Chapter Seven #2
Every inch of it screamed money, from the marble lobby to the tastefully soft lighting and the playlist of former Lilith Fair performers drifting out of hidden speakers.
The flowers were fresh, not plastic, and the little reception area next to the check-in desk had both gluten-free and regular snacks.
A Nespresso machine with name-brand pods was available.
Every surface seemed engineered to reassure guests they would be just fine.
I don’t think any of their clients even noticed.
The kind of people who came to see Dr. Kothary were so consumed with the state they were in, they couldn’t enjoy the luxury.
There were only a handful in the waiting room as Marcie and I took our seats, and I was glad that a nurse called us back less than three minutes later.
Any longer and we might have started to pull each other’s hair out.
After the mandatory quick weigh-in and blood pressure check (why did every doctor’s office feel a burning need to do this?) we were ushered into the inner sanctum of the woman herself.
Dr. Fatima Kothary turned out to be a short-ish woman in her late fifties with a warm smile, a soft accent, and the kind of unflappable manner that only comes as a product of being asked every question under the sun about human reproduction for multiple decades.
“Mr. and Mrs. Avery,” she said, shaking our hands as we settled into the chairs across from her desk. “Jack and Marcella, yes? Is it alright if I call you Marcella?”
“Marcie’s fine.”
“Marcie, then. Wonderful.” Dr. Kothary opened a folder on her desk, pulled a pair of reading glasses out of a drawer and set them on her nose, then smiled.
A stab of guilt hit me. “I’m just now realizing there was paperwork I was supposed to bring with me this morning,” I said.
Dr. Kothary waved the words away. “That’s perfectly fine; you can bring it next time. Or I’ll give you the office’s fax number.” She finished glancing at the fact sheet, then raised her gaze to Marcie.
We waited.
“First,” she began, “and I say this to everyone, so please hear me—the fact that you’re sitting here today does not mean anything is wrong. Alright? You’re a very young woman, with a very great number of fertile years ahead of you. Medically speaking, you are barely out of the gate.”
Marcie’s shoulders drooped.
“That said,” she continued in a softer tone, “you’ve come in proactively, and there’s clearly a concern that something more challenging could be going on.
And there’s no harm in gathering information, even early.
It just means that if we do need it, we have a head start.
” She clicked her pen. “So. Let’s talk history.
How long have you and your husband been trying to conceive? ”
Marcie and I shared a look. “Since the wedding,” she said. “So, about four months now.” She pursed her lips guiltily. “But we weren’t, you know, using birth control. Even before the wedding.”
Dr. Kothary nodded, completely unfazed. “And how long were the two of you in a sexual relationship together before you were married?”
“About two months,” I said.
She blinked, but otherwise showed no sign of surprise.
“Alright, so about six months in total,” she said. “And how frequently are you…” Dr. Kothary made a small gesture, “…having intercourse during your fertile window?”
It was a testament to how much Marcie had grown that there were no spots of heat rising to her cheeks. She didn’t even flinch. “It’s not really a window,” she said, thinking. “I was gone for a week—my father had a health crisis, and I was with him in the hospital.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Dr. Kothary said.
“But other than that period, it’s been every day.”
Dr. Kothary’s pen paused for just a moment. “Every day?”
“At least once a day,” Marcie said, looking at me with a goofy grin. “I mean, every night before bed and at least most of the time whenever you’ve got a break from the company, yeah?”
I cleared my throat. “Something like that,” I admitted.
God. I really did get laid a lot, didn’t I?
I mean, it was no easy task keeping three wives half my age satisfied.
It was fun, though.
“So frequency is not an issue,” Dr. Kothary said, recovering in record time. “Opportunities abound, let’s say.”
“Let’s,” I agreed.
“That clears the first and most obvious hurdle,” the doctor said. “The second is gauging both of your fertility. As a man approaching middle-age, Mr. Avery, it’s important that we get as clear a picture as we can about your overall sperm health—”
The door opened.
