Authors: Alan Conway
We talk it over at the kitchen counter until dawn. After our heads are all swimmy and drunk with delirium and ready to pass the fuck out, we fall asleep on the couch watching infomercials until the alarm kicks our asses into gear.
But we have a plan. I only hope it works.
Brian
I wouldn’t have said anything if the time wasn’t right. People who love each other eventually fall into the same wavelength on this great cosmic spectrum. Sometimes you just know things about people and you don’t need any explanation. I knew Damon wanted children more than I did, and given the opportunity to have his cake and eat it, too – well, I can’t think of a better way to put it – he would take it. And he didn't disappoint. Besides, being together and
living
together are not one in the same, and we silently chose the latter.
But creating life together takes things to a whole new level. Luckily Dr. Carter does our consultation over the phone and spares us the airfare. Lauren, Damon, and I sit huddled around the speakerphone listening to Carter explain the procedure and what we can expect during the gestation period as well as long-term. It all sounds too good to be true, honestly, but I'm not willing to give up hope over a few festering doubts.
Carter’s voice is something ancient – silky smooth and dripping with wisdom and a cowboy’s kindness, like a grandfather explaining to a child why the sky is blue. Our fears are squashed within twenty minutes and we all agree that it’s safe enough for all of us. I’m more worried about Lauren. Hell, she has to carry the child for nine grueling months while we do our best taking care of her. I’m prepared for that, and I believe Damon is, too, but Lauren must be in a world somewhere beyond this one because she is confident and calm and ready for whatever lies ahead.
The procedure itself doesn't seem that complicated on our end. After the doctors procure one of Lauren’s eggs, and Damon and I each give sperm samples, the DNA from the egg is replaced with mine or Damon’s DNA – what they call mitochondrial DNA will remain – and the egg is then fertilized with the remaining donor sperm. The fertilized egg is then reinserted and implanted artificially. In essence, the child will share genetic characteristics of all three parents. According to the literature we received in the mail, Carter has only recently perfected his methods and the ability to weed out any potential birth defects or complications, but he has high hopes for us and the baby, given our samples are viable enough. A satellite clinic in town will handle our fertility tests then Carter will review the results. If we’re good to go, we’ll know by the end of the week.
After we hang up with Carter, it hits me. I’m sick with a hereditary illness, and I should have asked if it’s possible…if it’s possible that it could be passed on.
While Damon and Lauren crack the champagne in the living room, I sneak into my office and call Carter back.
Damon
Brian and I have to jerk off in a cup. Seems easy enough, right? I've had sex in public places before, but I've never whipped it out to bust a nut just because, well, just because. A nurse takes me into this little room. No windows of course. There are magazines, some books, a collection of porn on VHS (complete with a VCR if you can believe it), and a computer terminal with a plastic covering over the keyboard. It’s an old machine, and it’s locked to a porn portal with zillions of videos and pictures. Everything anyone would need to get the job done, right? Wrong.
I’m in there for about forty-five minutes before I’m focused enough to do it. I skip the resources available to me and go for blue-sky imagination. Five minutes later, I wash my hands and step out.
“Your turn,” I tell Brian as he’s checking his watch with a smile. I pat him on the shoulder and wish him luck as he goes into the jack shack.
I check my phone and go into the bathroom to take a piss, and when I come back out he’s waiting for me. Oh I give him so much shit about it on the way home.
Lauren had her thing done earlier, but I don't ask any questions about it – although I would have loved to give her details about my generous donation just to gross her out.
I keep getting texts from a number I don’t recognize. I don’t respond. I delete them without opening them. Although I have a sinking feeling of who it could be. I just hope I’m wrong.
We pass a trailer on the road carrying horses. I point them out and say I want some horses.
“Where in God’s name would we keep a horse? In the little storage closet with the water heater?” Brian asks with a laugh. “Besides, I can’t imagine you on a horse.”
“We use to have horses when I was little,” I tell him. “Mom sold them all after Dad died. But damn, I was like six or seven. I wouldn’t do well on a horse now if I tried.”
