire grin spreading across her face. She took a small sip from her drink, then wiped off the spot of foam that clung to her nose. “I have news.”

  Irene looked at her expectantly.

  “I’m pregnant.”

  Irene’s eyes widened. “Annette? What the hell? How did you do that?”

  Annette sat back and frowned. “Well, Irene, when a man loves a woman very much, he gives her a special hug…”

  “Stop that,” Irene said. “You know what I mean.”

  “It wasn’t nearly as hard as I thought it would be,” she said, stuffing a forkful of salad in her mouth before continuing. “I cut out my implant, then earlier this month when I was ovulating, I went to that seedy club you recommended and met a man.”

  Irene couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “I wouldn’t have recommended that place if I knew you’d go there looking for a hook up. That place is dripping with venereal disease. Did you at least use some form of protection?”

  Annette raised her brows. “I’m pregnant, so… no.”

  Irene grasped her head in her hands. There were better, safer ways for a single woman to conceive.

  Annette let out a heavy sigh. “Oh, don’t give me that look. I swear I tried all the proper channels. I signed up for matching services, put out an add for a sperm donor, asked all my single male friends and coworkers for a donation. Hell, I even asked the intern. It got me nowhere.”

  “You removed your own implant?”

  Annette bit her lip. “Look, I set up an appointment to have my doctor do it, but since I didn’t have a father lined up, she refused.” She took another big bite of salad.

  Irene looked down at her untouched food. She couldn’t eat. “That’s because you have to do genetic counseling before getting pregnant. What if you and your one night stand are both carriers of CF or something like that?”

  Annette slammed her fork down, speaking through a mouthful of spinach leaves. “Can’t you just be happy for me? Because I’m happy. I want this baby. I made this baby happen.”

  Irene nodded. It was already done. Nothing she said now could change that. “I’m happy for you. Congratulations.” She picked at her salad with her fork before placing the utensil back on the table. “Was it really that difficult to find a donor a more legitimate way?”

  “Freaking impossible. Believe me, I did not enjoy digging this thing out myself.” Annette rolled up her sleeve to expose her upper arm. Halfway between her shoulder and elbow was an oozing scab centered on a large, inflamed red welt.

  “Oh my God, Annette. You need to have a doctor look at that.”

  “I will,” Annette said, rolling back down her sleeve, “when I go in to get the first scan of my baby. Believe me, if there were any other way, I would have done that. I had been looking for a baby daddy for over a year.”

  Irene looked down and sighed. “I think Jamie wants a baby.”

  “Oh, shit. Well, maybe you two will have better luck than I did.” Irene didn’t look up from her food. “Are you ready for a baby?” Annette asked.

  Irene shook her head. “No.” She glanced out the window and saw the first few raindrops fall. “She hasn’t outright brought it up yet.”

  “Maybe she won’t mention it for a while,” Annette said.

  two

  There was a pile of files on Irene’s desk. The occasional infraction of fathering too many children seemed to be becoming more frequent. She picked up the top folder and opened it. Don Young. He lived in Everette, which was just north of her office. A short drive through the rain might be relaxing.

  Irene stood next to the door where the overhang shielded her from the pouring rain. The generic brown brick building loomed behind her, rain dripping down the sides like each window was crying.

  She reached for her device in the front pocket of her slacks and said, “Summon car.” Within a minute, her old, silver electric car pulled up and stopped in front of the building. She tucked the file in her waistband. Pulling her coat up over her head in an attempt to keep her curls dry, she dashed through the rain and slipped into the driver's seat of her car. She placed the file in the seat next to her and spoke again into her device. “Take me to 617 Park Street, Everette.”

  The graphics on her device swirled before its computerized voice said, “Calculating directions.” She held it up to the dash of her car and after a second, the car and her device made a synchronized beep. “Traveling to six-one-seven Park Street, Everette.” The car merged onto the street and navigated down the road on its own through the driving rain.

  When she arrived at Don’s address, she grabbed her file and reached behind her for the umbrella in the back seat. 617 Park Street was a tall apartment complex. She walked quickly from the street side parking spot her car had found to the front entrance of the monolithic building.

  “Good afternoon,” the doorman greeted.

  Irene fought with her umbrella trying to close it. She stomped her feet on the mat to shed any extra water from her shoes before venturing farther into the nice lobby.

  “Hello. I’m Irene Crow, here to see Don Young in apartment twelve forty-nine.”

  “May I see your ID?” the doorman said.

  Irene gave him her device which displayed her picture and work ID for the Social Department. The doorman scanned the screen before handing it back. “The elevator will take you right up.”

  “Thank you,” she said before breezing past the front desk to the elevator bank. There were no up or down buttons to press since the elevators were completely automated. The doorman was the only access up and cameras at each floor would detect if there was anyone waiting to go down to the lobby.

  Irene stepped into the waiting elevator and the doors glided shut behind her. It swiftly took her to the twelfth floor. As she walked down the hall, her device instructed, “Apartment twelve forty-nine is ahead and to the left.” She found the correct door and gave a sharp knock.

  For a moment, no one answered. She knocked again. Right when she was about to knock a third time, the door opened.

