Maybe Baby (23 page)

His workshop was covered in a sheen of pale sawdust. I waved my hand in front of me, hoping to prevent any of the dust from getting in my mouth and nose. But it didn't help. My lips tasted of sawdust; my hands already were dusted with it. I walked through the labyrinth of the cavernous workshop.

One of the carpenters was blasting Led Zeppelin and playing air guitar in between sanding a table leg. Anot
her was staining a set of bookcases. I nodded at both men and continued weaving my way towards the corner studio area Mads called his. He was bent over a piece of fine cherry wood, planing it by hand. I watched as he worked, admiring how his T-shirt clung to his back, and the sheen of perspiration on his arms and the nape of his neck, despite the chill in the air. He'd cut his hair so it was closely cropped along the back of his head. Now, when it was shorter, the red-gold shone even more against his still-tan skin. He reached back and scratched his neck. My mouth went dry as I imagined him stripping for me. I said his name.

He looked over his shoulder and grinned at me.
"What are you doing here?" He set down the plane and came over to me.

I shrugged and threw my arms around him. I was as giddy as a teenage girl hanging out with her boyfriend.
"Can you escape from here for a little while?"

We kissed like silly teenagers—deep, long kisses as we groped at one another, not caring if anyone saw.

"Anton's coming in soon," he said and then sucked my lower lip. A little moan slipped from me. "We're nearly done with his table. I could call him, ask him to come tomorrow instead."

Anton would be annoyed. He hated changing already agreed upon plans, unless it was absolutely necessary. I didn't think he'd accept my wanting to get laid as nece
ssary enough to cancel his woodworking lesson, so I told Mads I'd keep myself busy at his place until he and Anton were done. So we made plans to have dinner at home and watch a movie, though we both knew we'd abandon the movie before it even started properly. Mads gave me the keys to his place and said he'd call as soon as he and Anton were done.

I went back into the darkness, this time knowing that I would see Mads in a few hours and we would finally have some time together. It had started raining again, and the thin trench coat I was wearing did nothing to protect me against the elements. By the time I locked my bike in the courtyard of
Mads's building, I looked more like something the cat had dragged in. I was certain my mascara was running down my face. My trench coat was dripping wet and sagging around me, and my favorite pair of loafers was waterlogged. I climbed the stairs to his apartment, collecting his mail on my way up. Inside his flat the air was chilly. He hated having the heat on, and didn't seem bothered by the chill. For me though his apartment was too cold, so whenever I came over I either turned the heat up, or lit a fire in his fireplace. Today I opted for both. I hung my wet clothes on the drying rack in his bathroom and made sure the floor heating was on. Then I put on one of his T-shirts and a pair of his pajama pants and rag socks.

A cup of tea was the next thing on my list. I searched his kitchen cabinets for the white peony tea I'd bought the last time I'd come by, then turned on his electric kettle. I was just getting a jumbo mug from the cabinet when I saw the letter from Copenhagen Cryo. The letter was terminating his association with the clinic, claiming he'd violated the contract he had with the fertility center and could be liable for a lawsuit. I read it again to make sure I understood. Some of the Danish words were co
mpletely different from Swedish, and it took me awhile to get a grasp of every sentence. But I understood--they were threatening to take him to court for violation of his contract. They insinuated that we'd knowingly engaged in an improper relationship that was damaging to the clinic's reputation. I put the letter back where I found it—on top of the glass jars where Mads kept his sugar, flour, and salt.

I tried not to think about our Copenhagen Cryo si
tuation, but it was difficult not to. It didn't make sense that they were harassing us so much. They were behaving like Mads was their one and only cash cow, which was impossible. Ida had said he was a very popular donor. I wasn't surprised. His video was compelling enough that I'd viewed it too many times before the mingle. I'd already felt drawn to him from it. I could imagine other women watching it and reacting to his sexy half-smile and the timbre of his voice. He exuded a sensuality that was unstudied and arousing without being too overt.

And then I thought about how Ida had reacted when I'd asked her to suggest a popular donor. She hadn't needed to think very long. She chose Mads immediately. She even made sure we met. But one thing stuck out most in my mind—she'd said that sometimes women came to the mingles looking for relationships, not babies. And she hadn't seemed so adverse to it. She'd been very blasé about it and had simply said, "It happens som
etimes." So if it happened sometimes, why was she trying to prevent Mads and me from having a relationship, especially when I had never signed any agreement to purchase sperm from their clinic?

*      *      *

Mads finally arrived a few hours later. By that time, the apartment was cozy and filled with the aroma of the lasagna I'd thrown together. I'd ask him about the letter later. For now, I wanted to focus on us. Mads, still covered with sawdust, was too beautiful. I kissed him and said, "I hope you're hungry."

He grinned at me, a sexy, promising grin, and cou
ntered, "I'm always hungry." He slid his hands inside my T-shirt and massaged my nipples until they were taut and sensitive. "Maybe we could wait a little while with dinner."

We ended up making love on the sofa. I sat in
Mads's lap, riding and torturing him with the slow rocking motion of my hips. He cupped my ass with one hand and used the other to cup one of my breasts. Sometimes he tried to urge me on, but I wouldn't let him dictate the tempo. I wanted to savor the delicious swelling of his cock throbbing inside me. Even when his moans vibrated against my swollen nipples, I wouldn't give up. My limbs melted with each shiver he sent through me. My breath caught in my throat as my own moans escaped from deep inside me.

Afterwards, we lay together on the sofa, breathing heavily, completely sated. A languid drowsiness was seeping through me. We were both beginning to fall asleep when
Niklas's ringtone startled us out of our stupor. I didn't want to move but Mads murmured, "Maybe you should answer it. It might be an emergency."

