Prodigal Son (28 page)

He strode toward her, perfect as always in a soft-looking black V-neck sweater and dark denim jeans.

“Hi,” she said.

“Hi. Did you sleep okay?”

She wrinkled her nose to indicate it hadn’t been a great night, then stepped back to allow him to enter her apartment. He brushed past her, trailing the warm scent of sandalwood.

“This is new.”

She joined him in her living room, where he was running his hand over the aged oak marquetry of her new French armoire. She’d bought it on the weekend, more for something to do than because she needed another piece of large furniture in her already full apartment.

“Genuine?” he asked.

“God, I hope so, after what I paid,” she said. She smoothed her hands down the sides of her jeans. “Would you like a coffee? I thought we could go over the procedure again before we hit the road, so we’re both familiar with everything….”

“Sure.”

He followed her into the kitchen and leaned a hip against the counter while she ground beans and warmed up her coffee machine.

“And you say you can’t cook.”

She forced a smile. God, why was she so nervous? She felt sick with it. As though all her internal organs were vibrating with anxiety.

“Love my coffee. It’s my one vice. No, that’s not true, I have two vices—coffee and antiques. Which is pretty funny, really, because when I graduated from law school and got my first decent paycheck, all I wanted was new everything. Shiny, spanking-new stuff with the price tags still attached. As for the coffee thing, I can hardly boil an egg without close supervision, but for some reason I have all the patience and skill in the world for coffee.”

She was talking too fast. She forced herself to concentrate on the small task of spooning coffee into the basket and tamping it firmly.

“Espresso? Latte? Cappuccino?” she asked without looking up.

“Espresso, thanks.”

She nodded. Just as well he hadn’t asked for a cappuccino—she didn’t trust herself with the steaming wand right now.

“There we go,” she said a minute later, sliding his coffee across the counter toward him.

“Smells fantastic.”

“Yep. Nothing like the smell of fresh coffee.” She took a deep breath. “So, shall we sit and have a last look at the stuff the clinic sent?”

He gestured for her to precede him into the living room and they sank onto a couch each, facing each other across her coffee table.

She slid the pile of papers and magazines toward herself and sorted through them until she’d found the two copies of the outline of the procedure the clinic had provided. She slid one across the table toward Ethan and started reviewing her own, even though she’d read it a dozen times already.

Once she got to the clinic, she would be taken into a treatment room and readied for the procedure. She’d be dressed in a hospital gown and placed in stirrups, and a soft plastic catheter would be introduced into her vagina to deliver the sperm directly to her uterus through her cervix. Ethan, meanwhile, would be handed a cup and left alone to produce a sample of semen. His semen would then be taken away and “washed” in the laboratory to remove any dead sperm and harmful chemicals that might interfere with the process of conception. Once the most active and motile sperm had been selected, they would be introduced to her uterus via the catheter. After a few minutes’ rest, she and Ethan would then leave the clinic. In total, the whole thing would take under an hour, and in two weeks’ time they could perform their first pregnancy test.

She glanced at Ethan and saw that he was frowning as he read.

“Is there something wrong?” she asked.

“No.”

She wasn’t sure if he was covering or not. “If there’s a problem, we should probably talk about it.”

“No problem. I guess it’s just hit me that we’re really doing this.”

“Yes.”

She dropped her gaze to the magazines stacked beneath her other paperwork. They’d seemed like a good idea last night. But maybe he’d already covered that end of things.

For Pete’s sake, now is hardly the time to be squeamish. Offer him the magazines, and if he doesn’t want them, it’s no big deal.

“Listen. I didn’t know what you wanted to do about… I thought the clinic might have some stuff, but I wasn’t sure. Anyway, I bought these for you last night. I wasn’t sure what you liked, so I got you a little bit of everything….”

She slid the magazines from beneath the other papers and pushed them across the table toward him. Ethan glanced at the cover of
Playboy,
his expression completely unreadable.

“There’s a
Hustler
there, too, and another one with cars and women with big— Well, like I said. I wasn’t sure what you were into.”

