A Xmas Gift: The Sperm Donor (5 page)

“OK, I’ll stop cross-examining you about Abigail and let you cross-examine me instead about your . . .
donation
.” She puts an emphasis on the word. “Your witness.”

He laughs. “My would-be Christmas gift to you, you mean.”

“So you’ll do it?”

“I didn’t say that.” Don’t let her think he is that easy. “I need to know a few things.”

“Shoot.” She seems suddenly terse.

She’s anxious, he knows. She wants this so badly.

He says, “If I decide to go through this, will you let me see our child regularly?”

“Of course.”

“And help pay for his or her upkeep and maintenance, including school and college?”

“You want to be a part-time Dad?” she says dubiously. “How is that going to sit with your new family?”

“I don’t have a new family.”

“But you might one day. How is this going to sit with your new wife and kids? Have you thought about all that?” she persists.

“Yes. And I have decided that this situation is no different from me being divorced and having a kid from a previous marriage. Or having a child out of wedlock, as quaint as that may sound.” He leans forward earnestly. “I want to be a part of my kid’s life, Elise. I don’t want to be some absentee sperm donor.”

She contemplates this for a long while, and then she nods. “But you have no parental rights.”

He hesitates before saying, “I would like them too, yes.”

“But this is my kid,” she says carefully. “I want to make the decisions.”

“Sure. I hope you’ll accept advice and input from time to time, of course.”

“Within reason.”

“I have no intention of giving ill advice, Elise.”

“But that’s precisely what I don’t want, Justin. Interference. I want to be a single mother.”

“What if you get married again?”

“I’m not going to get married again,” she says with vehemence. “Ever.”

Uneasiness mounts in him. “What happened the last time, Elise? What did
he
do to you?”

She shakes her head, but he can see that she has paled slightly and her mouth is now pursed in a determined line.

“Someday, you’ve got to tell me,” he says softly.

“Not today,” she whispers.

“Did he hurt you?”

“I really don’t want to talk about it, Justin. I’ve already made peace with my demons. So please . . . don’t ask me again.”

He acquiesces, even though he doesn’t feel right about it. Elise clearly wears the scars of her first marriage. Her very act of coming to London to ask him this favor shows that.

“So, you’re not going to do it?” she says.

“You’re really impatient.”

“I won’t concede on the single parent issue. I don’t need a husband to bring up a kid, Justin. I don’t need your financial help or your support. I only want your genes, but if you’re going to be so difficult about it, it’s OK. I’ll ask someone else.”

He sighs inwardly.

“I’ll be honest, Elise. I thought you’d jump at my offer of financial assistance. Bringing up a kid can be hard, especially in these uncertain times. You could lose your job. He may want to go to a college you can’t afford. I wouldn’t be so quick to turn down what I’m offering.”

Her eyes soften. “I know, Justin. I know.”

“The answer is ‘yes’. I will help you. I already knew it would be a ‘yes’ the moment you dropped the bomb on me. But I won’t sign that contract. You need to draw up a new one.”

She nods. “I brought my laptop. The contract is on Word. I can attenuate it.”

“You’ve thought of everything.”

“It pays to be safe.”

He sits back in his chair. “So what I do next?”

“I’ll be ovulating on Monday, and you know I have always been regular.”

Oh yes, he knows it. They used to time their sex sessions around her menstrual clock. He grins. “Some things never change.”

“So you need to go to the clinic and jerk off on Monday. Then they’ll shoot it up inside me.”

It sounds so clinical and impersonal. But that’s what being a donor means, he supposes.

“OK. I’ll take leave.”

Abby is going to wonder why he’s taking so much leave all of a sudden, but really, it’s his life. His decision. He shouldn’t have to answer to anyone.

She suddenly puts her hand on his, resting on the table. “Thank you, Justin. This means a lot to me.”

“I know.”

It means a lot to him to help her too.

Little does he know what a whole lot of trouble he’s going to land into.

*

Justin has an inkling of it when he turns on his cellphone later to find he has fifteen messages and missed calls from Abigail.

Justin, where are you? Why is your damned cellphone off?

Justin, I called the office. Ferngully said you had to run a few errands. You’re with that woman, aren’t you?

Justin, please, please call me back!

Justin, I’m going out of my mind. Please call me back!

He grips his phone very tightly in his hand, and speed dials Abby’s number.

“Yeah. My phone ran out of battery.”

Pause.

“I had to go to the post office and the bank.”

Pause.

“It’s personal, for goodness sake, Abby. I don’t have to tell you every detail of my financial affairs.”

Pause.

“No, I’m not leaving the company.”

Pause.

“You shouldn’t drink and drive when you’re upset.”

Pause.

“OK, I’ll see you tonight. For God’s sake, Abby, stop crying.”

When he rings off, he sits in his car for a long while, his mind running with all sorts of dark, ambiguous thoughts.

