TORONTO—February 2016
A light snow is falling outside. The lobby of the clinic is decorated for Valentine’s Day, with a banner hanging in the window. Kersti and Jay are sitting side by side in the waiting room. She looks up from the “Everything You Need to Know about Your Sperm” pamphlet and notices Jay clutching his laptop bag so tightly his knuckles are white. He’s staring miserably out at nothing. “You’re not nervous, are you, babe?” she says gently. “You’ve done this before.”
She holds up the pamphlet. “Did you know that motile sperm are called spermatozoon?”
“Sadly, I do. I’ve read that one before.”
“It’s been at least forty-eight hours, right?”
“You’ve asked me that fifty times already. Yes. It’s been forty-eight hours.”
“I just want to make sure they’re fresh—”
“They’re fresh, Kerst. Believe it or not, I’m capable of going forty-eight hours without jerking off. I also ate your oyster and pumpkin seed casserole, took my zinc, my folic acid, and my vitamin D. My sperm is fucking FRESH.”
She touches his hand and rests her head on his shoulder. “This is it, babe. I know it. I had a beautiful thick uterine lining this morning and the nurse said my cervical mucus was gorgeous.”
“That’s why I married you,” he mutters. “Gorgeous cervical mucus.”
“And my inner labia isn’t swollen anymore—”
“Babe?” he says. “I don’t ever want to hear the words labia and swollen come out of your mouth again.”
“Jay Wax?” The nurse is standing in the corridor with a clipboard. “We’re ready for you.”
Jay stands up and salutes her. “Spermatozoon reporting for duty,” he says.
Kersti hands him his laptop bag. “Here’s your porn. Now go make us a baby.”
She still can’t believe they’re at the Colorado Center for Reproductive Medicine making a baby with Cressida’s eggs. The journey to this point has been surreal and yet divinely fated—starting with Lille’s letter, which ultimately led to this moment. If not for that first visit to Deirdre, Kersti would still be in Toronto, reluctantly giving up her dream of motherhood.
It turns out Deirdre was thrilled to donate as many of Cressida’s eggs as Kersti needed. The only catch is if Kersti gets pregnant, Deirdre wants to be in the children’s lives. “I would never impose myself,” she said. “Never expect them to think of me as their grandmother, but I would need to see them once in a while, to be kept abreast of their development. Technically, even if they never know, I would be their biological grandmother.”
It seemed fair, a small price to pay. Deirdre agreed to have her lawyer draw up a contract, and Kersti left that day with only one more obstacle to overcome: Jay.
She managed with great restraint not to say a word about it until dinner that Saturday night in Boston, after their day at the spa and a couple of rounds of make-up sex. And then, when Jay was relaxed and flushed from wine, with a belly full of filet mignon and creamed spinach, she said, “I want you to know, you’re a hundred percent right.”
“I am? About what?”
“About me, not ever being willing to give up on having a baby.”
He looked at her nervously. “And is that a good thing or a bad thing?”
“I would have kept going until it bankrupted us.”
“You’re scaring me, Kerst—”
Kersti shifted in her chair and sipped her wine, carefully choosing her words. “What if the cycles were free?” she asked him.
“It would help,” he admitted. “But they’re not. Especially with a donor—”
“I’ve found a private donor,” she said. “Hear me out. She’s already got fifteen superb-quality eggs frozen at one of the best fertility clinics in the United States. She would donate them to us for free. There’s a lot of legal stuff involved—it’s like adopting a baby—but I know her very well. She’s not a stranger. I know her family history. We would only pay for my drugs, which would be minimal, and the transfer—”
“Who is it?”
“Listen to me,” she said, reaching for his hands. “Look at me, Jay, and just answer this question. Do you want to have a child? Forget everything else—”
“I can’t forget everything else—”
“Do you want to have a child?” she repeated.
“Yes,” he answered, and she was moved to see he had tears in his eyes. “Of course I do. You know how much I want to be a father.”
“Then think about this. As many high-quality eggs as we need for free, from someone I know. It’s meant to be, Jay. We can’t walk away from this.”
“Who is it?”
“Cressida.”
Jay’s mouth fell open. “How the hell?”
“Her mother had her eggs frozen.”
“Holy shit. This is fucked up.”
“She’s already had one child with those eggs,” Kersti continued. “I met her. She’s beautiful. Perfect. Deirdre used a sperm donor, but of course we would use your sperm and you would be the father—”
She pulled out her phone and showed him the pictures she’d taken of Sloane, as well as a few she’d added of Cressida as a baby and in her teens. “That’s her daughter, Sloane. And this is Cressida. That’s her at two, and then here at five. . . .”
Jay scrolled through the pictures. “She was gorgeous,” he said, lingering on one of Cressida from the Lycée.
“I spoke to Deirdre about their family history,” Kersti said. “There’s nothing alarming or unusual—”
“Except suicidal tendencies,” Jay said, handing back her phone. “She tried to kill herself, Kersti.”