There was a smile playing around Ethan’s mouth when she finally rallied the courage to look at him. “You’re laughing at me, aren’t you? I knew the magazines were a bad idea.”

“They’re a very thoughtful gift. But I think I can manage on my own.”

She could feel herself blushing but she was determined to cover this issue. “You’re not worried about…performing on demand?”

“I think I’ve had enough practice to get it right,” he said, very dry.

“Right. Still, it’s not exactly an ideal situation, is it?”

“For you, either. No wine and roses or soft music in the treatment room.”

“No.”

Instead, there would be a hospital gown that didn’t close properly at the back and people with surgical masks on their faces and the smell of antiseptic and her legs in stirrups. The conception of her child would be a medical event, not the act of love and intimacy Alex had always imagined. There would be no lying in her lover’s arms afterward, imagining the baby that might result. There would only be Ethan sitting in the waiting room. And while that was a hell of a lot more than she’d hoped for at the beginning of this process, it was still a far cry from how she’d dreamed of having her child.

She’d been shortchanged so many things in life. A father. A mother, in many respects. She felt as though she’d been fighting and making compromises from the moment she was born. And now there was this, the ultimate compromise. The making of a child without love or passion or even physical gratification.

So what? You’re just going to have to suck it up. The way you’ve always sucked it up. Do you want this or not? Do you?

She squeezed her eyes shut, fighting both the tears and the understanding rising inside her.

“Alex.” The couch depressed beside her as Ethan joined her. “Talk to me. What’s going on?”

She sucked in a breath but it was hard to get it past the words choking her throat. “I don’t think I can do this.”

The moment the words were out of her mouth she felt both enormous relief and terrible grief. How long had she been hiding this truth from herself? Weeks? Days? She’d been so determined to steamroller her way over everything, including her own qualms and concerns. So determined not to miss out, at any cost.

She’d allowed herself to be seduced into a false sense of intimacy and togetherness with Ethan. She’d shared her thoughts and feelings with him and made jokes about him having to get a new car and watched him with his nephews and allowed herself to believe that when she had her baby it wouldn’t be
that
different from what she’d always wanted.

And she’d been wrong. So wrong and
stupid
and desperate.

She pressed a hand to her sternum and forced herself to look at Ethan. She’d started this journey. Offered him a chance he didn’t think he’d ever have. He’d stepped up to help her. And now she was reneging on her end of the bargain. Copping out.

“I’m so sorry. I thought I was okay, that I’d reconciled myself to doing it this way. But I… It’s so clinical. So…cold. If I’d tried to get pregnant the normal way and my partner and I wanted to exhaust all avenues this would feel like a godsend… But at the moment it feels like—”

“Giving up.”

She glanced at Ethan through swimming eyes. “Yes. I want to be a mother so much—but not like this. Maybe that means I don’t want it enough. I don’t know. I just know that this feels wrong.”

He reached for her tightly clasped hands. “It’s okay,” he said. He wrapped his hands around hers, the pressure warm and firm.

“No, it’s not. You came to me with this incredibly generous offer and now I’m wimping out and leaving you high and dry—”

“Alex, it’s okay. I was having second thoughts, too.”

She dashed the tears from her cheek with a fisted hand.

“You don’t have to say that to try to make me feel better. You’re allowed to be angry and disappointed. You can even yell at me if you think it would make you feel better. Hell, you could probably even sue me for breach of contract.”

“I’m not trying to make you feel better. I saw something last night that got me thinking, and reading over the procedure this morning… I don’t know. Standing alone in a cubicle with an empty cup and a magazine isn’t the way I’ve always imagined becoming a father.”

Her gaze searched his face. “So it’s not just me, then? This feels wrong?”

“It’s not just you.” He squeezed her hands then released his grip. “In theory, this seemed like a solution. But I guess we’re both a little less hardheaded than we imagined.”

He was being honest. He felt the same way—this was one compromise too many. She could see it in his eyes, hear it in his voice.

“God.”

She put her head in her hands. She was relieved that he wasn’t angry, that she wasn’t alone in balking at the last hurdle. It would have been terrible if he’d felt ripped-off or misled or cheated.

