Maybe Baby (3 page)

"
Yes, you made that clear a few days ago."

"
Well, you asked and I just want to make sure you understand."

"
You used to say you would do anything for me."

"
This isn’t about ‘doing anything’ for you, Laney," he said, sounding more and more exasperated. "Do you think it was easy for me to decide to get a vasectomy in the first place?"

I shook my head. I knew he thought I was being u
nreasonable. I just never thought this path would be closed off to us. I thought there would be a day when it would happen and we’d have a child who would be this perfect amalgamation of us both.

"
Karolina was going through a hard time, and neither of the pregnancies was easy… and after four years of sleepless nights, watching my wife falling out of love with me and our marriage falling apart—I just didn’t see any more kids in my future. And, let’s face it, I don’t want to go under the knife again… not in that area. Once was enough."

"
Okay, okay." I waved my hand in defeat. There would be no swaying him.

And really… I guess if I had a penis, I wouldn’t want to go through surgery in such a… vulnerable area just because my girlfriend who’d always said babies scared her suddenly announced she wanted to have one.

*      *      *

He tried to smooth things over with make-up sex, and while I felt loose and satisfied physically, I was still em
pty emotionally and mentally. So I got dressed and walked to Kungsholmen. It wasn't a long walk, but it gave me enough time to think about the last few days. Why was I so determined to get pregnant? I didn’t even know if I actually liked children. It was like there was someone else controlling my thoughts.

Around me, Stockholmers rushed from one open house to another. It was Sunday afternoon, which meant every newly-minted couple who’d decided to make a go of it (and newly divorced ones as well) would be looking for the perfect apartment. I’d passed enough signs a
dvertising "
till salu
" or "
visningar
" to know that there was a bumper crop of apartments on the market.

It reminded me of when Niklas and I were doing the very same thing. We planned each Sunday with the pr
ecision of a military campaign. Hit five open houses in one day, spend Sunday evening ruminating over which we’d bid on, get annoyed when someone outbid us. It wasn’t a fun process. But there was something wonderful about our Saturday brunches, spent bent over the real estate section, the spreadsheet Niklas made so we could compare square meter prices, and the checklist of must-haves that helped determine if we’d bid.

Once we’d tortured ourselves with enough open hou
ses, we’d retreat to our favorite Italian restaurant, tucked away on Tunnelgatan and discuss which apartments to continue considering over ample glasses of Chianti classico and plates of pappardelle with truffle oil or cacciatore, followed by cheese and dessert wine or tiramisu and coffee. By the time we waddled back to our old apartment—the one Niklas and Karolina had shared and which still felt very much like hers—we were too full and too exhausted for more than a cursory cuddle and vegetating on the sofa. But I remember thinking that we were so attuned to one another. I knew, without even having to ask, which apartments would immediately turn him off and vice versa. Somewhere along the line, we lost that. And I was trying to convince myself that this longing to have a baby wasn't some ridiculous attempt to resuscitate our relationship.

I didn’t think it was. I still loved Niklas. There was no question of that. 

So I kept walking, dodging the joggers who crossed Barnhus Bridge and later the gaggles of latte mammas with their designer baby carriages, and didn’t stop until I was at Norrmälarstrand and looking across the dark waters of Lake Mälaren. My thighs were sore from the walk, even though it wasn’t very far. I’d become lazy since moving to Vasatan. We so rarely went to other parts of the city—though exceptions were made for exhibits at Fotografiska Museet, brunch at Hotel Rival at Mariatorget and dinners at the Flying Elk or Oaxen. Almost everything we needed was in Vasastan. I was so lost in thought, staring at the Art Nouveau buildings looming above Södra Mälarstrand that it took a few seconds to notice my phone vibrating in my jacket pocket. When I pulled it out, Eddy's number flashed on the display. Eddy was my cousin and my closest friend here in Stockholm. We both moved here around the same time for the different reasons. Eddy and her Swedish boyfriend moved here because Andreas was homesick; I moved from London for a job and stayed for Niklas.

I pressed answer and, before I could even greet her, she said,
"I'm at Orangeriet. Couldn’t you sneak away from Niklas for awhile, cross the bridge for me and come keep me company?"

"
You’re in luck. I'm already across the bridge."

"
Goody! So hurry up, I’ve got a great table, and I’ve already ordered a pitcher of Bloody Mary. And I’ve got some good dish for you."

