First Comes Baby. Janice Johnson Kay
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to donate sperm, her most fertile time of the month had come and gone. So now she had a month to second-guess herself, suffer daily panic attacks and pray that he and Sheila didn’t change their minds. Laurel didn’t think they would, but that fear had to be part of those panic attacks that hit her unpredictably.
She’d be sitting on the Metro bus she took every morning to work at the downtown law firm, hip to hip with some old lady gripping her purse and shooting glares at everyone who walked down the aisle, or some guy in cornrows blasting rap from headphones and bobbing in time. She’d be minding her own business, looking out the window and seeing the cross streets pass, wishing she’d had time for a second cup of coffee. She’d vowed to save her money and not stop every day at the Tully’s on the corner where she got off, but maybe today…
And it would hit her, a tsunami of doubt and fear, heralded by no warning. The cold constricted her breathing, raised goose bumps that traveled down her arms and then her legs. She would be paralyzed in place, gripped by the shock and the power of the current, aware of light above, but unable to swim to it.
Laurel knew panic, had once recognized the trigger. But she’d gotten better, so much better, until now. This time, she didn’t understand.
She wanted a baby. She wasn’t afraid of having one, of being able to cope as a single mother. She had complete faith she could do it.
Matt and Sheila might back out. But if they did, she still had her list. Or she would pick a donor from one of those trumped-up profiles and buy sperm. There were other ways.
Was Matt the wrong choice? At the question, her anxiety ratcheted up a notch, but she couldn’t think why. Like a mantra, she repeated to herself: he’s smart, good-looking, nice, healthy. Everything she wanted her child’s father to be.
Was she afraid of problems down the line? Her child being hurt because Matt wasn’t really interested in being a father? Or worse, Matt deciding to contest Laurel for custody? Claiming her to be unfit?
In her calmer moments, she knew he’d never do anything like that. He was a friend. That’s why she’d asked him. Anyway, Sheila wouldn’t want to raise his child with another woman as her own. She’d been worried already that Laurel would seek too much involvement from Matt in the baby’s life.
Was she scared about the procedure? Laurel did hate annual exams, but she liked the woman doctor she saw at the Women’s Health Clinic. She trusted her to be gentle and as unobtrusive as possible. While it was happening, veiled from the doctor by the white sheet, she would close her eyes and think, A baby. Soon, soon, I’ll feel movement inside, and my belly will swell and you’ll hear my voice. She wasn’t afraid.
But she was, of something. She just didn’t know what.
If she stayed very still, the wave would slowly ebb away, leaving her sitting on the bus, her stop still to come, her seatmate unaware of the terror that had swept over her. She would sag the slightest bit in relief, perhaps lean her head against the thick glass of the window, the cool smooth surface more comforting than a hug.
Soon, soon. Then I won’t be afraid.
She hated being afraid, feeling vulnerable, and refused to surrender to these panic attacks in any way.
Her period came on time, to the day when she’d expected it. Her last in a year or more, she hoped. She intended to breast-feed, and she knew that often delayed the resumption of menstruation, sometimes for six months or more after delivery.
Of course, she might not get pregnant the first month. There were no guarantees. She wouldn’t get discouraged. She could afford the additional procedures.
But she wasn’t sure she could bear the panic attacks, day after day, for another month. Or one after that.
They didn’t come when she was home alone, thank goodness. She didn’t like it when the wind scratched the branches of the maple against her bedroom window at night, or when the house settled and creaked. When she heard a cough outside, late, or the clatter of a garbage can as if someone had brushed it. She was a woman who lived alone in a city that was safer than many, but still a city, so of course she had those anxieties. The important part was, they no longer paralyzed her.
It was the idea of getting pregnant that did. Something about her plan wasn’t quite right. Maybe it was only the unconventional way, the impersonality. Not how a young woman dreamed of conceiving her first child.
Once it was done, Laurel was convinced, she’d be okay.
Just today, she’d talked to Matt. She hadn’t seen him or Sheila in the two weeks since she’d had dinner at their house and asked them for the ultimate favor. But she called legal aid, where Matt still worked and said, “Just wanted to say hi.”
“Hey.” He sounded distracted. “Got a doozy today. Landlord from hell. Mildewed, sagging ceiling collapsed and badly hurt a toddler. A few rats fell with the ceiling. Sounds Third World, doesn’t it?”
“At the very least. Will the child be okay?”
“Doctor thinks so. But I’m going to nail the landlord’s hide to the wall.”
“You go get ’em.” Laurel felt a momentary pang for the days when she’d imagined that someday she, too, would be a crusading attorney.
“We still on?”
There was something in his voice. Lack of enthusiasm? Hope that they weren’t still on? Or was her paranoia reading shades of gray into a casual question?
“Yep. Two more weeks.”
She heard a muffled voice.
“Listen. Got to go. We’ll talk again?”
“Next week,” Laurel promised.
Disquiet made her chest feel hollow. Had she ruined a friendship she valued by asking this of Matt? Or would everything be fine, once it was done?
She turned back to her computer and made herself concentrate on the will she was writing. She worked as a paralegal for a firm of attorneys, but most often with Malcolm Hern, whose scrawled notes about the clients’ wishes she peered at frequently.
Nonetheless, she was relieved when five o’clock came and she could shut down her computer, don her raincoat, grab her purse and join the other flunkies leaving. This was one of the few times a day she was glad not to have her law degree. If she was working here as an attorney, there’d be no five o’clock departures for her. Nope, she’d be putting in sixty- or seventy-hour workweeks. She couldn’t be a single parent.
The elevator moved slowly, even after it was full, stopping at nearly every floor between the thirty-fifth, where her firm was located, and the ground floor. She hated being pressed against strangers this way, and always chose a corner if she could get into one. Even so, the man behind her had nearly full-body contact with her and his breath stirred the hair at her nape. Her relief when the light flashed on L and the elevator dinged and the doors slid open was profound. Still, she had to wait for others to exit ahead of her, had to suffer more jostling.
Laurel joined the exodus into the marble lobby, heading for the rotating glass doors. She hadn’t gone more than a few steps when a man fell into step with her.
“Can I offer the lady a ride home?”
“Caleb!” she exclaimed in delight. “You’re back in town.”
He wrapped a long arm around her shoulders and gave her a squeeze even as they kept walking. “Yep. Good trip. How are you?”
Oh, planning to get myself impregnated two weeks from tomorrow. Having daily panic attacks.
“I’m good. Can I offer you dinner?”
“I was planning to take you out.”
“I have beef stroganoff simmering in my Crock-Pot as we speak.”
“Deal.”
His smile was as amazing as ever although the effect was somewhat different now that