“Maybe someday,” he says. “Once we're out of that apartment.”
I really would like to have dog. That’s what we need. I almost brought it up before but gave up on the idea. Most people would find it hard to believe that I’m an animal lover. I mention to Brian that if I had ever gotten into a medical profession, it would’ve had something to do with animals, probably veterinary medicine. It’s funny the random things you tell people.
But then Brian tells me that he always wanted to make movies, go out to Hollywood and all that. I already know this but support his dreams just the same. He’s a great writer and he’s got that knack for artistic stuff – and an encyclopedic knowledge of movies that I like to test from time to time – so I know he’d be a great filmmaker.
And why not? He’s a great everything.
Brian helps me with my tie. I only have to wear it three days a week at the bank, and I’ve almost gotten the hang of doing it myself. I kiss him goodbye and drive away. Traffic is horrible and I realize I forgot to fill up the car with gas, so I'm freaking out about being stranded out here just as it’s starting to rain.
I make it to work on time, neglecting to stop for gas on the way in. I’m standing there at my window counting out my drawer for the day when the first customers start pouring in. I jot a reminder to get a few rolls of quarters from the safe when I hear a familiar voice, a voice that triggers countless alarms inside me.
It’s Heather. My God, she’s so fuckin hot now. She use to be a seven, but now she’s gorgeous and I have to give her a solid nine. The last time I saw her was in the dark, so she’s really gone all the way since then. She got breast implants, I think, because her tits aren’t the same. Her hair has been dyed a shade darker and her eyes are now an electric blue – contacts I’m guessing. But she’s wearing her favorite perfume. I hate the smell of it now, because it’s always reminded me of her. And why shouldn’t it?
I picked it out for her.
All those terrible feelings attack me as I wonder what she’s doing here and if there’s any way I can get away from her. Don’t let her looks fool you.
She’s poison.
Heather says hey and slides a check toward me. “Just cashing this.”
I take it, run it through the scanner, and ask, “How do you want this?”
“How do I want what?”
“Don’t play games,” I tell her. “Not here.”
“Large bills, please.”
I count it all back to her but avoid touching her hand as I do it, as if I might contract some terrible disease.
“I miss you.”
“No, you don't. You miss someone else. I’m not that guy anymore.”
“Seeing someone?”
“Something like that, yeah. Well, take care.”
I fold my hands and hope my eyes are enough to push her out the goddamn doors and into the street so a big truck can knock her into the gutter. That’s where I stayed for a long time.
“I've tried texting you.”
“How did you get my number?”
“I have friends that work for the cellular–”
“You know that’s illegal.”
“But I have something to tell you.”
“Please, just go. I don’t need this right now.”
She jots her number on the back of one of my business cards. “Just call me sometime. I want to make peace.”
“Next,” I say to the woman behind her. Heather takes her envelope of cash and leaves.
It takes all the willpower I have to not watch her walk away.
I’m trying not to think about her. It’s difficult. We had a lot of great times, so many memories. But dammit, I’ve done better for myself. I have someone better now. She had her chance and blew it. I’ve moved on.
Haven’t I?
Brian sends me a message to pick up a few things at the grocery store on the way home. I write back and make myself a note.
Heather was a freak in bed. Best pussy I ever had. The best. And those legs…those tits…that tight little ass…
Get a grip. She’s a fuckin bitch. Remember that. Remember what she did to you.
It's been almost two years since I’ve had sex. Brian and I do other things, but we’ve never explored actual intercourse. I don’t mind experimenting, but that’s one thing I don't see myself doing with him. And he understands why.
I could have her. I could have her any way I want her. I know what she likes. She knows what I like–
Control yourself.
I adjust myself to hide the hard-on below my waist. Oh my God, all I can think about is getting her naked and wrecking her–
“Sir?”
I’m holding a stack of bills in my hand while this fat chick’s looking at me with her palm open. “My money, please.”
I apologize and give it to her.
Heather...I want to give it to her.