“I’m in a meeting,” Dr. Kothary said, a touch of hardness in her voice. “Whatever it is, it can wait—”
It could not wait. Because it was not a nurse or a secretary standing in the door to Dr. Kothary’s office.
It was Yukiko.
Panting like she’d run the whole way here.
“I am so sorry,” my head wife said, sailing into the room like this wasn’t the strangest thing Dr. Kothary had seen in weeks.
She clutched a manila folder in her hand, a couple of papers peeking from the side.
“They forgot the intake folder on the counter this morning, and when I noticed, I thought that maybe they wouldn’t be able to move forward with Marcie and you’d have to reschedule the whole thing.
” She thrust the folder forward. “The poor girl at the front desk didn’t have half this information. ” She smiled. “Here you go.”
Dr. Kothary stared at the newcomer. Specifically, at her stomach, which was very clearly incubating a tiny new life or two.
When she didn’t reach out to take it, Yukiko set the manila folder on her desk. Then, like it was the most normal thing in the world, she leaned down and kissed me, full on the lips, before turning her thousand-watt smile on Marcie and the fertility specialist.
A little noise escaped Dr. Kothary’s throat.
“Whew,” Kiki said, clutching her pregnant belly. “I’m dizzy all of a sudden. Good lord, I shouldn’t have run like that…”
I was up and out of my seat before she finished her sentence. “I can stand,” I said. “Here, princess, take my seat.”
At the word princess, Dr. Kothary’s sense of professionalism cracked right down the middle.
Kiki settled into the chair, still panting a bit. “I’m so sorry,” she told Marcie, shaking her head. “I’ll leave in just a second—Heather and Eva are out in the car, they volunteered to drive me up here. How are you holding up, angel?”
Marcie looked like she was about to burst out laughing. “You don’t have to go anywhere,” she insisted. “You’re so welcome.” She glanced at Dr. Kothary. “Can we get her some water, maybe?”
“You’re—” she managed, looking from me to the two now-seated women. “She’s…”
“I’ve got my water bottle right here,” Kiki told Marcie, pulling it out of her purse. As she popped the nozzle on the top and took a sip, she extended a hand. “Yukiko Avery, by the way. I’m Jack’s wife?”
Now Marcie did laugh.
A slow flush crept up Dr. Kothary’s neck. “I was told Marcella was Mr. Avery’s wife,” she said, like someone was about to explain all of this any moment in a way that made sense.
Yukiko did a double take. I watched the realization flash in her eyes.
“Oh!” she said. “I thought Mona told you.”
“I’m the one who called to make the appointment,” I explained. “Not Mona.”
Yukiko nodded, understanding. No one had explained. “I’m also Jack's wife.”
Dr. Kothary took a moment. I watched her process, shocked by a patient for what was probably the first time in fifteen years. I felt a little bad about the look on her face.
But also, it was a little bit funny.
“Right,” Dr. Kothary said, recovering with a visible effort. “Anything else I should know?”
“The third one's at home,” Yukiko said.
Dr. Kothary tossed her pen into a cup, amazed. “There's a third wife?”
“She's had a really rough week,” Marcie said, trying hard not to laugh. “It's kind of a long story.”
“I'm sure,” Dr. Kothary said. She lowered her head for a moment, pressing the knuckles of both fists against her temples like she had a headache coming on.
“Alright. That is certainly relevant to our work-up.” She cleared her throat, and—to her credit—rallied like a professional.
“Mr. Avery, given the fact that your... other wife has already conceived a child—”
“Twins,” Yukiko corrected with an impish grin.
“—conceived twins,” Dr. Kothary amended heavily, “I think we can safely table any concerns about your contribution to this process.” She turned her head. “Congratulations, by the way.”
“Thank you. We're not worried about Jack's numbers,” Yukiko said, sharing a glance with Marcie. Her hand strayed to her pregnant belly. “Jack's numbers are clearly excellent.”
“Kiki—”
“I'm just stating a fact.” Slowly, Yukiko rose from her chair. “And now I think I'd better be going. I'm sure the cheerleaders are wondering what happened to me.”