“No, I don’t think she did,” Kersti said. “I haven’t had a chance to really talk to you about it, but I don’t think she did. And at some point, when all this is behind us, I’m going to prove it—”
“Wasn’t she fucked up, though? Didn’t she do some messed-up shit? These can’t be the genes you want for our child.”
“I knew her, Jay. She had a good heart. She was her own worst enemy, that’s all. She was raised in a boarding school from the time she was seven. How could she not have been fucked up? But that’s got nothing to do with genes.”
“Still—”
“You want to talk about genes?” Kersti went on, getting more fired up. “She had a brilliant mind. She was scary smart. And obviously gorgeous and perfect in every way—”
“This is madness, Kersti. You know that, don’t you?”
Kersti fell silent when he said that. “Yes,” she confessed, welling up. “I know it.”
And for the first time since she’d left Deirdre’s that afternoon, all her rationalizations and justifications fell silent too. It was madness, even she couldn’t refute that. But it was also exquisitely, poetically ordained.
“I want a baby,” she said plainly. “I know you think I’m losing my mind—and maybe I am—but this opportunity has presented itself and I can’t turn it down. I feel like it’s meant to be, that it’s our last chance.”
“And you’re going to do it with or without me, aren’t you?”
“Of course not,” Kersti said, not sure she was telling the truth. “We’re partners, remember?”
He was quiet for a long time. She had a few bites of her molten cake while his crème brûlée sat untouched. The irony of their situation was not lost on her; in using Cressida’s eggs to make a baby, Kersti was showing herself to be a lot more like Cressida than she ever realized. As poor Jay contemplated her outrageous request, she knew she would get her way one way or another, no matter how scandalous or controversial.
Was she really all that different from Cressida then? In their relentless pursuit of a passionate, personal desire, in their stubborn willfulness and refusal to accept no or back down, did they not possess at the core the very same self-centeredness and single-mindedness? Maybe it wasn’t even a bad thing. Maybe it spoke more to inner strength and perseverance than to poor character. That’s how Kersti decided to frame it, anyway. And with that realization, she came to have a new respect for Cressida and for her younger self.
After a while, Jay said, “Give me a few days to think about it, okay?”
She knew then he would do it. She could tell he was almost on board. She sensed that something about his demeanor had shifted. Perhaps it was the money, as well as the fact that their donor wouldn’t be a stranger, but she was convinced he wanted a child as badly as she did.
It’s a good thing, too, because once the seed was planted there was no turning back for Kersti. The idea of breeding her own little Cressidas was too compelling. Beautiful, intelligent, magnificent creatures just like their biological mother, only with all the love and nurturing that Kersti and Jay would provide. In Kersti’s more stable hands, Cressida’s genes would surely flourish and thrive in a little girl or boy.
She watches Jay now as he follows the nurse down the corridor and her heart swells. He turns back to her and gives her the thumbs-up, a big smile on his face. Desperation can make a person do unimaginable things, she thinks. Or become someone they never thought they’d be.
Two weeks later, Kersti finds herself lying on the couch, waiting for that portentous, dreaded phone call. The pregnancy test results. They went to Mount Sinai this morning for the test; drove downtown in absolute silence, their moods solemn. For most couples, it’s the moment of joy and celebration. For them, it’s sheer anxiety.
Two weeks ago today, on Valentine’s Day, two perfect ABB blastocyst-stage embryos were painstakingly transferred inside Kersti’s uterus with all the promise of a sunrise. They stayed in Denver for a week after the procedure, with Kersti overcautiously lying flat on her back in the hotel room the whole time. Since returning to Toronto, she’s been obsessing over potentially real or imagined pregnancy symptoms. She knows from experience and from having read too many fertility blogs that swollen breasts and fatigue can be symptoms, but her doctor warned her these could also be the effects of the progesterone she’s injecting and not to get too excited.
The call usually comes close to noon, after the hospital gets the blood results back from the lab. Kersti’s had several of these calls before and they usually begin with, “I’m sorry, Kersti.” Twice the results were positive—she was technically pregnant—but in the follow-up blood tests, her hCG levels did not increase the way they should have, and by the time she had her eight-week ultrasound, no heartbeat was detected. Dr. Gliberman called them miscarriages, but later told her that neither of her brief pregnancies had ever been viable. She wasn’t sure what that meant, if it was supposed to console her or be less traumatic since they weren’t “real” pregnancies in the first place, but it felt like a cruel joke after everything they’d already been through.
After an unsuccessful attempt to nap, Kersti goes into the kitchen, boils water for chamomile tea—she’s been forbidden caffeine—and butters toast, just about the only thing she can eat due to her nerves. She settles at the counter with the mail, wishing Jay hadn’t gone to work. She knows it’s how he copes, but it would be easier if he was here and they could talk and pass the time together. Her mother offered to come over, but Kersti isn’t up to facing Anni or any of her sisters. Not if it’s bad news.
There’s a thick envelope from Deirdre in the mail, probably more copies of the legal documents. She had her lawyer draw up a series of ironclad contracts. Kersti opens the envelope and pulls the rubber band off what appears to be a pile of letters. There’s a note from Deirdre attached to the top.