I shoved my phone back in my pocket and then walked the three short blocks to the café, where Eddy was waiting for me. When I arrived, the place was a
lready packed with the über-stylish and the moneyed masses that always crowded Melker Andersson’s restaurants. They were all lean, blond, and too sleek for their own good. They didn’t really eat. They picked at food and drank copious amounts of coffee before switching over to cocktails and imported bottled water. Eddy and I stuck out. We always did. More often than not, we were the only blacks at the mingles and dinners and events we were inevitably invited to. This never bothered me when I lived in the US. Every now and then it annoyed me in Stockholm. I hated how people reacted—like we were either intruding, or as if we were these little bits of exotica. Usually, there was someone who assumed we were hired help or who felt the need to tell us how much they loved Spike Lee or hip-hop or Kanye West.             

Eddy has chosen two of the best seats in this pseudo-greenhouse/conservatory—two shabby-chic leather ar
mchairs positioned by the wall of windows looking out over Lake Mälaren, perfectly positioned to catch the mid-afternoon autumn sunlight. How many of the insect girls did she have to jostle to get that table? We air-kissed each other’s cheeks. God, we’d been living in Europe too long. Then she dived into a story about her dishy Swede, Andreas, and how he was taking her to Paris in a few weeks. Her Swede used to be a male model, and he’d made a pretty good living at it. Now he had a shop in PUB Galleria that specialized in vintage menswear. Eddy worked with him, scouring consignment shops and estate sales for cool clothing for the hipsters of Stockholm. Sometimes I envied her, just a little. She and Andreas seemed to get on so well, to move through life without the problems the rest of us had. But I knew this wasn’t true. I knew they argued about who was taking out the garbage, or picking up their miniature schnauzer from doggy-daycare, but most times she seemed so relaxed, so untouched by the sort of squabbles Niklas and I had on a daily basis.

"
How was New York, by the way?" she asked as she refilled my glass. "Did my mom make you guys come over for dinner?"

"
No, she was in Georgia with your grandmother," I said. "It was… nice. New York’s always nice."

"
Nice? Now, that’s what I call an understatement. Nice, indeed. C’mon, spit it out. Did you two go ballistic there?"

"
More like I had a mental breakdown on the way home."

"
What? Why? What did he do?"

"
It’s more what he won’t do."

And then I shared with my cousin the whole sordid tale of my sudden epiphany and
Niklasʼs categorical refusal to reverse his vasectomy. She made all the right sympathetic sounds, but she seemed more amused by the story than anything else. I guess I would have been, too, in her shoes. After so many years of both of us saying we didn’t want to have children, I’d suddenly listened to the blaring alarm of my biological clock.

"
You know you’re insane, right?" Eddy teased. "You know how much of a hassle it is with kids? You just finished helping him raise the brats he already has, and now you want to have your own?"

"
I'm serious, Eddy."

"
I know you are; that’s why I can’t understand the change of heart, Ever since you and Niklas moved in together, you’ve been dealing with how awful his kids have been to you."

"
Jesper isn’t as bad as…"

"
As Siri, I know. But he’s no angel, either, especially when his witch of a sister is around. I’ve been at your place often enough to see what Niklas lets his kids get away with."

"
At least they’re not with us as often anymore."

"
And you want to start all over again."

"
It would be different this time. It would be my child, not Karolina’s."

"
And he never told you about the… snip?"

"No. I thought he was joking at first."

Eddy shook her head.
"If Andreas ever pulled anything like that…"

"
I don’t even know if he pulled anything. Maybe I forgot."  But, of course, I knew I hadn’t.

"
But you really want to have a baby?"

I nodded.

"So get a sperm donor. If Niklasʼs little buddies aren’t swimming, you can always find some that will." Eddy refilled our glasses again and then winked at me.

"
I'm not going to trawl a bar looking for a guy to get me pregnant, Eddy. That’s just so wrong."

"
Who said anything about bar-hopping? I'm talking about going to a sperm bank and getting artificial insemination, you idiot."

"
Oh." I wasn’t expecting that suggestion. Somehow the idea of going to a sperm bank felt so… clinical.

"
Talk to Niklas about it. Since he doesn’t want to get snipped again, you two could go to the sperm bank together and pick out a donor who looks enough like Niklas—"

"
Wait. I thought sperm donations were anonymous, and that all you got to know about them was background information."

