“Want some of my sandwich?” Scott offered. “You’ve got to have something more substantial than rabbit food. A steady diet of that can’t be good for your condition.”
“No thanks”, Megan replied weakly.
“Look here”, Scott said, pushing his plate aside and taking her hands. “I’ve been doing some research on your type of situation. Yes, you can go whole hog with the tests and experts and procedures, but there are simpler, less expensive alternatives. You just need some basic equipment—I’ve got the links right here—and a donor, who can be whomever you’d like. I’d be willing to be the donor, if you don’t have anyone else.”
“You?” Megan asked, looking at him wide-eyed.
After a moment’s silence, Scott cocked a mischievous eyebrow. “What’s the matter? Am I that poor a prospect?”
“No, no, it’s not that”, protested a flustered Megan. “It’s just that. . . you. . . I wouldn’t have dreamed of asking that of you.”
“Asking what?” countered Scott. “It’s not like donating is, ah, difficult.”
“That’s not what I meant”, Megan replied. “It’s more that. . . with Diane and me. . . and your baby. . .”
“That’s a question of perspective”, Scott said. “So far as I’m concerned, it would be your and Diane’s baby. I’d just make my small contribution and walk away.”
“I don’t know, Scott”, Megan said after a moment. “It’s very generous of you to offer, but—”
“Look, Megan”, Scott said, gripping her hands. “I consider you one of my best friends. Every couple of weeks you and I meet here and listen to each other’s problems. That’s helpful, but usually we can’t do anything more than just listen. I don’t know about you, but that sometimes frustrates me. I wish I could do more than just lend a sympathetic ear. This is an opportunity for me to help tangibly at hardly any cost to me. Please, at least seriously consider it.”
Megan gave a tremulous smile. “I will. I’ll talk it over with Diane.”
“Good”, Scott replied briskly. Megan squeezed his hands in return.
“And Scott, I really appreciate your concern. It means a lot—not just the offer, but the sympathetic ear.”
“Bah”, Scott said dismissively, waving his hand in slight embarrassment. “Anything for a friend.”
On the way back to the office, Scott looked up a few more things and made a phone call.
Early the next week the expected e-mail came in. Scott scanned the results with satisfaction, and a little relief. He printed it out and tucked it in his pocket. Not having heard back from Megan, he texted her.
“Lunch?”
The response took a while, but came. “Today?”
“Yes. 12:30?”
“Great. See you then.”
At the restaurant, Megan was looking a little less strained, but still tentative, when she sat down across from him. Again Scott dispensed with the niceties.
“For you”, Scott said, handing her the printout.
“What is it?” Megan asked, unfolding the sheet of codes and numbers.
“Test results”, Scott explained. “It occurred to me that one thing that might—and should—affect your consideration of my offer is the question of whether I’m carrying anything communicable. So I hopped down to the corner clinic for the full battery of tests. This”—he tapped the paper she was holding—“certifies that I am free of any pathogens that can be transmitted via bodily fluids.”
“Aw, Scott”, cooed Megan. “You shouldn’t have.”
“I know it’s not the only factor you’re considering, but it’s one less unknown. By the way, those are just the unofficial test results that they e-mailed to me. The certified results give the same information, but I have to sign for them, and there’s an additional fee.”
“I’m sure this will be fine”, Megan replied, waving the printout and tucking it in her purse. “Speaking of fees, how much did all that testing cost?”
“Don’t worry about it”, Scott said, waving his hand. “How’s progress? What does Diane think of my offer?”
“We’ve been talking it over”, Megan explained. “And we discussed it with the fertility specialist. The specialist looked over the links you sent me and agreed that that was the proper equipment for at-home AI. She warned me that the results for at-home AI aren’t as reliable as professional AI, but if cost is a factor, it is at least worth a try. Oh, she also told us to get you to sign a legal waiver, which she sent to us.”
“No problem there”, Scott assured her. “What about Diane?”