Kersti,
I should have given these to you a long time ago, when you were in Boston. I intended to, and then we were sidetracked by more “pressing” matters. You know me by now and you will soon see why I kept these to myself for as long as I did: shame/embarrassment/prudishness. My daughter never ceased to shock me. I was nothing like her as a teenager, I assure you! I know it’s not the mysterious ledger, which I promise I do not have, but these notes may give you insight into what was going on before she fell. I never knew whom they were from before you told me, though I confess when you were here, I did know she’d been seeing someone other than Magnus. These “love notes” (if you can call them that) were sent to me with her things, hidden between the pages of a book. I have to get rid of them now—Sloane is at a snooping age—and it’s either to you or the incinerator. Perhaps they can help you, should we decide to investigate further after you have the baby.
That said, I’m waiting by the phone for your good news. I have every faith that our Cressida’s eggs will bless you with one if not two (three or four?) beautiful children. Take good care of yourself and our precious cargo. Best, D.
Kersti opens one of the notes.
C,
No one else makes me cum like you. It’s all I can think about all day long. I’ll be waiting for you tonight. Wear that thing you wore the last time.
C-
Kersti has never thought of herself as a prude, but even she’s a little shocked by it. Cressida would have been sixteen or seventeen at the time.
Kersti doesn’t recognize the handwriting, but assumes it’s Mr. Fithern. Charlie, as Cressida used to call him.
C,
Why after all this time would you worry about me getting caught? It’s not for you to worry about. It’s my problem. I love you. Now get over here soon so I can fuck you.
C-
C,
When you came last night and your beautiful body was convulsing in my arms, I knew I could give everything up to have you forever. And yes, to answer your question again, no one makes me cum like you.
C-
C,
Dreaming of your perfect body and what I’m going to do to it when I see you tonight. And no more talk like the other night. You know you are the only one for me, the only one I love. You mustn’t forget that, no matter what the situation seems on the outside.
C-
C,
Why do you say we can’t be together? Your age and all the other irrelevant points you make are utterly meaningless to me, this at least you should know! I don’t like all these doubts you’re having. I can’t live without the taste of you, the feel of you, the smell of you. Our relationship transcends societal norms. You’ve never adhered to any rules before. Don’t start now. We do as we please. We always have.
C-
Kersti feels flushed and embarrassed even though she’s alone. She imagines Mr. Fithern slipping these notes into Cressida’s history textbook during class, or handing them to her as they passed each other on their way to class. Did he give them to her when he was returning a test or homework he’d graded? Did he fuck her in the school bathroom, with Abby Ho-Tai in the stall beside them, sick from her laxatives? Did they get off on crossing lines, shattering boundaries, disregarding everyone at the Lycée but themselves?
He must have had his own pile of dirty notes from her, tied up in rubber bands and stashed all over his house; the house he’d shared with his wife. Does he have them still? Did he keep them as a souvenir, a reminder of his youthful virility, his underage conquest?
Kersti can’t help wondering what Cressida would have written to him. How was she able to do it? One minute, giggling and gossiping and being silly with her girlfriends up in the third-floor bathroom like any normal teenage girl, and the next, writing those things to her married lover, things Kersti had never even heard of, or wouldn’t have dared think about, let alone say to another person.
Maybe Mrs. Fithern found Cressida’s letters and read them. She must have been shocked and horrified—more than Kersti is now. And not just by the betrayal, but by their vulgarity and the sheer recklessness of their behavior. She must have despised Cressida.
And yet, when Kersti spoke to her, she’d sounded positively sympathetic. Charles was the predator. Something about that comment never rang true for Kersti. Their whole conversation had left her feeling unsettled.
I think she was an unhappy girl who got in over her head and tried to kill herself.
As Kersti broods over their conversation, she realizes she’s already made the decision. She’s going to go to Lausanne for the centennial celebration and speak to Bueche and Harzenmoser herself. If by some miracle she’s pregnant, she’ll be past the first trimester by then; if not, it will be her consolation trip. Maybe they can go to Estonia, do that Baltic cruise Jay had talked about, travel around for a few weeks to regroup. Either way, she can’t stop here. There are too many loose ends and unanswered questions.
When the phone rings, Kersti nearly jumps off her stool, having completely lost track of the time. She takes a deep breath and tries to steady her galloping heart before she reaches for it.
Please God Please God Please God
“Kersti?”
“Yes,” she manages, on the brink of vomiting.
“Congratulations, Kersti!” the nurse says, her voice the most beautiful sound Kersti’s ever heard. “Your test was positive. Your levels are great.”
Her levels are great. Kersti exhales and realizes she hasn’t breathed in at least a minute. The phone is shaking in her hand. “I have to call Jay—”
“We want you to come back Wednesday for your follow-up blood test.”
Not out of the woods yet, but it’s different this time. She can feel it. This is Cressida’s baby and it’s meant to be.