"
That’s how it works here," Eddy said. "But there’s a place in Copenhagen where you can even meet your potential sperm donor, and make sure you feel comfortable with him as the… well, biological father. I was going to say something else at first, but I figured it was too crass."

"
How do you even know about this place?"

"
Honey, Andreas has so many gay cousins, I know just about everything there is to know these days about how gay couples get married, have babies, adopt babies… you name it." Eddy winked at me and then drained her glass. "Now, what we need is a plan."

"
A plan?"

"
Yes, we need a game plan to get Niklas on board with the sperm donor idea, and hustling you over to Copenhagen so you can pick out the man whose jizz is going to get you preggers."

Only he would never be on board. 
"I still need to think about this."

"
You’ve already thought about it. Enough that you and Niklas are fighting. This is the most obvious solution."

"
Maybe you’re right."

"
I know I am. Now, come on, look at the menu and figure out what you want to eat. I am freaking starving here."

"
Has one of Andreas’ cousins already tried this sperm bank?" I didn’t even think I knew anyone who’d ever been to a sperm bank. It was one of those things you saw on TV or in the movies, but you just brushed it aside and thought no one ever really used them.

Eddy nodded.
"His cousin, Uma. She’s used the same donor three times now." She waved at a waitress and then ordered for us.

"
So she’s a satisfied… customer, then?" How off-putting it was to think of obtaining ejaculation, sperm, jizz as a transaction. I tried to picture Uma—beautiful, blonde ice goddess Uma, who probably could have asked any man in the world for a quick lay just so she could get pregnant—browsing through a binder full of potential donors. What had her must-have conditions been?

"
She must be. She went back three times." Eddy shrugged. "Whoever she picked must have been as gorgeous as she is. All three of the kids are beautiful."

By the time our food arrived, I’d allowed the idea of going to this sperm bank, or at least discussing it with Niklas, to germinate in my mind. Eddy had already changed the subject, bored with talking about possible babies and all the multitude of ways one could be a
cquired. We ordered another pitcher of Bloody Mary and, as my fourth of the day slid down my throat, I decided I could follow Uma’s lead. If Niklas wouldn’t give me a baby, I would go to Copenhagen and find someone who would.

CHAPTER THREE

A Happy Coincidence

T
he next morning, Eddy convinced me to go for a run along Nörr Mälarstrand. I stupidly agreed. We’d only run three kilometers and I was already worn out. Eddy was in much better shape and probably could have pushed on. I ran when I needed to clear my head or when my favorite jeans were a little too snug. Now, it was a combination of the two after the New York trip. As soon as we reached the bench, I slumped onto it and tried to catch my breath.

"
Copenhagen Cryo."

"
What?" Long lines of sweat trailed down my face and neck.

"
The clinic Uma uses for super sperm." Eddy was still jogging in place, waiting for me to catch my breath.

"
I wish you wouldn’t call it that." I gasped and used my already damp sleeve to wipe my face.

Eddy bumped my sweaty shoulder with hers and grinned.
"You have to admit—it must be pretty good sperm if she’s gone back so many times."

"
Yeah, well you’ve got a point there."

"
Proof is in the pudding." She loosened her armband and slid her iPhone from the sleeve. She tapped the screen a few times and then handed her phone to me. "Check him out."

The face staring back at me was ruggedly handsome, with the square jaw and cheekbones of a young
Viggo Mortensen. His lips were full and generous, curled into a knowing smile. He was looking directly into the camera, and there was something almost too candid in his pale blue eyes, like he knew what you were thinking and was game for whatever you suggested.

"
Wow," was the only word I could breathe out. I swallowed hard and quickly handed Eddy’s phone back to her.

"
Wow, indeed," Eddy said and laughed lightly. "Uma says he’s worth every penny she pays. Well, you’ve seen her kids. They’re gorgeous."

"
And she found him in Copenhagen?"

Eddy nodded.
"He’s one of the donors at Copenhagen Cryo."

I shook my head in wonder. No wonder
Uma kept going back for more. Sure there was nothing sexual going on between them, but there must have been some spark that made her decide he was the right donor for her. 

"
I need to talk to Niklas," I said, still thinking about Uma’s donor. Did they all look that good? I’d always thought sperm donors would be average, nothing special. "I can’t just make a decision like this without him. I mean, I am going to raise the baby with him, so he should know if I am going to go through with it." 