I scrambled for my T-shirt again and then found my phone under a sofa cushion.

"Did I catch you at a bad time?" Niklas's voice was even, but there was a hint of sarcasm to his tone.

"
No, not really." I said. "How are you?"

Niklas ignored my question.
"I received a very strange letter from that clinic of yours."

"
Yes, they've been on the phone with me."

"
Looks like you and Mads really stepped into the shit with this affair of yours."

"
Is that why you called? To gloat?"

"
No, I called because I wanted to know if they have a legal leg to stand on."

"
Not as far as I know. I never signed a contract. Nothing was decided."

"
And what does Mads say?" Niklas asked. Mads had hauled himself off the sofa and was in the kitchen now, naked. He set a bottle of red wine on the table, and then set out two plates.

"
He's just as confused as I am. He went inactive once we decided to get together, but the clinic suddenly says he's causing them a loss of income."

"
Should I get my lawyer involved?" Niklas offered. "We may not be together, but the only reason you went there was because we were supposed to be looking into alternatives."

"
I really appreciate that, Niklas." The edge in my voice softened. Niklas was a good person; he always had been.

"
I just don't want this dragging out." He cleared his throat, one of his nervous habits that I'd once found endearing but towards the end of our relationship it had become akin to the sound of nails scratching a chalkboard. "We both need to move on, and having this ludicrous business with the clinic between us isn't going to help matters."

"
I know. I'm sorry about all of this." I glanced at Mads. He was leaning against the counters, still naked, watching me as he drank his wine. "Is Jesper all right?"

"
Why are you asking about him? He's not your responsibility anymore."

"
He was never really my responsibility, but I always cared what happened to him. And he called me a few days ago. He sounded down."

A dry rustling came through the phone.
"I'll talk to him."

And then, just as quickly, Niklas rang off.

But the call left a strange pall over me. I wasn't used to Niklas sounding so cold. The control, the measured words—those didn't surprise me. Sometimes I'd overheard his sessions with his patients, and his voice had taken on that same calm measuredness. But the chill to his voice, that was new. Even in his angriest moments with me, Niklas had never spoken to me like I was an annoyance or a stranger. But I had to face facts: cheating on him hadn't raised his opinion of me, and why would it? I'd put my own needs before the needs of our relationship, and I'd done it willingly.

"
What did he want?" Mads's voice shook me out of my thoughts.

"
The clinic sent him a letter. He's getting his lawyer involved."

"
Aw, hell, Laney. I don't understand what kind of game they're playing with us." Mads abandoned his glass of wine and returned to the living room. The fire was dying and a palatable chill began to seep in again. I shivered and curled into him.

"
I saw the letter the clinic sent you."

"
Fanden
...I should have told you about it." Mads tensed. "I didn't want you to worry."

"
We're both in this," I reminded him gently. "I wish you'd told me instead of hiding the letter in the cupboard." Then I asked him the question that had been niggling inside me for a while. "Did you and Ida ever date?"

"
What? No, it was nothing like that. I knew her before she started working at the clinic. She's the one who told me about the sperm donor program."

"
How did you know her, though?"

"
She's Adam's cousin, and we all grew up together in Humlebæk."

"
And she was never interested in you? And you never slept with her?"

"
I slept with her a couple of times in college, before I met Karin and moved to Stockholm." Then the dime dropped for Mads as well. "You think she's doing this because she's jealous? But that's all ancient history."

"
It's got to be something like that. Otherwise, it doesn't make any sense. That first time I was at the clinic, the only time I was ever there, she told me that some women came to those mingle sessions just looking to hook up or meet partners."

"
Yeah, that's true. It does. I've had women and men proposition me during those mingles. A couple of times, married couples have even approached me and tried to suggest having threesomes. It's like they think I'm some kind of gigolo just because I've donated some sperm."

"
Did you tell Ida we were dating?"

"
No, I just told her I was in a relationship now, and I didn't want to be active. She acted like this was fine."

"
So either Adam told her," I speculated. "Or Trine."

Mads shook his head.
"
For fanden
... goddamn Trine..."

Goddamn Trine, indeed.

The worst part of all of this was trying to pretend that
Mads's past didn't touch me. Finding out about his past relationship with Ida only highlighted how little we knew of one another, and how we were both treading in unknown territory. I kept telling myself this was normal. No matter how connected we were, there would always be something new that we'd discover about one another. But that night, as we lay in bed and I waited for sleep to come, I couldn't purge thoughts of what he was like with Ida... and even how he'd been with his ex-wife. I didn't know anything about either of those relationships.

Niklas used to say that was the difference between Scandinavians and Americans—Americans wanted to exami
ne every detail of their lovers' pasts; Scandinavians didn't care about the past, it was all about the future you were creating together. I guess my years of living in Sweden hadn't made me sufficiently Scandinavian. I didn't want to be a stranger in Mads's life.

But nobody came with a clean slate.

I was scared. Not of him. Just the intensity of how I felt about him. All those years I spent going from one man to another, hoping I'd find someone who'd kindle a flame inside me, who'd make me feel like anything was possible. And now I had it. So why couldn't we just be happy? I tried to close my eyes and practice yoga breathing, anything that would pull me into the land of dreams. But all I saw was a parade of women who'd all been in Mads's life before me. The women he'd dated, the women who bought his sperm so they could have babies, the women he'd had one-night-stands with. And now they were all streaming past, reminding me that life with Mads wasn't going to be orderly.