JENNIE
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"It's not the worst news, but I know it's not what you wanted to hear. Honestly though, Jennie, there are a number of options," Dr. Abrahams tells me but all I can hear is the last option she gave me. The best option according to her: freezing my eggs. She smiles at me, brushing a strand of gray hair behind her ear. My own simper falters and I hate that I can't hide the disappointment better.
Looking past her at the wall I note that it's plastered with what must be hundreds of pictures of newborns who Dr. Abrahams has helped other women conceive. Their little smiles and bows and cute little fingers and toes stare back at me. The photos are framed with pink and blue paper and give the room a hopeful atmosphere. I should be more thankful; the doctor just told me my eggs are still viable, after all. But she's given me news that a woman at my age shouldn't be getting. 'Premenopausal' isn't a word I ever thought I'd hear. Let alone this soon.
My parents always said, career first. "Figure out your life and make sure you're stable before settling down. You have plenty of time for marriage and babies." I suppose my father didn't think I'd be premenopausal either.
Barely keeping the smile on my face, I nod at whatever Dr. Abrahams said although I have no idea what came out of her mouth.
All isn't lost yet, but if I don't act soon my chances of having a child will be gone. Even now, without IVF, the odds are slim. My hormones have just given up apparently.
I'm only thirty. So… I've got to meet someone, and get him to propose. That's a year and a half, optimistically. Hopefully it's someone who wants to have kids, with extensive and expensive medical help more than likely. My mind drifts back to my health insurance and I wonder what's covered and what's not.
They say that people who wait at least three years before tying the knot stay married longer, so that's three years longer I'd have to wait. Then there's conception and gestation… and the birth, of course. My fingers run circles around each other, twiddling as I think of how this is possible. It has to be possible though, because I've always wanted a child. The thought of a bundled up newborn with a little button nose and sweet yawn takes over for a moment and my throat goes dry as my eyes prick. I can't not have a child. I nearly say the words out loud but somehow I keep them down. Swallowing them and reminding myself that freezing my eggs will work. The doctor said so.
The little plan in my head means it will be more than five years and thousands of dollars before any baby could be a reality, assuming everything goes perfectly. If the IVF works on the first try. My gaze drifts to the wall of babies, which seems to be mocking me.
"Jennie," Dr. Abrahams says gently, reaching across her desk to touch my hand. The sudden touch is jolting, bringing me back to the present. My very single, very baby-less present. "Did you hear me? I have some pamphlets here for the fertility preservation clinics I recommend."
She presents a number of brightly colored brochures, waiting for me to take them and smiles.
"Okay?" My answer comes out as a question, rather than any kind of statement. This isn't at all what I expected from my checkup. To say I'm shocked is an understatement. "Thank you," I quickly add and hope that she didn't take my initial response as rude. Clearing my throat, I smile broadly. "I appreciate it," I tell her and somehow my voice is even and echoes a happiness that's absent from how I truly feel.
"We have your follow-up visit scheduled," the doctor says absently, clicking the keys on her computer and staring at the screen, "so you're all set." She finally looks at me with a smile.
I can't return it as I nod my head. A follow up in a few days to see how bad it is. How bad. Not if it's okay. But how bad. She didn't use that exact term but it's what she meant. Once the blood work is done she can tell me just how bad it is.
Just wonderful. I can hardly wait, my inner voice is deadpan and again I keep my mouth shut.
"If you have any further questions, don't hesitate to call."
I manage a smile, nodding and when she stands, I do too, gripping my purse with both clammy hands.
A nurse in hot pink scrubs whisks me out to the reception area. "Have a nice day, Miss Kim," she tells me, winking before she turns to call her next patient amongst the women seated there. "Mrs. Gray? Shellie Gray?"
"Here!" A woman who looks to be in her early forties with kind wrinkles around her deep brown eyes pushes herself to her feet.
I drift out of the woman's way, and then the nurse closes the door behind them both. I take a deep breath, giving myself a mental shake, and head out to the parking lot. The pictures of all those babies playing in front of my eyes.
My mind is awhirl with thoughts, most of them depressing. More and more depressing with every step I take. I climb in my white sedan and pull the seatbelt on. With the click of the ignition, the car rumbles to life and I instantly turn the radio off, leaving just the hum of the car to accompany me before pulling out of the parking lot. The downtown Atlanta traffic is just as heavy as my thoughts.
As I sit in traffic on I-85, I stare at the Atlanta skyline. The sun is already setting against the brick buildings. The burned orange and yellow against the blue is peaceful. I sigh. The city was so fun when I was in college, and a great place to be when I was a recent graduate looking for my first serious job. No more retail and interning. No more clubs with my girlfriends and late nights that end up in horrific hangovers.
Now I have a steady, long-term career as a graphic designer in Buckhead and more and more often, I find myself driving to the suburbs. My cramped apartment in Candler Park would be left behind for the easy, laidback lifestyle I've found in Vinings, just outside the city's perimeter if I could afford the move, and the time to actually move. The thought of moving is just one more stressor to deal with. I'm pretty certain the doctor just gave me plenty to stress over.
With my fingers tapping along the leather steering wheel, traffic finally moves at a reasonable pace.
Come to think of it, I haven't even been at my apartment for more than a night's sleep or a shower in ages. I haven't been anywhere in the city, really. The nightlife doesn't call to me anymore. It's all work, work, work. I basically live at work, and that's it.
Well that and my go to bar. Everyone deserves a drink after a long day.