Telling him I wanted to go to Denmark to investigate sperm donors sounded… wrong. His reaction was an
yone’s guess. We’d barely spoken the last few days. I was back at work again, working on a project for the global launch of a new mascara that kept me in the office until nearly nine or ten in the every night. Niklas was leading group therapy sessions for overeaters. When I came home from the office, he was often bent over his computer reviewing notes for his next session, or he was still at his office, preparing for the next day’s patients. We reached for one another in the middle of the night, pretended not to hear the carnal noises coming from Siri’s room, and held onto one another as we drifted back to sleep. In the morning, he was still asleep when I dragged myself out of bed to go to the gym and torture my body for an hour before heading to work, and the whole process started all over again.

I told myself I wasn’t keeping my decision about loo
king into the clinic from him. I really did want to discuss it with him. I thought I could tell him everything in small doses and omit the part about meeting the sperm donor.

I wasn’t being dishonest. Was I?

*      *      *

I found the sperm bank’s website pretty easily—all it took was
Googling "Copenhagen Cryo" and the clinic’s very impressive, very Danish modern page was on my screen. I was sitting at my desk in the open-plan office where I worked. Most of my colleagues had gone home already. Only Jens, who was now the creative director of the agency, was still around, and he was probably too busy on a transatlantic conference call to pay much attention to my computer screen.

The website looked credible enough. Very professio
nal, without seeming too slick, it told me everything I needed to know about how to gain access to their register of Danish men interested in becoming sperm donors. I skimmed the first few pages until I found the tab for testimonials. Well, this was a first—none of the Swedish sites for artificial insemination and sperm banks had testimonials. Copenhagen Cryo had women from around the globe who’d used their services gushing about how professional it all was, how reassuring it was to get to know the person who’d share their child’s DNA. How the openness of the entire process made it less daunting and not at all sordid. And then I found one that seemed to speak directly to me: "My biological clock was ticking, but my husband’s had already stopped. I still longed for the family we’d always talked about having, but his sperm levels were too low. So apart from adoption, this was our only option. I’d heard too many horror stories about women going to sperm banks and getting their doctor’s sperm, or getting sperm that was no good, so it was reassuring when I saw Copenhagen Cryo was certified by the Danish Ministry of Health as a quality provider, and that they could guarantee healthy sperm, as each donor was carefully screened before even being allowed to donate. I went to the information session and any misgivings that remained were put at ease. I met the man who would eventually become the biological father of my two children, and he was a perfect match. I don’t know where I’d be without Copenhagen Cryo."

By the time I got to the end of her testimonial, I knew I was ready. I filled in the request form for more info
rmation. And then I began planning how I could get to Copenhagen without Niklas becoming too suspicious. Maybe I would have to ask Eddy for help. Or moral support.

*      *      *

The next morning, I was greeted with an email from Copenhagen Cryo, inviting me to come for an information session. Ida, the case consultant who’d sent the email, suggested several dates in the coming week and pointed out one date in particular when the clinic would have a meet-and-greet mingle for potential parents and donors.

God, this felt like it was happening too quickly. I wasn’t even sure why I was doing this anymore. I kept trying to imagine telling Niklas I wanted to try artificial insemination. He wouldn’t like it, but maybe he’d think it was a better option being pushed, so I checked the
date against my iPhone calendar. I was due to go to Copenhagen next week for a meeting with our cosmetics client. That meeting was scheduled for Thursday and the mingle was on Friday. I could stay the weekend and kill two birds with one stone. Before I could talk myself out of it, I replied to Ida’s email and said I would come on Friday, then I rebooked my airline ticket and hotel room to accommodate a weekend stay. I stared at the hotel confirmation on my computer screen. There was no going back now. Everything was booked and paid for. Do you know that feeling you get when you’re about to do something insane? That scary feeling that makes you nervous and giddy? That was how I felt. And I liked it.

I glanced around my office. Jens was standing by the door to the conference room, where the rest of the team was waiting for me. He gestured for me to hurry up. I nodded and mouthed
"okay" at him, as I gathered my laptop and cup of coffee. I rushed over to him, my heels barely making a sound on the carpeted floor. My heart was racing and it wasn’t from excitement over whether our client liked our pitch. Jens grinned at me.

"
You look happy," he said, and raised an eyebrow at me. "Is there something I should know?"

I shook my head.
"Everything’s fine." Then I ducked into the conference room and slid into my usual chair. Now all I had to do was figure out a good spin to put on this so Niklas wouldn’t get the wrong idea.

