A Proper Young Lady (8 page)

Whoa! That’s what you mean by transvaginal ultrasound?
My free hand clutches the side of the table. Muscles in my legs and back tense. 

The procedure doesn’t hurt, but it never ends. Like some Chinese water torture, the discomfort wraps around my head and squeezes till the tears flow.

The ultrasound technician hands me a clean towel. “Once you’re dressed, open the door, and I’ll take you to see to a nurse about your injections.”

Yeah. Shots. Wonderful.
I hop down off the examining table and wipe away the remaining goo from between my legs. I take my time getting dressed again. 

Dani and a nurse are waiting in a room down the hallway. After giving me an injection pen and a college-level course on sticking myself with the thing, the nurse sends Dani and me to Dr. Pierson’s office.

The doctor does her grandmother impression again—all smiles and soft words. “Congratulations, young ladies. The ultrasound found nothing remarkable.” 

“I’m fine? So, what’s the next step?”

“If all goes well, we’ll retrieve your eggs on the day of Danièle’s surgeries. By then we should have prepared the donor sperm for IVF. Five days after we fertilize the eggs, we’ll implant an embryo into your womb.”

Dani places a hand on mine. I grin back at her.

Yeah, girl. I keep my promises.

Chapter 9

Danièle

Each day Melanie’s cheerfulness brightens, even as I grow more apprehensive about my surgery. Nine shots, four ultrasounds, and four blood draws—nothing dampens her mood. She bounces up and down, eager to be on her way, while I dawdle with makeup and hair. 

We sign in at the waiting area a few minutes early, but like every other doctor’s office on the planet, appointments run late. Eventually, the nurse comes for Melanie, for her final transvaginal ultrasound.

I pick up the fashion magazine she was studying. All I’ve seen Melanie wear are blue jeans, T-shirts, and a few old blouses. None of her clothes will meet my mother’s standards. Will Melanie be insulted when Mum insists on a new wardrobe?

A few minutes later, the receptionist asks me to see Dr. Pierson in her office. When I arrive, the doctor opens a folder and pushes several sheets of paper across her desk. “These are releases for your procedures on Monday.”

I skim the medical and legal jargon on the forms. Would even Randy understand the implications? He’d remind me that a contract is an agreement to not trust someone. In that case, why would I sign anything I don’t understand? But I do and pass the forms back across the desk.

All but one. I hold in my hands the death warrant for my clitoris—the focal point of the medical establishment’s obsession with intersex. Do I give in to a lifetime of pressure to conform? 

I like my body the way it is. Ethan insists he’ll accept me. Who else has any say in the matter? “I’ve decided against the clitoral surgery.” Tearing the release into two strips brings a smile to my face. 

Dr. Pierson retrieves some additional papers from the folder, but sets them on the desk in front of her. “Your uncle provided me with a copy of the Preplanned Adoption Agreement. I assume you understand and agree to its provisions. Do I need to explain anything?”

“No. I’m satisfied with the terms.” Not that I understand them.

The doctor rises from her seat and closes the door. “I first met your mother—and Melanie’s—when they were in grade school and I was a resident at Childrens Hospital. I consider them both good friends.” 

Weariness shadows her features as she resumes her seat. “Laura insists this surrogacy will be good for her daughter. I still have serious reservations.”

“Melanie will have permanent visitation rights.”

“Yes, but that may mean she never lets go of the child.”

Why should she have to?
“I’ll speak with her about it, but no promises.” 

Dr. Pierson’s gentle frown emphasizes her concern. “All right.”

After a moment, she leafs through the papers on her desk. “How long have you known Ethan?”

“About a year.”

“Has he been taking steroids?”

“I don’t think so. Why?”

“There are no viable sperm in his semen, and nothing in his medical history to indicate why.”

My heart breaks for Ethan. How many times have I heard of someone melting down after they discover they’re intersex? Ethan’s not, of course; I’m certain of that. But even temporary infertility hits people hard. “I need to call him.”

Dr. Pierson nods, so I step into the hallway and pull out my cell. I bring up my fiancé’s number, but hesitate before connecting.
This isn’t something you tell a person over the phone.
 