  “Hello?” a groggy middle-aged man asked.

  “Don Young?” she asked.

  “Why? What do you want?”

  “I’m Irene Crow from the Social Department. I just need to ask you a few questions.”

  “If you must.” He held the door open to let Irene in.

  The features on his face along with the antiques decorating his apartment indicated his Chinese heritage. Even though the room was dark, she could see a clay soldier on display, along with an elegantly painted fan and framed calligraphy art. In the corner of the living room sat an expensive-looking stringed instrument. Irene opened her file to confirm Don’s profession. He was a concert cellist.

  “Lights on.” With his command, the lights in the room began to glow, their brightness increasing slowly as to not hurt the eyes. The living room behind them could have been a museum of Chinese culture. “I apologize, I’m somewhat of a night owl.” He wore a terry robe and looked tired like he had just gotten out of bed. “My current concert series at the Seattle Theater has me on kind of a late schedule.”

  Irene should have recognized his name: D. Young. She had one of his albums of cello solos on her device.

  “Thank you for having me,” she said. “I only have a few questions for you and then I can get out of your hair.”

  “Of course,” he said, settling into a black leather recliner in the living room. “Ask away.”

  “Do you have any chi
ldren, Mr. Young?”

  “I do,” he said. “My second wife wanted to have a baby. We had a little boy, Jia. When we divorced, she took him with her back to China.”

  She looked down at her file. Jia would be a teenager right now. “Jia is your only child that you’re aware of?”

  “Yes,” Don sighed. “I always wanted to be a dad, but my ex took that away from me when she took my son. I had the… the procedure done the day after we found out we, my ex and I, were having a boy.” He looked up at Irene, his eyes weary. “Why do you ask?”

  “You aren’t aware of fathering a child with a Miss…” she shuffled through the file briefly, “Linda Summers in San Francisco last spring?”

  Don shrugged. “I perform all over the world,” he said. “I’ve had women proposition me in several cities. Sometimes I use protection. Sometimes I don’t. But I had the procedure done, so I’m not trying to sow my seed or break any laws.” In her file, she also had a copy of his certificate of sterilization, a document which was public record.

  “Do you mind if I get a sample?” Irene asked. This part was always awkward and uncomfortable.

  “Is that really necessary?” he asked flatly.

  “If it comes back with no viable sperm, then I can close my investigation and we’re done.”

  “Fine,” he said.

  Irene pulled a sterile collection cup from her bag and handed it to Don. “I’ll wait here.” Don frowned, but dutifully disappeared to the bathroom to fill the cup.

  ··OOO··

  Jamie was past the point of disappointed. Irene never remembered important dates, holidays, or birthdays. Why should she expect today to be any different? She sighed as she shoved another chocolate candy into her mouth and bit down into the soft center. A quick glance at the clock confirmed it was late, past 11. There was nothing interesting on the evening news tonight. She should just go to bed.

  “Screen off,” she said as she tossed the half-eaten box of chocolates onto the sofa. The room was dark except for the soft flicker of candlelight. She went over to the dining table and blew out the two long, tapered candles which had already burned down to short stubs. Irene’s favorite take-out hamburger sat untouched on her plate, a card with a kitten saying, “You’re purrr-fect!” tucked underneath. Jamie took the card and tossed it into the trash on her way to the bedroom.

  She slipped off her silky robe and hung it back in the closet. Next, she removed her lacy panties and bra. She breathed a sigh of relief, finally free from the itchy lingerie. She put on a pair of comfy cotton briefs and a tank top to sleep in.

  The room felt cold and stuffy. The rain outside wasn’t coming down as hard now, so she opened the window to let some fresh air in. A damp cool breeze rushed into the room. Jamie smiled. Irene liked to sleep in a warm bedroom. She did not.

  She curled up under the comforter and tried to get some rest. She willed sleep to come, but it never did.

  The front door made a high creaking sound as it slowly opened. Shuffling noises came from the living room, followed by a whispered, “Damnit,” undoubtedly Irene realizing she forgot what day it was.

  Jamie held back tears as she listened to Irene quietly change into a sleep shirt before slipping into bed next to her.

  “You’re not going to say anything?” Jamie asked.

  “I thought you were already asleep.”

  “I’m too pissed to sleep.”

  “Sorry I forgot our anniversary,” Irene said as she tried to hug her.

  Jamie pulled away and sat up at the edge of the bed. Her long black hair formed a curtain over her back. “I just kind of expect you to forget these things. I’m used to it now. Your work has always come first. I don’t know why I thought this time would be any different.”

  “Please, Jamie. I’m sorry. You know how much I care about you.”

  Jamie shook her head. “You have a funny way of showing it.”

  “I don’t want to fight.”

  She turned to look at Irene. Her brown eyes glistened. “Am I just not important to you anymore?”

  Irene slid across the bed and hugged her wife from behind. “You’re the most important thing.” She tucked Jamie’s hair around her shoulder and kissed the base of her neck. “I love you.”

  Jamie pulled away, tears slipping from her eyes down her cheeks. “Do you? Do you really?”

