Chapter 9
Nine
The days following my birthday went by in a blur.
I worked, hung out with Trevor, and drank as much wine as I could – probably a little too much – and did everything in my power to avoid thinking about how much my life was going to change when June first came.
Not an easy feat considering the multiple tests I had to endure.
From bloodwork to an internal ultrasound to check my ovaries – the tech didn’t even blink, which gave me hope that my past wouldn’t be revealed – to going over the thick stack of reading material I’d been given.
I did everything required of me, although not with a good attitude. That would have been asking too much.
As if trying to make time stand still, I stayed up later than normal.
It was an exercise in futility because there was nothing I could do to stop the dreaded date from coming, but logic was a tricky thing and it was easy to fool yourself when you were desperate.
And desperate I was. Desperate to put the next part off, to have the whole thing fail, to get it over with so I could get back to my life.
I didn’t know what to hope for or how to prepare; I just knew everything was about to change and that I no longer had any say in my life.
Of course, there was nothing I could do to stop June first from rolling around, and the shrill buzz of my phone’s alarm ripped me from sleep at seven o’clock on the dreaded morning. Only four hours had passed since I’d forced myself to turn in, and I was groggy and not at all ready to get up.
My eyes still closed, I slapped the nightstand until I located my phone, then poked my finger against the screen, hoping to find the snooze button.
My head was swimming, and not just from lack of sleep.
Trevor and I had decided to have a pre-program bar hop the night before, and my entire body hurt while my stomach was threatening to expel everything I’d had to eat and drink.
Which, although I couldn’t remember all of it, had been a lot.
After about three pokes at my phone’s screen, my alarm cut off, and I let out a sigh of relief. I hadn’t even cracked an eye.
Beside me, the bed shifted, and Trevor groaned. “Why are you getting up so early, again?”
I massaged my temples. “To get it over with.”
“Right.” He exhaled, made a sound that could have been either gagging or grunting, and said, “I feel like I was hit by a truck.”
“A tequila truck,” I corrected.
“Yes.”
We lay side by side in silence before the bed once again shifted. The noises he let out made it seem like it took him a lot of effort to move, but then he was beside me, pulling me into an embrace that was comforting despite the stale alcohol breath that wafted over me every time he exhaled.
“You are amazing,” he began, “and resilient. You will get through this in one piece and come out of it stronger.”
“How do you know?” I whispered.
“Because you have to.”
I clung to those words, repeated them like a mantra, and did my best to let them sink in. I had to get through this. Had to. It was the only option.
Eventually, I forced myself to move, and Trevor released me.
Sitting up made my head pound and my stomach lurch, and I froze in hopes of letting things settle. It didn’t work.
“God,” Trevor had his head in his hands when he pushed himself off the other side of the bed, “I need a few mimosas.”
My stomach tried to revolt at the mention of alcohol, but I forced it to stay down.
It wasn’t the worst idea. I technically hadn’t started the program yet, after all, so I wasn’t breaking any rules.
Plus, I was smart enough to realize it literally might be the only thing that would make me feel better at this point.
“Let’s do it.” I stood, swayed, and grabbed my headboard, willing my stomach to stay where it belonged.
Trevor paused in the middle of rounding the bed. “You sure about that? I mean, isn’t it against the rules?”
“What are they going to do me?” I turned to find him frowning at me. “I’m not in the program yet, Trev. It starts today.”
“Yes. Today.”
I rolled my eyes. “It starts after I go in, and it isn’t like they’re going to inseminate me today.”
My stomach lurched again, only this time it had nothing to do with the copious amounts of alcohol I’d consumed the night before.
I was going to be inseminated. With a stranger’s sperm.
By the government. And if that didn’t work, they would do it again.
And again. And again. It was insane. Wrong.
A violation. But it was the law, and I had no choice.
As if sensing my shift in the mood, Trevor rounded the bed and threw his arm around my shoulders. “Let’s get that drink.”
Alcohol sounded about as appealing as spreading my legs for a government sanctioned rape, but when Trevor handed me the glass of bubbling liquid – with just a splash of orange juice – I forced myself to drink it quickly.
Again, my insides protested but gave very little objection when I downed the second glass.
