Chapter 6 Nate
NATE
Lemon disinfectant and anxiety hang in the air of the quiet waiting room.
Glossy pamphlets line the coffee table. Pictures of pregnant women and families with small children, as if taunting us. This is what you could’ve won in the lottery of life.
I shift in my seat, knee bouncing, trying to act chill when really I feel like I’ve just brought my best mate to a very polite brothel—without the women.
Evan shuffles in the world’s squeakiest chair while cracking his fingers.
I want to reach for him and take his hand to stop him from doing his nervous habit.
But instead, I sit in my own cloud of grief and anxiety, grinding my back teeth.
I’ve been here too many times, each visit laced with disappointment.
Across from me, a man I’ve met before scratches his beard with tattooed hands and gives me a nod when our eyes meet. His arm wraps around his wife, her red hair framing her face as she chews on her bottom lip.
The redhead smiles at me when I meet her gaze. “How’s Nora?”
“She’s good,” I lie with a fake smile. The two women got chatting last time we were here.
“Tell her I said hi. It’s Poppy. I keep meaning to call her so we can go out for lunch again, like we planned.”
I nod. “She’d like that.” Nora has plenty of friends, but none who understand what she’s going through like Poppy does. Every time we’re out with friends or family, the conversations always end the same.
‘When are you starting a family?’ Then they talk about their own kids.
Nora plasters on a fake smile, her eyes lose their sparkle, and she shrinks into herself.
It’s another reason we’ve stopped going out, only confiding in Evan about it all.
As much as everyone would want to help, it’s not fair to ask them not to talk about their own kids or pregnancies in front of us, so we nod politely and grin and bear it.
Evan shuffles again in the chair and checks his watch. “Are they always this slow?”
I shrug. “Depends how quick the others are at knocking one out, I guess. They only have the one room.”
He pats my knee. “Thanks for the visual, mate. I’m sure that’s gonna help me when I get in there.” He chuckles to himself as he dips his head.
“You sure you don’t want me to come in with you?” I say, glancing around. There’s a poster above the water cooler showing a cartoon sperm in a superhero cape. My lips quirk when I glance back at Evan. He has the whole Clark Kent thing going on with his black, messy hair and thick-framed glasses.
Evan smirks. “What, you offering to lend a hand?”
A chuckle bursts from my lips, breaking the tension. This has to be the weirdest fucking scenario ever. “Mate, if you need one, I’m happy to step up,” I say jokingly.
He raises an eyebrow, pushing his glasses up his nose. “Thanks, but I’ll manage. I’ll just think about your mum.”
My face twists. “Steady on. I’m sure Dad doesn’t even think about my mum that way.”
Evan bursts out laughing. “You’re probably right.”
I chuckle. If anyone can make jerking off in a sterile room feel like a normal Tuesday, it’s Evan. I should have told him sooner.
Our fertility journey has been isolating. The shame and guilt have kept me from speaking out, but I should’ve known my best friend would understand.
A nurse meanders past, clipboard in hand, and I straighten up as if I’m back in school. She gives Evan a polite smile.
He winks at her. The man has no shame.
She faces the redhead. “Mr. and Mrs. Bianchi, the doctor will see you now. Follow me.”
They both rise, the man wrapping a protective arm around his wife as if she’s the most fragile and precious thing in the world. I hope their test results are better than mine. I’ve been in their shoes and know only too well all the emotions swirling around their heads.
“Are you nervous?” I ask Evan, quieter now, even though the waiting room has thinned out a little.
He shrugs, but there’s a twitch in his lip. “Mate, I’ve jacked off enough times. I think I’ll be okay.” He cracks another finger. “Just hoping the room isn’t painted beige. Nothing kills the mood like magnolia walls and laminated instructions.”
“You get a magazine. With any luck, there might be a picture of Scarlett Johansson for you.”
He lifts his lips in one corner, then lines furrow between his brow. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah. Just… this whole thing is weird. Surreal, you know? Like we’re planning a baby, but not the way people are supposed to.”
He leans forward, resting his forearms on his knees. “There’s no ‘supposed to,’ mate. There’s just whatever works.”
I nod again, chewing the inside of my cheek. “I just… I never thought it would be you,” I admit. “When I imagined our kid, I always thought it’d be some faceless donor from a clinic in Spain. Not someone who knows what I look like when I’m drunk singing to Coldplay.”
He smiles. “Still one of my finest memories.”
“You promised never to speak of it.”
“You brought it up.” He chuckles. “I won’t ever mention it—until I re-enact it at your funeral.”
I grin, but my chest still aches. “You sure you’re good with this? Not just because we’re desperate.”
He leans back, tilts his head. “Yeah. I’m okay with it. If this is what you and Nora need, I want to help.” He acts like it’s no big deal, and that’s what makes it one.
A man scampers out of the private sample room, red-faced and refusing to make eye contact with anyone. He holds a small paper bag as if it might explode.
Evan leans closer and whispers, “That’ll be me in ten. But I may need a bigger bag.”
I smirk. “Try not to trip over your own ego.”
A nurse appears at the door with a clipboard. “Mr. Jones.”
He stands, brushes imaginary dust from his trousers, and straightens his shoulders as if he’s going in for an audition.
I give him a mock salute. “Don’t pull a muscle.”
He grins. “Tell your mum I said hi.”
“Piss off.”
He chuckles as he follows the nurse, disappearing through the door.
The surrounding air thins. I lean back, letting my head flop against the wall. Somewhere beyond that door, my best friend is preparing to do something incredibly personal—for me. For her. For us.
A weird but grateful ache curls in my gut.
I was supposed to be enough.
I close my eyes, breathing through the knot in my chest.
If all his tests check out, he’s not just donating sperm. He’s giving us a shot at a life we thought we’d never have.
And I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to repay him for that.