At the moment, all I want is to get lost in a cosmo or martini to finish this day off. And I know just where I want to have that drink — at the hole-in-the-wall bar my coworker Jisoo showed me a couple of months ago. Mac's bar has a jukebox, plenty of places to sit, and unlike the other bars in Vinings, it serves liquor as well as beer.
Just thinking about it has me parched. Well, that and the bartender, Lisa.
Lisa.
The traffic finally frees up completely, and I'm quick to engage the turn signal and get off at the next exit to drive toward the bar. Maybe Lisa will be there. She usually is and when I get a drink or two in, she's my confidant. That thought puts a smile on my face. It's nice to have someone to talk to and as much as Jisoo is a good friend for gossip, that's essentially all she does. Gossip.
I jump out of the car in the parking lot of Mac's Tavern, and look at my reflection in the side of the car. Brilliant blue catlike eyes lined with kohl, long waves of copper-colored hair, and a cute upturned nose greet me. If I was nitpicky, I'd say that my eyes are a little too small, that my lips are too wide.
But I'm trying to get away from that kind of thinking. I tug my pale yellow skirt down and undo a button on my collar. There's no one to impress inside Mac's, so it's time to get comfy.
After fluffing my hair once, I lock my car and head inside. The place is an old brick building, plain and short. Stepping inside is like a breath of fresh air, when you crave a break from it all. There's an ancient wooden bar along one side of the room, plenty of stools, chairs and tables to fill up the space with the exception of a small dance area that remains clear. It's dimly lit, but that's just fine by me because it aids in the pub atmosphere.
The sound of balls knocking together on the pool table in the back and the chatter of people follow me to the bar. I prefer it to a table. You never know who you're going to meet at the bar or what stories you'll hear. That's mostly what Lisa and I talk about. The regulars, their drama and anything else new in this part of town.
It's nice to unwind like that.
As I make my way to the bar, I realize that I'm smiling. There's something about this place that does that to me. There are about a dozen people sprinkled throughout the bar, mostly enjoying after-work drinks.
I walk right over to the bar and sit down at the very end. It's my seat. I look down the bar, but find the area behind it is empty. I wonder where the bartender is. There's one special girl who could make today complete… if she's working, that is.
Then a back door swings open, revealing her. Lisa, the owner of this bar.
She's tall and broad-shouldered, with light brown hair. She's wearing a blue plaid shirt and jeans, but that doesn't stop me from staring at her rippling muscles as she moves a stack of heavy-looking boxes behind the bar. Along with a jawline made for women to swoon over and twin brows that raise and lower with every emotion, she's got a nose that's just too perfect. It fits so well with her physique.
I bite my lip and blush. I know Lisa isn't for me, really I do. I literally just found out that my time is running out to form a real connection with someone. It's just… well, Lisa is hot.
The kind of hot that might keep a girl up at night, wondering what's gp feels like, wondering just what's under those jeans. Wondering if she's as stacked as you hope she is…
If the other girls hanging around and looking at her wistfully are anything to go by, Lisa's packing some serious heat. Then again, none of those girls have managed to nail her down.
And none of them were walking around, thinking of baby names in their spare time. Yep, I need to keep my hands to myself. My eyes, however…
A pleasant sigh leaves me as Lisa turns and sets the boxes down, giving me a good shot of her ass. It's perfect, nice and round. I swear, I never even noticed things like that before I met Lisa.
I chew my lip as I lean forward just a hair wondering if she does a lot of squats at the gym, or if her bubble butt is natural. Okay, maybe this is a little too much. Sitting back on the stool, I shake off my over active hormones and remind myself that she's just a girl that is a part of this safe space I've made for myself to unwind.
She turns around just as I'm nodding to myself and catches me still looking at her rear. "Hey, stranger."
Shit. I blush deep red, because I forgot the most stunning thing about Lisa: her eyes. They're a kind of moss green color, something straight out of National Geographic.
"Hey," I manage, the single word somehow coming out as two syllables, and I break off eye contact. I realize that my crush on Lisa is all it will ever be, a crush. I need to stop being such a weirdo.
I make eye contact again.
"Where have you been? It's been a whole week since I've seen your face around here," she teases.
"Oh. Just work," I say with a shrug. "You know, the usual."
"Yeah?" she says, grabbing a small worn hand towel and wiping off her hands. "That's it, huh?"
"That's it."
Her voice drops as she leans against the bar. "Nothing interesting to report?"
Somehow, she manages to make that sound filthy. God help me. There's a charm about her raised brow and the way she looks expectantly at me. The fluttering in my chest needs to quit it.
"Nope." I push my hair back off my shoulders, feeling a little hotter than I should.
"Too bad. I was looking forward to you telling me some tales." She looks down the bar and nods to someone she knows. "Can I get you something to drink?"
"Umm… something chilled with vodka but tastes fruity."
"You got it." With a pat on the bar from her, I smile broadly. That's one of the reasons I love being here.
She moves down the bar to fulfill my order, and I nearly groan to see her go.
Yeah, it's safe to say that I'm holding a bit of a torch for her. I know she's not what I want — she's hot, but completely allergic to commitment. It's why I've never approached her like that. She knows I'm on the prowl, as she says, for a husband and someone to settle away from the city with. As she's told me before, she has no intention of settling down. Still, there's no law against looking, is there?
My chin fits right into place in the palm of my hand and I sigh to myself while I stare after her.
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