But none of that stopped her from feeling disappointed. There would be no baby. The past few weeks of planning and discussions and excitement had been for nothing. At the end of the day, neither of them were…what? Ruthless enough? Determined enough? Whatever. Neither of them was prepared to sacrifice a part of themselves for the dream of being a parent. Having a child wasn’t an at-any-cost proposition, not for her or for him.

“I need to call the clinic,” she said after a moment. “Cancel everything.”

“I can do that, if you like.”

“No, I’ll do it. I started this thing.” She pushed herself to her feet and looked down at him. “I’m so sorry you got caught up in my baby crisis, Ethan. If I’d stuck to my original plan and used a sperm bank, the only one feeling like crap right now would be me.”

“We both went along for this ride. And you might have had second and third thoughts weeks ago if I hadn’t been here, cheering you on from the sidelines.”

He offered her the ghost of a smile. She leaned down impulsively and wrapped her arm around his neck, pressing her check against his in a one-armed but still fierce hug.

“You’re a good man. A good friend,” she said.

It was the first time she’d initiated contact between them. She was aware of the rasp of his beard against her face and the softness of his hair brushing against her fingers. His arms closed around her in response.

“You’re a good woman. And don’t worry—it’ll happen for you, Alex. Some lucky bastard will come along and realize you’re a woman in a million and it’ll all fall into place.”

She released him and after a second’s hesitation he followed suit.

“I don’t know if I should let myself believe in those kinds of happy-ever-afters. Maybe I should just start collecting cats,” she said.

“Alex—”

She held up a hand. “Yes, I know, I’m an attractive woman, I’ve still got time left, yada yada. I guess I’ll have to wait and see, won’t I, since seizing the day hasn’t really worked out for me.”

She pushed her hair away her forehead.

“Now, before I get out my violin, I’ll make that call.”

She stared out her kitchen window while she waited for the call to connect. It occurred to her that they’d both taken the day off for nothing. She smiled grimly. Right now, wasted leave time was the least of her worries.

The receptionist at the clinic didn’t sound surprised when Alex told her she wanted to cancel her appointment. Perhaps this happened all the time. Perhaps she was one of many desperate woman who found they didn’t have the stomach to take the pragmatic route to motherhood when push came to shove.

Ethan was browsing her CD collection when she came back. She stood in the doorway watching him unnoticed for a few seconds. He was a good friend. A really decent man. Now that she’d gotten to know him—really know him—she could see past his beautiful face to the man underneath. He would have made a great father. She found it hard to believe that he planned to spend the rest of his life alone. She hoped that whatever it was that was holding him back resolved itself for him. He deserved better.

He glanced up. “All done?”

“All done.”

There was a short silence, then he pulled a CD with a bright pink cover from her shelf.

“Cyndi Lauper. There’s a guilty secret.”

“Hands off Cyndi. She’s very retro cool.”

He raised his eyebrows. “That’s drawing a long bow.”

“Says the man with not one, not two, but
three
Barry White albums,” she said.

“They were a gag gift from my brother.”

“Sure they were.”

“Don’t get too high and mighty on me, lady-who-owns-Nana-Mouskouri’s-greatest-hits.”

He plucked the CD from her bookshelf with a gotcha flourish.

“Yeah, well. They were doing a retrospective on the radio. I got carried away—”

“At least you have the courage to admit your mistake,” he said sagely.

She opened her mouth to say something sassy back, but suddenly her throat and chest were aching and she knew tears were not far away.

She cleared her throat. “Listen, I’ve got a few things I need to take care of. Loose ends and whatnot. You know.”

“Right. I should go, then.”

Yes, please go. Before I blubber all over you. Before I lose it completely.

“If you don’t mind. I might as well make use of the day off to get something done.”

His expression was unreadable as he replaced her CDs on the shelves then collected his coat from the back of her couch. She followed him to the front door. Ten more seconds and he would be gone and she would be alone and it wouldn’t matter if she howled her eyes out.