I roll my eyes. “You’ve got your photo. You’re not getting another.”
Josh grins at me then asks, “Still nervous?”
“Not anymore.” I lean into him and nudge him with my elbow. “Thank you.”
“Anytime.”
We’re quiet for a moment and then I wonder about what he said. “Are you really going to have trouble?” I mean, the room was sterile and ugly, and it is a lot of pressure.
I study his face. He looks tired, the hollows under his eyes are darker than usual and it looks like he hasn’t shaved in a few days. He sees my concern and smiles at me.
“Don’t worry about it. I’m alright.”
I’m not sure if he means he’ll be alright in “The Production Room,” or if he’s alright in general.
“Is your dad okay?”
Josh nods, but he looks away from me and he doesn’t say anything.
Oh.
I sigh and lean into him.
He pats my arm and then leaves his hand on my coat sleeve. He rubs his thumb up and down my arm. I look over at him, but I don’t think he realizes he’s doing it.
Finally I break the silence. “This waiting sucks.”
Josh sits up straight then looks down at his watch. “They should call you back in a few.”
“Are you sure you still want to do this?”
I know it’s a weird time to ask this question, but this is just about the last time he can back out. Even though we’ve already signed the contract, the IVF consent forms, all the legal documentation, everything…still.
He looks over at me and I see that shadow of seriousness in his expression. “What do you think she’ll be like?” he asks.
I look at him in surprise. “The baby?”
He nods.
I get a warm, happy feeling in my chest. “I don’t know,” I admit. Then, “For years, I’ve dreamed about having a family. A baby. But I never thought about what she’d be like, or what she’d do. It’s more that I imagined the feeling. When I imagined her I didn’t picture hair color, or personality, or likes and dislikes, instead I imagined the feeling of her. And it’s like…hmm…”
I look at him to see if he’s going to laugh, or make fun of me, but he’s leaning toward me and his eyes look almost hungry. So, I continue, “When I was little, we used to spend Sunday afternoons in the park having family picnics.”
“I remember.”
I nod. I’m sure he does, he was invited to many of them.
“The thing I remember most about those picnics is the feeling. We were all there, sitting on our plaid blanket in the warm grass. Sometimes we’d crawl through the grass and hunt for four leaf clovers or we’d suck out the nectar from honeysuckle blossoms. Or sometimes we’d run barefoot through the grass and play tag. Me, Dylan and Leah would run, and wrestle and laugh. Sometimes we’d fight.”
“Sometimes?”
I snort. “Yes, sometimes. But then, we’d always finish with my mom’s fried chicken, and potato chips, and carrot sticks, and lime Jell-O. And then we’d all lay down in the grass. I’d be in my mom’s arms or my dad’s. And Leah would hold my hand and Dylan would pull my hair. And then we’d watch the clouds, every single time, we’d watch the clouds and we’d tell each other what we saw. I’d always smile up at the sky and my heart would feel so big. And the feeling of that moment, the love, the belonging, the happiness, the warmth of the sun and the smell of the grass, the sound of Leah’s laughter and my dad telling my mom he loved her, all that is wrapped up together.”
I look over at him and he’s watching me with an unreadable expression. I shrug, afraid I’ve shared too much. “Anyway, you asked what I thought she’d be like. I’ve always imagined she’ll be like that feeling. Even when she’s crying and colicky, or a teenager yelling at me that I’m parenting her wrong, or a young adult off on her own, I’ve always imagined, I’ll love her as much as any human possibly could love another.”
Josh is so quiet that I start to get uncomfortable. “Too much?” I ask him.
He shakes his head. “No, Gemma. Not too much. I’m glad I’m here.”
Then, before we can say anything more, the door to the back opens and the nurse calls my name.
I wake up in the recovery area. Dr. Ingraham said the retrieval would only take fifteen minutes. He put me to sleep with an anesthesia drug and also gave me an amnesiac. He said I’d forget everything that happens for about thirty minutes after the drug was administered. That means I’d forget things even after I woke up.