We Rip the World Apart

2 Tess

Tess wiped her brow and stared at the vials before her, making sure the labels were perfect, checking and double-checking her work. In her first weeks at Enviro Lab, labeling was all she did, with a dozen machines ticking and whirring around her, sweat pouring down her back, desperate to remove the gloves that stuck to her like a second skin, the goggles that made her observe the world as if through a fishbowl.

Now, at least, she had moved up the ranks enough to be a cookbook scientist—or so the higher-ups joked—following “recipes” created by people who knew more, had done better with their lives. Yet still there was the nausea that came from being stuck in this windowless space with its oppressive heat, the constant whir vibrating her bones, the acrid stench of chemicals burning her nostrils. The ache from standing, hour after hour, on hard linoleum. She’d sprung for high-end shoes with amazing support. They helped, but not enough. Tess pressed her hands into the small of her back, arching through the pain, her rigid muscles barely allowing a stretch. Last night’s outing made it all the worse. She pushed the pain away, wishing she’d thought to take some acetaminophen, then did a mental assessment of her morning’s work. She verified that assessment by one last glance at the protocol. She ensured her workstation was clean and organized, ready to continue where she’d left off at the start of her next shift.

Satisfied, she peeled off her gloves, goggles, and lab coat, then headed to her locker, nervousness flowing through her. She leaned against the wall to take off those high-end, worth-every-penny shoes and slip into her bargain-store sneakers.

“Can’t handle the rigor of a full day’s work, eh?”

Tess placed an equally cocksure smile on her face, wishing Tim would piss off, grow bored of making her—the one university dropout on the floor—the butt of his jokes. “Yeah, that must be it. Explains why I’m coming back tonight, then working a shift and a half tomorrow.” Tess straightened. “When’s the last time you worked beyond your cozy eight to four?”

“Don’t need to.” Tim leaned against the lockers across the room. “You wouldn’t, either, if you applied yourself.” He grinned. “Come out to dinner. I’ll tutor you. Help you get that degree.”

Tess slammed her locker closed. “If I wanted the degree, I’d get it.” She walked past Tim, avoiding his gaze, wishing it were just that easy, wishing she had the nerve to say what she wanted to—that while she’d heard around the proverbial watercooler that Tim had barely gotten his degree, struggling to maintain Cs and the occasional B throughout his schooling, Tess’s GPA, in the full three and half years she’d studied, had never dropped below a 4.0.

Outside, Tess squinted against the sun, resisting the urge to do a pit check, regretting that in her rush she’d forgotten to bring a change of clothes or deodorant at least. She’d gone heavy the previous night: too many drinks, leaving the club at two in the morning with a one-syllable-name man. She’d crawled out of Rob’s or Bob’s bed at half past three, making it to her apartment in time for two hours of sleep before needing to wake for her shift.

If she had a car, she could race home, freshen up, change into something other than the plain T-shirt and torn jeans she’d worn under her lab clothes. Tess hesitated, debating whether she should head home anyway, skip the center. When she’d received the invite—in the mail, not an Evite—she’d tossed it on the table. An event sure to be filled with oodles of formerly infertile women? No thanks. But then she’d thought of Saadia—her kind eyes, her reassuring voice, how she never made Tess feel crazy or desperate or weak. How when Tess had rushed into the center—without an appointment—her face aglow, excitement coursing through her because her baby had made it past twelve weeks, the only one to make it that long, Saadia had stopped what she was doing, shared Tess’s joy, ooh ed and aah ed over the blurry black-and-white image Tess held in her hand.

So Tess had picked the invite back up. She’d booked the time off work. She’d written to Saadia, telling her she’d come. As sad as it was, Saadia, her acupuncturist, was the closest thing Tess had to a friend, and except for her evening excursions, Tess hadn’t done anything social in months.

Besides, she didn’t want to miss the babies. The thought of seeing them terrified Tess, but if someone allowed her to hold one, breathe in its perfect scent, feel the air rising and falling within its living lungs, that’d be something. Not enough, but something.

Tess slowed her pace, the better to let the breeze cool her off, make her look half-presentable, even if that meant she’d be a few minutes late. As she approached Natural Ways Wellness Centre, Tess slowed her pace even more. Half a dozen cars were already in the lot, women exiting the vehicles, waving with smiles, balancing car seats and diaper bags and toddlers on their hips.

Tess’s phone buzzed. She pulled it from her back pocket to see the screen lit with the word UNKNOWN . That word hadn’t flashed in over a year; back then, the letters ignited fear or excitement—usually both. Now, though, it would mean a telemarketer or scam caller. She was done with the fertility clinic, which meant they were done with her.

Tess set her phone to silent and slid it back into her pocket. She stood tall, lifted her chin, and opened the door, her eyes searching for Saadia, who stood across the room with three women around her. Her hand was on the shoulder of one of them, an earnest, comforting expression on her face. Tess continued to scan, looking for someone, anyone who would ease this urge to bolt.

These were lovely women, Tess knew. Women who, like her, had been desperate to start a family. From the looks of it—the children weaving through the crowd, the laughter, the round bellies and glistening ring fingers—the majority of them had gotten it: a baby, or babies; a husband who stayed.

Once, Tess had been active in the Facebook group Saadia ran. Once, she had been blinded by hope and possibility. Tess had been wary when Saadia invited her to the group—a place to discuss what fertility diets they were trying, the herbs and supplements they were taking, whether this drug or that had better success rates, and most important, to share their stresses and fears, successes, and losses. It seemed hokey. And it was, a bit. But it had gotten her through. A place where she could talk without shame.

Until her shame was too large to speak of. Until she knew, no matter how she wished it, she could never be one of them. Tess shuffled past the tables and chairs, past women who either didn’t recognize her or decided not to, fearful of what to say.

She shouldn’t have come. She would say hello to Saadia as soon as she got the chance, then she’d flee.