A joyful eagerness flows from Ethan’s voice whenever he speaks of us having children. His children.
Will he accept a baby that’s not his?
I drop my phone into my purse and wander down the hallway to the waiting area. 

Melanie sits in a chair, studying the same magazine as before. When she looks up, her eyes meet mine. A tender smile follows.

Canceling the surrogacy would crush her.
I’d rather lose Ethan than hurt you again.
I turn around and walk back toward Dr. Pierson’s office. 

Ethan insists that my intersex doesn’t matter to him. He might well accept my fathering a child. Especially if Melanie’s already pregnant.

Yet something desperate whispers a warning—a woman fathering a child—the very idea goes against nature. 

Why haven’t I the same right to parenthood as anyone else? Simply because my body doesn’t fit our culture’s binary idea of sex?
My desire for a child—a child with Melanie—swells, pushing away any lingering uncertainty. The risk no longer matters. 

Ethan will have to know.

Heart pounding, I make my way back to Dr. Pierson’s office and take my seat again. “Let’s proceed with the surrogacy using my—my gonadal biopsies.” So much for the proper young lady bit. “I’d like to wait for the appropriate time to tell Ethan and Melanie—not that I’m sure when that will be.” 

Fear and the hint of remorse drift through my conscience.
How will I ever tell them?
 

“Very well. I’m obligated to notify Ethan of his azoospermia, but the contract makes paternity entirely your decision. I would remind you that AIS is X-linked recessive.”

Yes. If we have a female child, she’ll get my affected X chromosome, making her a carrier for PAIS. “We’ll love our baby regardless. What’s next?”

“Surgery on Monday as planned. We’ll take biopsies and see what we find.”

Someone knocks on the door. Melanie pokes her head into the office. “The nurse said to come here.” She takes her usual seat.

Dr. Pierson brings up a series of ultrasound images on her monitor. When she turns our way again, a grandmother’s kindness shines from her face. “Everything looks fine. Drop by tomorrow evening for your trigger shot.”

With a squeal, Melanie jumps up out of her chair.

Yes. Worth every last penny.

Finished for the day, Melanie and I burst outside. Melanie grabs my hand and rushes toward the station. A moment after we board the train, an afternoon shower breaks over us.

Melanie grins at me as though rain brings true happiness. “We should celebrate.”

“What do you have in mind?”

“I haven’t been to Dadeland in forever.”

“Let’s go, then.”
Perhaps I can talk you into some new clothes.
 

“Now?”

“Yes.”

Bright sunshine and puddles greet us outside the Dadeland North Metrorail Station. We stroll hand-in-hand down the path, across the street, and under the covered walkways to the mall.

I slow as we approach the entrance. Sweet memories of childhood bring a glow to my face.

How many times did Mum bring me here when I was a little girl? I was so certain then of who I was.

Melanie drags me straight to the food court. As usual, we talked most of the night and missed breakfast. I gorge on a burger, onion rings, and a chocolate shake. Most unladylike.

Melanie sucks the grease from her fingertips. “You up for a movie?”

“Sure. Can we find you a purse before we go?”

Melanie’s eyes flick to her tote and back to me. “Oh. Yeah. Guess I should buy one, huh?”

“Won’t hurt to look.” Unless I intervene, what Mum will see when Melanie arrives is a wild-haired waif. That impression might discolor their relationship for months.

Melanie rifles through fifty purses before settling on an inexpensive faux leather bag. Adequate, but not fashionable.

I take a deep breath and blow it out through my lips. “Mind if we check another shop before you purchase one?”

Back in the waiting area, Melanie ran her fingertips over the photo of a shoulder bag in a fashion magazine ad. The store lies near the end of the mall.

I grab Melanie’s hand and lead her to the entrance. She stops there and shakes her head. “I can’t afford anything in this place.”

Mum and Daddy ignore prices on any item less expensive than an automobile. I was taught to weigh the value of my time against whatever I might save by an extended search. “Trust me?”

“Well, yeah.” She nods, but her eyes hold doubt.

I find the purse from the ad—an embroidered forest green suede with oversized buckles and a wide leather strap. Mongolian lamb trim adds a warm and feminine touch. Mum would approve. 