Megan gave a little grimace. “I’m working on her. She’s not averse to the idea, and she definitely likes the lower cost. But she seems to be leery of the fact that I know you.”
“What?” Scott asked. “Anonymous sperm is somehow better?”
“I know”, giggled Megan. “That’s what I was wondering, though I didn’t put it to Diane like that. Diane kept asking questions about how I knew you and why I thought you might be offering to do this. I kept insisting that it was because you wanted to help, but she didn’t seem to hear that. It was almost like she was jealous.”
“Jealous?” Scott was incredulous. “Of what? It’s not like I’m even going to be touching you.”
“It doesn’t make any sense, but Diane can be that way”, Megan responded. “I asked her if she knew any guys who’d volunteer, but she didn’t. I assured her that you didn’t want any payment or favors, I told her you were gay, I told her about you and Greg, I told her that gay guys do this sort of thing all the time as favors to friends. That’s true, isn’t it?”
“I know that it happens”, Scott admitted. “I can’t say how common it is.”
“Good enough”, Megan said. “I think she’s softening, and she’s the one who wants the baby anyway. This”—she patted her purse where the printout was—“should help.”
They spent the rest of lunch chatting about trivialities. Scott was glad to see Megan less stressed. He was also in better spirits—which he knew he would need—as he headed back to his office. Just before leaving he’d gotten an e-mail that Kumar, his helper, had given notice this morning, and that meant another tense meeting with Brian sometime soon.
Later that evening he got a text message from Megan.
“Diane says OK.”
Chapter Two
Scott and Megan agreed on a suitable evening for him to come over. As he approached the address that Megan had sent him, he realized that he felt a little odd. He’d met Megan only at restaurants for meals, so this was his first visit to her condo. It felt strange to be coming for such an unusual reason. Also, he’d never met Diane and wasn’t sure how that would go.
Meeting Diane turned out not to be an issue. When he knocked at the door, Megan met him wearing an apron with her sleeves rolled up, clearly in the midst of kitchen work.
“Hi! Diane’s out shopping, and I’m preparing her a late supper. Hope you don’t mind.”
“No—not at all”, Scott replied.
“Okay, then”, Megan said, heading back toward the kitchen. “The kit we ordered is in the bathroom, along with some instructions from the fertility specialist. Let me know if you need anything.” Scott could hear sounds of chopping and rinsing.
“Okay”, Scott replied, sitting on his desire to make a quip about not needing any help. He looked around at the small but tidy apartment. It was clearly the abode of women—it was a little frilly but had the order and harmony that few men bothered with. Maybe it was the feng shui.
Scott stood by the door for a bit, listening to Megan bustle about the kitchen, and finally figured he was supposed to find his own way to the bathroom. He made his way down the hallway, passing a bedroom that was already done up as a nursery. It had pastel paint with little prints on the walls, a matching dresser and crib, and some stuffed animals lying about. Diane was clearly taking this baby thing very seriously. For some reason that made him feel a little creepy.
The bathroom was across the hall
from the main bedroom. There on the vanity was the kit with instructions, most of which had to do with Megan’s end of things, and the fertility specialist’s letter, which said a lot of the same things. His part was simple and straightforward.
On the way out, Scott stuck his head into the kitchen, where Megan was still busy. “Okay, you’re good”, he said.
“Thanks”, Megan replied. “Oh, there’s a form on the dining room table there for you to sign. Our lawyer drew it up. Apparently it’s boilerplate language for situations like this.”
“Okay”, Scott shrugged, locating the document. It was a standard legal form, all laid out in paragraphs and full of language he couldn’t understand. Megan had signed and dated the last page, and there was a place for him to sign as well.
“There you go”, Scott called. “If that’s all, I’m out of here.”
“Thanks again!” Megan called from the kitchen.
“Let me know how things turn out”, Scott said as he opened the door.
“Will do!” Megan replied.