My heartbeat pounds in my ears and I have to excuse myself. I run to the men’s room and lock the door.
She’s poison, Damon. Poison.
I look down and say fuck this, so I drop my pants and get it over with. A quick nut and I’m back out on the floor, dishing out the dollars with a sane mind.
Before I go on lunch, I can’t help but laugh because this is the second time I’ve gotten myself off in a public place the same day.
The second time was much easier, and for the rest of the day, I ignore the reason why.
Brian
I’m feeling romantic tonight. I’m cooking up a pepperoni pizza from scratch – a new recipe that Damon might enjoy. Groovy tunes play softly through the apartment while I knead the pizza dough. I turn around and scan the living room, assess the mood. I run over and flip off the overheads then light a couple of candles.
This should be a fun night.
Lauren calls and we chat until Damon comes home with the mozzarella cheese I need. I take out handfuls, spread them on the pizza, and pop it in the oven.
Damon looks a little distant tonight. He drops into the recliner and lays back with his eyes closed. Must have been a rough day at work. Hopefully I can cheer him up.
I walk over and rub his shoulders.
“That feels awesome,” he says. “Do we have any Excedrin?”
I go to our bedroom and find some. When I come back into the living room, Damon’s resting his face in his hands. “Your head hurt?” I ask.
He says it does. I give him two pills. “Do we have anything to drink?”
“Sure, what do you want? A beer? Soda?”
“Is that all we got? Do we have anything stronger?”
I see a red flag in my mind’s eye but dismiss it. “Damon, we haven't had any liquor in a while.”
“Beer is fine.” I pop one and hand it to him. I feel like I should be worried about something, but I don’t want to get hysterical for no reason. He just had a bad day at work. Probably a snotty customer or something.
Nevertheless, I sit on the couch while I listen for the oven timer. I stretch out and grab his hand dangling over the armrest. “You okay?” I ask.
He says nothing for a long time – he’s thinking about how to answer me – and then he says, “I saw Heather today.”
“Oh yeah?” That jealous ball of chaos in my chest comes alive. “At the bank?”
“Yeah. I don't know what she’s doing down here.”
“Think she was looking for you?”
“Maybe,” he mutters, still distant. We both know she was.
“So what’s wrong?”
“Nothing, Brian. I'm just in a bad mood tonight.”
So much for fun and romance. It’s best to leave him alone when he gets like this. It usually happens after his favorite football team plays badly or after a losing streak on
Soldier’s Fury
, a video game he plays into the wee hours of the morning.
But this is something different. An enemy has made contact, and part of me wonders if seeing her has brought back not only bad memories but good feelings. I decide to make the rest of the conversation light and steer it somewhere else for both our sakes.
“I began a new story today,” I say. “In the notebook you gave me.”
“Oh yeah?” He’s void of enthusiasm, but he’s trying.
So much for that. What else…
“I've been thinking about playing that new game with you. At least try to play it.”
“I didn’t know you were a gamer.”
“Come on, man,” I say, getting the pizza out of the oven. “Lighten up, will you?”
“I said I’m in a bad fuckin mood, Brian,” he booms then disappears into the bedroom. He comes out in gym shorts and a hoodie then goes out onto the balcony to smoke.
I brace myself against the counter and try to milk some solution out of this. Things were going so well, and now Heather Meeks strolls in to burn everything. I won’t confront her, but I sure as hell want to. Variations of the possible argument speed through my mind, what I’d say if I ever saw her again.
Damon comes back inside with his hands on his hips, looking at the carpet.
“I’m sorry, all right,” he says.
“It’s okay, really,” I tell him. “Don't worry about it.”
His wet eyes roll up at me. “You sure?”
I walk over to him and give him a big hug. “Let’s eat.”
We eat in silence. There’s nothing on TV, but we find something funny to watch. I doze off with him in my arms and dream about the Meeks girl.
I wake up and he’s gone. There’s a note on the coffee table. It says:
Went down to the bar for drinks and to clear my head. I won't be out too late, though. Sorry we fought. Love, D.