Melanie waves her hands and backs away. “No way. You know what that thing costs?”

“I missed five years of Christmas gifts and birthdays presents. Let me do this.”

Emerald eyes search my face, hesitant to believe.

“At least consider it. Please?”

Her tender eyes search mine before she agrees.

I stand behind Melanie as she adjusts the strap. In the mirror, wonder spreads across her face. I wrap my arms around her waist and grin at her reflection. “Worth every last penny to see you smile.”

When she turns around, my hand strays to the locket at her throat. I brush a fingertip across the silver heart. “I wish I’d kept—I’m sorry.” 

Tears break free and run down Melanie’s cheeks. She slinks her arms around my waist and kisses me. On the lips. After a long embrace, she releases her grip and stumbles backwards, eyes wide. “Whoa. Sorry. I didn’t mean to, you know. I’m not into girls.”

My arms tremble in protest at the loss of her body against mine. Disappointment struggles to displace an unexpected joy. “I’m glad you like the purse.”

With a shaking hand, I give my debit card to the cashier.

On the way out, I talk Melanie into a new dress as well.

Melanie

Monday morning arrives way too early. I slap my stupid alarm clock and pull away from Dani. She moaned on and off all night, like some little kid who lost her mommy. For a moment, I consider letting her sleep through her appointment.

What kind of friend lets somebody cut off body parts?

Me, I guess.

I shake the girl awake, point her toward the bathroom, and remind her not to eat or drink anything.

My hand goes to the locket Dani gave me so long ago. Does Ethan appreciate what all his fiancée is doing for him?

After I get dressed, I check on the girl, only to find her staring at her reflection in the bathroom mirror. She mumbles something about the circus. The nurse gave her meds to take the night before surgery. She said the pill would calm her nerves.
Well, yeah. Guess so.
 

I grab her bathrobe and help her get dressed. “You don’t have to do this, you know.”

“No freaks.” She stumbles into the bedroom, picks up her handbag, and dumps its contents on the floor. “No boy with breasts. No girl with a big clitoris and a little vagina.”

From the pile she hands me an envelope. “Tell my parents I love them.” She shakes her finger under my nose. “No freaks.”

The envelope contains a medical power of attorney and a note.
In case something goes wrong with my surgery.
 

I stuff the papers into my bag and kneel to gather everything else into Dani’s purse.

Mom parks the car and walks with us to the front entrance of the clinic. “You sure you don’t want me to stay with you? I can take off work, you know.”

“Thanks. No. We’ll be okay.” Dani’s hand is crushing mine. I kiss my mother goodbye.

Disappointment flashes in her eyes. As she turns to go, I grab her elbow. “No. Wait. I want you beside me when I wake up.”

Her face brightens, and she hugs me. “Sure.”

The nurse checks me and Dani in, hands us gowns, and leads us to a patient room. I check my wristband again—Melanie Rose Fairbairn.
Good. I don’t need them removing any of my body parts. A few eggs maybe, but that’s all.
 

Still in her robe, Dani plops down on one of the beds. She lies there and plays with her wristband. A glance at my watch tells me the doctor will arrive any moment, so I hand her one of the gowns. “You can still back out.”

Dani gazes up at me, eyes hollow. “Please stop. I need your help to get through this.”

Shake her, slap her, scream—would anything work? I clench my teeth and turn my head away. “Time to put on your gown then,
Miss Danièle
.” 

The girl stands and hugs me. “Thanks for being here.” As she strips down to nothing, her motions slow, like some wind-up toy running out of energy. A tear runs down one cheek.

Naked, she looks like a marble statue of some Nordic princess. Well, except between her legs rests her little post—that thing so offensive to the world—shaped like a clitoris, but more than an inch long. 

You’re gorgeous. Why do you wanna screw up your body with surgery?
I bite my lip to keep from swearing at her, and help her put on the hospital gown. 

Dani flinches when somebody taps on the door post. A nurse walks in. “Miss Welles, if you’ll lie down, I’ll put in your IV line.”

A tremor runs through her, but Dani lies on the bed and stretches out her arm. I perch beside the girl and grab her other hand. Slow-motion terror flows out of her eyes. Neither of us blink till the nurse finishes.