Making Babies. Wendy Warren
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together over two decades ago, gazed curiously across a green Formica-topped table. “Your new landlord is your ex-husband’s divorce lawyer, and you may have slept with him—the lawyer, not the ex—but you’re not sure.”
Elaine nodded. “Right.”
“Hmm.” Gordon shook his head. “I feel terrible then.”
“You do. Why?”
“In high school I voted you ‘Most dull.’”
Elaine plucked a Splenda packet out of a ceramic dish on the kitchen table and threw it at her old friend. “I always suspected you were the one who put me over the top.” At six feet one inch and two hundred pounds, Gordon looked like a handsome linebacker, but he commiserated like a big, cuddly teddy bear.
Laying her head on the table, Elaine groaned. “What am I going to do? I can’t stay there if he owns it. And I’ll never find a two-bedroom in a great area with that kind of rent.” She thumped the table with her fist. “Damn him.”
Reaching for the latte he’d made Elaine and which she hadn’t yet touched, Gordon carried it to the kitchen counter.
“So tell me,” he said, fiddling with the controls of his new cappuccino machine, “if you’re not even sure you slept together, why are you so angry with him?”
“Because he offered me five years of guaranteed rent control!”
“Ah, right.” He nodded. “That bastard.”
Elaine sat up and shook her head. Gordon Shapiro had loved her through braces and Retinol A, through bad hair and bad jobs and through Kevin. He knew her as well as anyone, better than most. She leaned far over the table to explain. “Mitch Ryder thinks I’m going to be alone for five years. He slept with me, and he thinks I’m going to be alone that long.”
“You don’t know for sure that he slept with you.”
“Well, according to the evidence we know he saw me naked.”
“Right.” Gordon frowned. “That’s not good then.”
Elaine slumped over the table again. While Gordon made fresh lattes, she rose, crossed to the kitchen window and stared out.
She’d always loved visiting Gordon on Friday evenings. He lived three blocks from a large synagogue in the northwest section of Portland. Come twilight, families would pass by Gordon’s window, walking to shul together—mothers, fathers and children attractively dressed yet relaxed and happy as they started the Jewish Sabbath by strolling together.
“We used to do that,” Elaine murmured, leaning her shoulder against the window frame and her forehead against the glass. “When I was in grammar school, my parents would take Sam and me to temple every Friday night, and the rabbi would say a prayer for families. All the parents would put their hands on top of their kids’ heads and bless them. My dad’s hands were so big he could reach down and tickle my cheek with his pinkie. It was the best feeling in the whole world.”
Watching her, Gordon smiled back. “Better than Wavy Gravy?” He named their very favorite Ben & Jerry’s flavor. “I stocked up.”
She shrugged apologetically. “Yeah. Better than that.” She looked out again. “Even as a kid, I couldn’t wait to be the parent someday.” In an instant she was assailed by the real reason for the ache inside her, and her eyes began to well. “I’m so scared to have a baby on my own, Gordon. I don’t want to be scared, but I am. I’m even more afraid that I’ll chicken out.”
Gordon sympathized, but had little idea how to soothe such a pain. “Maybe you should start dating,” he said.
“What?” It was freakish how quickly her heart started to pound. The memory of falling asleep on Mitch’s shoulder rose instantly to mind. “I don’t want to date.”
“Nobody wants to date. It’s what you do so you can get to the good stuff.”
“Pass. The ‘good stuff’ is highly overrated, anyway.”
Gordon returned to the table with a fresh latte and a bowl of popcorn and sat. “I consider it my personal duty as your best friend to tell you ‘Nuh-uh.’ Honey, you were with Kevin way too long.”
“Yeah, well not so long that I don’t remember dating. It’s not worth the anxiety. All you do between dates is exfoliate and worry. Does he like me? Will he call again? Should I call him?”
“I love wondering that.”
Elaine shuddered. “Not me. Anyway, I’ve got more important things to think about. I’ve got to find a birth partner. I’ve always wanted to try natural childbirth, so I’ll need someone who can go to classes with me and help me breathe and—” Gordon was cringing already. Elaine’s heart plummeted. “Not your cup of tea, hmm?”
Looking up at her, his eyes full of affection and regret, Gordon said, “Sorry, pumpkin. You know how I am with blood.”
“But the miracle of birth—”
Gordon shook his head.
Elaine sighed. She’d known it was too much to hope for, but figured it was worth a shot. Gordon had been surprised but supportive when she’d first related her decision to have a family, but he’d never been that nuts about kids, even when he was one. This wasn’t going to be like the movies, where two single friends raised a child together.
Elaine could feel depression threaten as the dreaded “if onlys” floated through her mind. If only she’d married more wisely. If only she were married now to someone who would rub cocoa butter on her stomach and bring home books on attachment parenting and read aloud from them in bed. If only…
She turned again to gaze out the window. The one thing she had promised herself she would not do after her divorce was stay angry or get stuck in some postdivorce time warp. She’d spent twelve years of her marriage acting like Doris Day on Valium. Happy, happy, happy. The only thing worse would be to turn into Divorced Doris in need of Prozac.
“I’m not ruining this for you, am I?” Gordon asked, concern filling his voice.
She turned toward her friend and had to smile. He looked so guilty. “Nope. Not even close,” she assured him and knew suddenly it was true. The fact was that every stumbling block she thought of only made her want to have a baby more. “I’m going to do it, Gordy. I’ll just take the next logical step and worry about the rest later. I’m through with the picket fence fantasy.” She gave him a huge brave smile. “Come Monday morning, Gordo, I’m visiting a sperm bank.”
After an initial blink of surprise, Gordon nodded. “Now that I can get on board with. I’ll go with you.”
Elaine laughed. “We’ll see, Gordon.”
At 5:00 a.m. Saturday morning, Elaine’s eyes snapped open. She rolled over, burying her face in a pile of cool, soft pillows, but awakened again at five-thirty, six-fifteen and a quarter to seven.
Birds sang outside her bedroom window, the morning light poked around the lowered shade, teasing her, and she was helpless to resist its lure. For the first time in ages she had something more exciting than breakfast to get up for.
Showering quickly, she dressed for a day of running around in weather that was supposed to inch toward seventy. Indian summer. It was amazing, really, what a change in perspective could do. Yesterday, she’d been exhausted, older than her years. Today she felt fit and alive.
Ready and able to make a baby.
The conviction that she could pursue her dream on her own had not waned overnight. Today and tomorrow she planned to do as much research as she could. By Monday morning she’d be ready to get the ball rolling.
Inspired by the idea that she was finally in charge of her dreams, Elaine was too hyped to sit still. She took a brisk walk through the neighborhood then drove to Pappaccino’s for a toasted bagel and a hazelnut latte while she waited