It was a couple of weeks before Scott heard from Megan again. He was busy at work putting the finishing touches on a maintenance release of his company’s storage-virtualization software, but the project had given him lots of ideas for improvement. He wanted to organize his thoughts so he could present a solid case to Brian and Marcus. He was sure that with a concerted push they could pull off a major jump on the competition with an aggressively superior product.
He was pacing the halls, marshaling his thoughts and muttering to himself, when his phone chimed. It was Megan.
“Lunch?”
“Sure. Where?” Scott texted back.
She named one of the local Thai spots. He got there first and ordered her some pad thai, which he knew was her favorite. That proved fortunate, for when Megan arrived she was wearing a downcast expression.
“So,” Scott said, “what news?”
“No luck”, Megan said in a weak voice with a little shake of her head.
“This time”, Scott added. Megan looked up with a quizzical expression. “Hey, I know how this works. It’s an odds game, even done the usual way. I was figuring this would take at least a couple of tries.”
“You were?”
“Sure I was”, Scott assured her. “I mean, if it had worked right off, that would have been great. But I wasn’t so naïve as to assume that would happen.”
“And you’d. . . be willing to do it again?” Megan asked tentatively.
“I just said I would, didn’t I?” Scott replied. “You’re behaving like this is a huge deal. It’s not like you’re asking me to run a marathon. Just tell me when to show up again.”
“Really? Oh Scott!”
“Yeah, yeah. Now eat your pad thai.”
Scott’s next visit was on one of the many clammy evenings that occurred around the Bay Area in high summer. It was dark when he knocked on the door, and he wondered if Diane would be there this time. He guessed not, and he was right. Megan greeted him, her phone in hand, clearly in the middle of a text conversation. “Hi”, she said. “Let me take your jacket.”
He shrugged it off and looked about the room, again amazed by the tidiness. This looked like a home; his apartment looked like a locker room.
“So,” said Megan, settling back on the couch and returning to her texting, “you, ah. . .”
“Know the drill”, Scott completed for her.
“Know the drill”, Megan echoed. Scott headed back down the hall, disconcerted by something but unable to put his finger on what it might be.
When Scott came out, Megan was still texting away. “Well, there you go”, he said clumsily, not knowing what to say.
“Thanks”, Megan said, looking up with a smile. “Oh, there’s a letter for you to sign.”
“Another one?” Scott asked, puzzled. “I thought—”
“The last one was for last time, this is for this time”, Megan explained. “Better safe than sorry, the lawyer said, and Diane agreed.”
“Oh. All right”, Scott said, grumbling something about lawyers. He signed the paper and got his jacket. “Well. . . good night.”
“Good night. And thanks”, Megan said with a wave, not looking up from her phone.
Another few weeks passed by. Work was getting intense. Brian had been excited by the potential of Scott’s proposal, so Scott and Marcus had put their heads together to draw up a proof-of-concept project. That kept Scott late at the office most nights, and often when he was home he was buried in his laptop.
Scott hardly saw Greg at all. Sometimes when he got home late there would be debris on the counter indicating that Greg had come and gone again. Once or twice Greg staggered in during the wee hours and collapsed on the bed, too drunk or stoned to do anything. That was just as well—Scott was finding work too demanding to have to worry about relationships.
One day when his stomach was starting to remind him that lunchtime was approaching, he realized how long it had been since he’d met up with Megan. A quick glance at the calendar told him he was overdue for some news, so he texted her.
“Lunch?”
“Today?” came the response.
“Unless you ate?” Scott asked.
“No. Usual in 30m?”
Scott didn’t know how he could tell from a text exchange, but he strongly suspected that something was amiss. His suspicion was confirmed when he saw Megan come into the restaurant, head down, shoulders hunched. When she sat down, he saw that her eyes were rimmed with red and there were dark circles under them. Her whole carriage bespoke defeat.
