If You Can Get It

by Brendan Hodge

“That’s the specialist’s first suggestion”, Megan confirmed.

  “Then maybe we could reduce that element of uncertainty by streamlining the process—making it more efficient”, Scott explained. Megan’s eyes narrowed in puzzlement. “I’m not saying this very well. Maybe, instead of your having to transfer the, ah, goods to where they’re needed, I could just put them there in the first place. Direct deposit, so to speak.”

  Scott’s cheeks were burning. He hadn’t realized how embarrassing it would be to suggest that. Megan’s expression was hard to decipher, but at least she wasn’t shocked or sobbing or screaming, and she was still holding his hand.

  “You mean”, she asked in a near whisper, “we should. . . try the insemination without the artificial?”

  “Yes, that’s what I mean”, Scott answered. “I mean. . . we could, if you wanted to.”

  Megan dropped her eyes to her lap, her expression still unreadable, though she still held his hand. After a minute’s tense silence, Scott felt he had to say something.

  “It’s only an idea. If you don’t like it, we can just forget it. Please don’t think I’m trying to—”

  “Scott,” Megan interrupted, looking up and squeezing his hand, “I don’t think you’re trying to do anything but help. Thank you for having the courage to overcome your embarrassment and make the offer.”

  Well. . . Scott hadn’t been expecting that.

  “Truthfully,” Megan continued, “I’d already thought of that. It was the first thing that sprang into my mind when the specialist said where she thought the problem might be. I knew I could never suggest it, because. . .” She trailed off.

  “Why? Because I’m gay?” Scott asked. “Megan, that’s what makes it easier. I am what I am, you are what you are, so there’s no risk of anything going further. It doesn’t have to mean anything.”

  “Scott, it’s sex”, Megan replied. “It always means something.”

  “Well. . . maybe.” Scott was puzzled by Megan’s comment but decided to leave it. “If so, it can mean what we want it to mean, right? The way I look at it, it’s just a slight variation on what we’re already doing. Think of it as. . . as a precisely targeted sperm donation. It might help, or it might not, but it’s worth a try. If you want to, that is.”

  “It’s tempting”, Megan admitted. “But I don’t think Diane. . .”

  “She doesn’t have to know. Nobody has to know! You just tell her that we’re going to give it one more try. You won’t even be lying, because as far as I’m concerned, that’s all I’m doing. You don’t have to give her all the details. She doesn’t need to know that we’ll be a little closer together and doing without some of the paraphernalia. It’s not like she’s around when I come, anyway.”

  “That’s true”, Megan admitted.

  “Look, I don’t want to sound like I’m trying to talk you into this”, Scott said. “It’s totally up to you. We could try again the way we’ve been doing it. We could try what I’m offering. You could drop the whole idea and look into adopting. Whatever you want to do is fine by me. I just want to help as much as I can to try to take some of the pressure off you, because I hate to see you miserable.”

  This got him another sunny smile and hand squeeze. “Thanks, Scott. I don’t know. . . it’s a lot to consider.”

  “And there’s no reason you have to decide right now”, Scott reminded her. “Take your time, think about it, let me know. I’m good with whatever you decide, so don’t worry about me.”

  “Okay, I’ll consider it and be back in touch. And—oh heavens, look at the time! I’ve got to be going!” Megan started fishing in her purse, but Scott waved her off.

  “Go, go. I’ll settle up.”

  “Thanks.” Megan swept her purse onto her shoulder and stood to go but then stopped behind her chair and looked at him. “Seriously, Scott, thank you for lunch, for being a thoughtful friend—and for the strangest conversation I’ve ever had.”

  Scott chuckled all the way back to the office on that. He was glad to see Megan in good spirits again.

  A couple of days later Scott’s phone rang. He saw it was Megan, which surprised him—she almost always texted. Guessing it would be about the sensitive topic, he stepped from his cube into an empty conference room and closed the door.

  “Megan?” he answered.

  “Hi”, Megan said shyly.

  “What news?” Scott asked.

  “Well. . .” Megan drew a breath. “I’ve decided to take you up on it. I talked it over with Diane, and she’s agreed to let us try one more time. I’m going to be taking my temperature and working with the specialist to time my cycle just right. I’ll let you know the right date.”

  Scott made a mental note to look up what she meant about the temperature. “Okay. You’ll want to order another one of those kits. We want to make this look as legit as possible.” The AI stuff came in little twin-pack kits that Megan ordered online.

  “Right”, said Megan. “I’ll be back in touch. Got to go!”

  That night Scott again found himself in the house with the rice-paper walls. As always, he was wandering through the rooms, appreciating the neatness and order, relishing the delicacy of the images on the walls. But for some reason, the patterns seemed dimmer this time, the colors not as vibrant. From time to time the walls seemed to shiver—not severely, just a light rattle.

  Wondering what could be causing this, he wandered outside. In the western sky he could see building a great, dark storm line of the type that used to sweep over his town when he was growing up. In the spring and summer the storms would form over the farmlands to the west and come crashing eastward toward the lake with amazing speed and overwhelming force. They were terrifying and mesmerizing at the same time, and when Scott was young he used to stay outside to watch them come on for as long as his mother would allow. Once he’d even seen a tornado start forming!

  Now, in his dream, he was going to get to see it again. He felt the adrenaline rush of excitement and fear, and saw the leaves of the surrounding trees hushing and ruffling in the fitful gusts that preceded the main storm. He watched, enchanted, as the towering line of dark clouds loomed closer overhead. There! He caught a flash of lightning lace up the front of the cloud line. There went another! The low rumble of thunder rippled through the air, and the tall trees all around were waving and bending in earnest as the wind grew to a steady roar. Great raindrops were falling now, swept nearly horizontal, and the lightning was flashing constantly. Somewhere, barely audible above the howling, he heard the sharp crack of some great branch giving way and crashing to the ground before the onslaught. The tempest was still building, and above the booming thunder he heard the crack of another branch.

  Scott glanced up to see if he was in any danger from falling limbs. He was in a clear spot, but he saw that the house was overhung with branches—great, low-hanging branches that were rocking and twisting dangerously just above the frail house. There was a loud boom as lightning struck nearby, and now Scott was truly afraid. He wanted to run inside, back to shelter, but the big branches were swaying constantly now, their leaves whipped by the savage wind.

  Crack! One branch above the house finally gave way, twisting as it fell in an avalanche of leaves. It barely missed the front of the house, and Scott could see where some of the limbs had clipped the corner, tearing into the paper. His hands flew to his mouth as, with another ripping crack, a huge branch, almost half a tree, tore away from its trunk and dropped onto the back of the house, smashing in the rear half.

  “Noooo!” Scott screamed into the raging wind, but his cry was blown away as the branches writhed and slashed in the gale. He watched in horror as one branch that overhung the center of the house began to twist and splinter, swaying dangerously low over the roof. No! Not his beautiful house!

  Then another bolt of lightning struck near, and the boom of thunder awakened Scott. He lay staring into the dark, his heart hammering.

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