And even less with the third. It was nine by then, and, like me, Trevor was feeling better.
Good enough that he was scrolling through his messages on whatever dating app he was currently trying out.
“Oh,” he said, narrowing his eyes on the screen, “this one might have potential.”
Since I was sitting on the other side of my sagging couch, I scooted closer and looked over his shoulder at the smiling face of a blond man in his thirties.
His face was a little soft for my taste, and even in his picture he gave off the vibe of someone who was into clean eating and excessive exercise, but he wasn’t bad.
“Give me the details,” I said as I sipped my fourth – and what would be my final – mimosa.
“Owen Phillips. He’s thirty-one, a widower.” Trevor paused when I made a sympathetic sound. “He owns his own vegan catering company and likes to backpack.”
I’d totally called it.
“Sounds like a possibility,” I said instead of pointing out that Trevor loved red meat almost as much as sex.
The problem was, the dating pool was seriously shallow.
Pandemic after pandemic had decimated the human race, leaving a whole generation of people struggling to find love.
And while it was difficult for those of us who were straight, it was doubly hard for those who weren’t. Especially in areas like this.
“Does he live close?” I asked, thinking of the multiple weekend trips Trevor had taken in hopes of finding the one.
He scrolled down and his eyes lit up. “West Chester.”
That was about an hour away. Not bad.
“I say give it a shot.”
“I will.” He was back to reading the very long message the other guy had sent him. “He actually wanted to know if we could get together tonight.”
His gaze flicked to me, and I worked to keep my expression even despite my sinking heart.
I didn’t begrudge Trevor wanting to date even if it wasn’t something I was into, and he was my closest friend.
I wanted him to be happy. But tonight? I’d counted on being able to go to his house after work so I could float in his pool and cry on his shoulder if necessary.
“I don’t have to go,” he said, obviously not fooled by my brave face.
“It’s fine.” I scooted away from him, pretending I was focused on straightening the magazines on my coffee table so he couldn’t see the tears brimming in my eyes.
It wasn’t fair. I knew it wasn’t fair. That didn’t stop my emotions from trying to get the better of me.
“Ara,” he said, grabbing my hand. “I can do it another night. It’s last minute, anyway.”
“No. Go. You deserve to find someone.” I rolled my eyes to cover my emotions. “Even if he is a vegan.”
At that, Trevor let out a choked laugh. “I’ll be honest, that part is a bit of a stretch, but you know how it is. There are only so many fish in the sea.”
“I think the saying is there are more fish in the sea.”
“Not these days.” He shoved his phone into his pocket. “I’ll just explain what’s going on and ask him if we can get together another night.”
My brain told me I should object, but my heart was desperate to have Trevor at my beck and call.
I settled for saying, “Are you sure?”
“Of course.” He pulled me in for another hug, and his lips were right next to my ear when he whispered, “Besides, if there’s any hope of it working out between us, he needs to know you aren’t just my friend. You’re family. That means something.”
This time, holding my emotions in was impossible, and I let out a sniff before saying, “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
I walked to the Public Health building, my head feeling a little lighter than it should have considering it wasn’t even noon, and my stomach churning from a combination of nerves and too much to drink the night before.
And this morning. I was sweating, too, which I attributed to the ridiculous amount of alcohol I’d had since it was barely seventy degrees. It was seeping from my pores.
There was no way I would be able to hide that I was hungover no matter what I did, and despite the twist of nerves in my gut, I told myself I didn’t care and that it didn’t matter.
I hadn’t been in the program when I drank, so they couldn’t say anything.
Right? What was more, I couldn’t be the only person who’d decided to live it up before having their life commandeered. It had to be common.
Despite the logic behind my thoughts, the knots in my stomach grew tighter.
It was the first of June, which had always been my favorite month since I loved summer, but despite the bright sun shining down on me and the clear, blue sky, it felt like a heavy cloud was hovering overhead and a huge storm was bearing down on me.
I walked faster despite my desire to drag this whole thing out.
A man wearing a mask over his nose and mouth greeted me almost as soon as I stepped through the door, his kind eyes crinkling in the corners when he asked, “Where can I direct you?”