“So. . . no soap?” Scott asked. Megan said nothing but shook her head, dropping her eyes to her lap.
“Well. . . okay”, Scott continued, wondering what to say to cheer his friend up. “Disappointing, certainly, but not the end of things. Strike two, I’d call it. We still have some time at bat.”
“Scott, I couldn’t ask that of you”, said Megan quietly. “You’ve already—”
“Look, we’ve already established that this is a trivial exertion for me, and one I’m happy to make”, Scott countered. “I think the problem is on your end. Not you personally, but your whole situation. I take it Diane isn’t handling this well?”
Again Megan shook her head. “She. . . she seems to be blaming me. Oh, she doesn’t say it plainly, but she keeps dropping hints about my trying harder, or how she wished she knew someone who loved her enough to give her a baby. I am trying, as hard as I can!” She slammed her hand on the table.
“Sure you are”, Scott assured her, taking her hand. “What does the fertility expert have to say?”
“She’s not certain”, Megan said. “She’s pretty sure we’re timing my cycles correctly, and there doesn’t seem to be anything abnormal about them. She suggested a full hormonal battery, but those are expensive.”
“For that matter, it could be me”, Scott admitted. “I’ve never had a fertility workup.”
Megan shrugged. “If everything’s biologically okay, then the specialist suggested that the most likely point of failure is the transfer.”
Just then the waitress arrived and they ordered their lunch, which gave Scott time to figure out what “the transfer” meant.
“You mean”, Scott asked in a quiet voice when they were alone again, “that there’s some kind of problem when you. . . put it up inside you?”
“The specialist doesn’t know, but that’s the first thing she suspects”, Megan said. “Other causes get more complicated and expensive to detect.”
Everything that Scott could think to say sounded either trite or patronizing, so he kept his mouth shut. Her head was still bowed, and she was quiet, but he saw a few tears drop into her lap.
“And. . . and”, Megan continued in a stuffy voice, “she’s under pressure at her work because contracts are down and she’s had to let people go.” Diane owned a small catering business. “So she doesn’t have the spare cash that she did. But somehow having a baby is supposed to make that
all better! She keeps hinting that I could help pay for the testing and professional AI and everything, while I can barely make ends meet as it is!”
“And aren’t babies kind of expensive?” Scott asked.
“Of course they are”, Megan confirmed. “Any reasonable person knows that, but Diane’s being anything but reasonable about this. A baby would brighten our days and make life worthwhile! I’m expected not only to bear the baby but to help pay the costs as well—on my salary!”
Scott could see that Megan was getting more worked up, so he tried to distract her by describing how things were going at his work, and the new ideas he had, and how the company wanted to explore them further. She didn’t even understand what storage virtualization was, but she was glad that things seemed to be going well. By the end of lunch she was sounding more like her cheerful self again, so Scott felt safe broaching the idea that had been percolating in the back of his mind. He didn’t know how she would take it. He was hoping it wouldn’t add more stress to an already-stressful situation, but he didn’t want to send her off without at least suggesting something.
When their dishes had been cleared away, Scott again reached over and took Megan’s hand. She looked at him, a little startled.
“Look, Megan, I consider you a good friend—one of the best I have”, Scott said earnestly. Megan rewarded him with a brilliant smile and gripped his hand in return.
“Thanks, Scott”, she answered. “Your support through all this has been tremendous.”
“Well, I’d like to keep it up, so hear what I have to say in light of our friendship”, Scott continued. “I only want to help you, and I’d never take advantage of you or use you.”
“I know you wouldn’t, Scott.”
“Keep that in mind, because I have a suggestion that could be open to serious misinterpretation. Promise that you trust me?” Scott said.
“I trust you, Scott”, Megan replied with a patient smile.
“Okay, then”, Scott said. Now that it came right down to the matter, it was more difficult to suggest than he’d anticipated. “One place the problem could be is in the transfer, right?”
If You Can Get It Page 24