*      *      *

I called Eddy while Niklas was in the shower. It was one of those rare mornings when we were both up at the same time and, despite the spaciousness of our apartment, we seemed to be under each other’s feet all the time. Luckily, there was no sign of Siri or Jesper. I’d already checked their bedrooms and confirmed that it was just Niklas and I. When Eddy answered, I went into my walk-in closet and closed the door.

"
I did it," I told her in a rushed voice. "I made an appointment with the sperm bank."

"
So Niklas is on board with the idea then? Good for you!"

"
I didn’t tell him… yet."

"
Honey, what are you doing?"

"
I'm just going to get information. Besides, I have to go to Copenhagen anyway for a meeting. This is just so I know what to expect and how to explain everything to Niklas. You know I can’t go to him with a half-baked idea."

"
I guess you’ve got a point there. But you are going to tell him, aren’t you?"

"
Of course I am. It would be a bit weird if I suddenly turned up pregnant. I think he’d figure it out pretty quickly, or jump to the wrong conclusion."

"
Just make sure you two sit down and have a good, long discussion when you come home. I don’t want to see either of you get hurt."

"
I promise, I will tell him everything when I come home on Sunday evening." And I would. It was the right thing to do.

Niklas didn’t seem surprised or upset when I told him I would have to stay a day longer in Copenhagen. I was already packing when I sprang the news on him. He was reading in bed, engrossed in the last book of Stieg Larsson’s Millennium trilogy. He nodded and then asked me if I was going to sneak in a visit to the Louisiana Museum of Art.

"
Maybe," I said as I continued packing my suitcase. "It depends on how long the meetings run."

"
You should try to see Anton and Ingrid while you’re there," he said without looking up from his book.

Anton and Ingrid were two of my closest friends from my college days in the US. They'd moved back to C
openhagen after close to fifteen years in the States, when Ingrid became pregnant with their first child. Meeting them now… no, maybe it wasn’t a good idea. I still hadn’t told Niklas about the sperm bank and the idea of artificial insemination. Every time I thought about bringing it up, something held me back. Was it fear that he would say no? Or was it simply that I wanted to avoid his trying to talk me out of it?

"
Maybe," I said again. "The schedule is pretty tight, but I might be able to meet them on Saturday."

"
Do you have to work on Saturday as well?" he finally lowered the book and set it beside him on the mattress. "I thought your boss refused to work weekends."

"
We’re having breakfast with the Danish team on Saturday. Thursday and Friday are the meeting days." The lie slid out so easily and left a bitter taste in my mouth.

"
Ah, well, you should make some time to see them, if you can. I know how much you miss them." He watched me steadily. "You okay?"

I nodded.
"Just tired. It’s been a long day and now I have to get up early tomorrow."

"
Come to bed."

"
In a minute. I'm nearly done packing."

Niklas peeled off his shirt and tossed it at me. It lan
ded in my suitcase. I shook my head and moved it aside.

"
Come to bed and I’ll make it worth your while."

He grinned at me and began easing his boxers off. I zipped my suitcase and then set it on the floor. I tried not to feel guilty. I was living with a man who was und
eniably sexy. His firm body was still tan from our summer in the US.  The golden brown trail of hair that started at his chest drew my eyes downward to the thick thatch of pubic hair along his gorgeous cock. I was so in the mood for him… even if a part of me was still angry with him.

I grinned as I walked over to his side of the bed.
"How worth my while will you make it?"

He reached for me and pulled me into bed with him. He unbuttoned my blouse and pushed it away. I arched
up to meet his touch as he dragged his palm across my naked breasts. "I love it when you don’t wear a bra," he said and then took my right nipple between his teeth and gave it a gentle tug. I pulled at him, not wanting foreplay but still loving the way it felt when he teased me with his fingers and his mouth. As we kissed, his cock stirred and nudged my thigh. I opened my legs wider; I was so ready for him. I whispered for him to fuck me, to take me, begged him to do whatever he wanted to me. My body buzzed for him, I was so turned on that when he finally slid inside me, I was trembling and anxious to feel even more of him.

We made love, and then curled around each other, drifted off to sleep, woke up, made love again. Later, when both of us were too tired to move or even mind the damp sheets, Niklas kissed my neck and kept his arm coiled around my waist.

"When you come home, we can look into adoption," he said softly. His voice already had that slow, sleepy quality. "It might not be easy…but we should try."