  “Of course I do. I wish there was some way to prove it to you.”

  Jamie sat for a moment and remained silent, before saying, “I want to have a baby.”

  When they had first started dating, she made it no secret that she wanted to have a kid. Even though Irene wasn’t fond of children, she seemed amenable to the idea of having a baby one day. Now in her mid twenties, Jamie was the perfect age to have a healthy pregnancy. If Irene truly loved her like she said, she’d agree to raising a child together.

  “You mean now?”

  “Yes, now,” Jamie said in a huff. She wiped the tears from her face and turned away. She knew she was manipulating the situation to get what she wanted, but it was so hard to get Irene to talk about starting a family. “Maybe a baby would love me back.”

  Irene sighed. “You really think a baby would make you happy?”

  Jamie nodded vigorously, turning to face Irene.

  “Let’s do it,” Irene conceded. “Let’s have a baby.”

  Jamie smiled and kissed her. “Thank you.” She rolled back around to try to get to sleep. “Who should we ask to father our baby?”

  “Go to sleep,” Irene said.

  “How about that hispanic guy you work with? Arnold?”

  “Angel. And no. Go to sleep.”

  ··OOO··

  It was late, so the Social Department offices were quiet. Irene’s desk was amongst what they called the pen, the communal area where the desks dotted the floor with no barriers, walls, or dividers between them. The layout was supposed to encourage an air of teamwork, but right now, all Irene wanted was privacy. She flipped through the file one more time. This was a cold case. There were no new leads, so the file stayed in the cabinet collecting dust.

  “What are you doing with that?” Angel asked.

  Irene jumped. She didn’t want anyone to know she was looking at this particular file. Angel leaned against her desk, picking up her pen. He twirled it around his finger while casually examining the file she held with his brown eyes. Even though he was impeccably groomed, his black hair gelled in place and his beard meticulously trimmed, he wore sloppy clothes. Today, he had on an oversized gray t-shirt and ratty canvas pants.

  “Just, uh…” she closed the file quickly before stuffing it in the bottom drawer of her desk. “I was just checking to see if the original case workers missed anything. They didn’t.”

  “Okay,” Angel said, rolling his eyes. “I’m checking out for the night. Have a good weekend.”

  She watched him disappear around the corner before fishing the file back out of her desk. This case was useless. A law student had been selling sperm, an act which in itself was illegal. They found a promotion for his ‘first class genetics’ in a student newspaper, and one of the social workers responded to the ad in an attempt to shut his operation down.

  He had been careful not to do any of the sales transactions in person, instead mailing his product to hopeful customers. The sample the Social Department obtained had been frozen, and not carefully. Their lab had been unable to sequence the DNA in the sample, which meant it would also do nothing to help make a baby. In the end, his little business had been a low priority, and with no leads, it got filed away and forgotten.

  In a moment of weakness, Irene thought maybe she could find this man and get a fresh sample. Even if his business plan wasn’t well thought out, he still successfully got into law school. He wouldn’t make the worst father.

  She closed the file and brought it back to the cabinet of closed cases. It made a thud as it fell on top of the pile of other neglected case files.

  ··OOO··

&nbs
p; “Would you like something to drink, sweetheart?” Tom asked.

  “Just some water, please,” Annette said. She was the first to arrive at her parent’s apartment for their annual Easter dinner. It was so typical for Ray and Clara to be late.

  Annette sat back in the old tattered sofa, the same sofa that had been in this living room since she could remember. When she was little, their home had been sparsely decorated. But her mother, Gerry, had a new hobby: needlepoint. Little pillows with yarn depictions of kittens, puppies, flowers, and fruit bowls seemed to multiply with each visit. Pulling a lump out from behind her, Annette found the newest addition, a grid of four sheep on four differently colored backgrounds. She smirked at the silly pillow and set it on the seat next to her.

  Tom returned with a glass of water for Annette. Even though he was retired, he still wore dress slacks, a button up shirt, and a sweater vest every day. “Thank you, Dad,” she said.

  There was a knock on the door, followed by Gerry yelling, “Tom, get the door,” from the kitchen.

  “Raymond. Clara. So good to see you two,” Tom opened the door wide to let them in. He gave them both a hug as they shuffled inside the spacious apartment. “Can I get you two anything to drink?”

  “I’ll have a beer,” Ray said. Annette’s brother had the same brown hair and hazel eyes as her, but their matching square jaws and thick eyebrows looked better on him.

  “No alcohol for me.” Clara bit her lip. She flashed a quick smile at Ray before telling Tom, “I’ll have some mineral water.”

  Tom laughed. “We’re not that fancy here. How ‘bout some water from the tap?”

  “Oh, tap water has too much fluoride. It isn’t good for the… me.” Clara now had an stupid smile on her face and when she glanced at Ray, he gave her a smirk back. They were both grinning like idiots. Something was up.

  Tom came back from the kitchen with a beer for Ray. “Well, we’ve got orange juice and milk. I’m afraid that’s it.”

  “Milk, please,” Clara said.

  “Why don’t you take a seat, honey,” Ray said, indicating Tom’s favorite recliner.