9

What Abby insists, Abby gets, Elise finds out.

Apparently, she doesn’t throw a tantrum to get it. She dissolves into tears. She bites her fingernails. She transcends into a series of anxious tics and sleeplessness and self-destructive behavior – like drinking excessively or smoking – until that someone accedes to her.

Compassionate soul/saint or not, Elise decides that Abigail Morton is a manipulator of the highest and most dangerous degree. And suddenly, she wonders if she should be feeling sorry for Justin . . . or terrified.

It’s none of your business
.
He’s got a life. Just as you have very succinctly asked him to butt out of yours, you have no right to barge into his.

But does that mean she’s supposed to stand aside and let him get hurt?

Yes. You hurt him too when you left him, so you have no right. He’s a big boy. He can take care of himself. If he doesn’t want to be with Abigail Morton, it’s his entitlement to walk out anytime.

Still, Elise is not looking forward to meeting Abigail Morton. She has heard so much about her that she doesn’t know what to expect. Fire and brimstone coming out of her nostrils, perhaps?

Don’t tell her about our agreement
, Justin had cautioned.
Say nothing about the . . . gift
.

OK, she can do that.

She has agreed to meet Justin and Abby at Le Figaro, a posh restaurant that serves fusion food in Camden Town. She actually went shopping today at Regent Street, which is decorated brightly for holidays with a ‘Twelve Days of Christmas’ theme. She bought a pretty topaz blue and striped black number from Jigsaw because she thought that was what Kate Middleton would wear. She finishes it off with a pair of dangling earrings, and she takes care with her hairdo – well, at least more care than she usually takes.

I can’t believe it,
I’m actually dressing up for Justin’s girlfriend!

Elise is fashionably early. She is waiting there at the table when Justin arrives with Abby fifteen minutes late. Elise thinks it has more to do with Abby than Justin, since Justin is never late for as long as she has known him.

Strike One against Abigail Morton.

“Elise?” Justin says with a touch of nervousness as she rises from her seat to greet them. “Sorry we’re late. Abby couldn’t find her keys.”

Bingo.

He takes Elise’s hand and shakes it formally, as if it’s a business meeting rather than a social occasion. Or maybe the English don’t air kiss as frequently as the French do.

“No problem,” Elise says. “I wasn’t waiting long anyway.”

She turns her attention to Abby.
My rival for Justin’s attention
. Abigail Morton is a blonde, and she wears her hair in curls today. She is as tall and svelte as any model. One would think she thrives only on health food. Justin has suggested that Abby prefers Bohemian styles, but today, she’s dressed in a regal, off-shoulder teal gown that would have been the toast of any Parisian runway.

Elise feels cheap and dowdy in comparison.

She holds out her hand and tries to muster as much warmth in her voice as possible. “Hi, I’m Elise, Justin’s old friend from high school.”

Abby takes it as though Elise is contagious.

“I’m Abigail Morton.”

“I know. I’ve heard so much about you.”

Abby darts a glance at Justin, who has his face composed.

“Oh, what did he tell you about me?”

They all sit down – Elise and Abby at opposing ends of the table which is bedecked with a white tablecloth, candelabra and empty wine glasses, and Justin at their adjoining side. The waiter comes to give them their oversized menus. The tableau is strangely subdued as they immerse themselves in studying the entrees.

You can cut the awkwardness with a butter knife, Elise thinks drolly.

At least the menu gives them some pause before the real conversation starts. The waiter takes their orders. Elise notices that Abby orders a salad Nicoise and nothing else. She, on the other hand, has a healthier appetite. She chooses escargot for a starter and a rump steak with Béarnaise sauce as the entrée – medium rare, thank you very much.

“So you were Justin’s girlfriend in high school,” Abby says.

“Abby, this isn’t appropriate. You promised – ”

“No, Justin, I want to hear this.”

“It’s OK,” Elise says. “It’s not as if it’s a big secret. Justin and I met when we were in tenth grade. That’s probably the – ”

“Fourth form,” Justin puts in.

“Thanks. He was the hottest guy who wasn’t a complete jock in high school.” Elise can see Justin color slightly at the description. “He played soccer and he was pretty good. What position did you play again?”

“Centerforward.”

“Right. But he was smart. So smart like you couldn’t believe. He had the best grades and he was class valedictorian. He was this nerd all rolled up in this really hot body. All the girls thought so, but he was so shy you had to practically pry him away from his locker in the hallway when we were passing by.” Elise laughs. “All the girls really had an eyeful of his ass.”

Justin flushes for real. “I didn’t have my head in my locker.”

“You were practically an ostrich.”

“Stop exaggerating.”

“No, you really were this nerd. You were President of the Chemistry club, for Chrissake.”

This friendly exchange is not lost on Abby. She glances at Justin’s mortified face and at Elise’s laughing demeanor.

“I wasn’t over the edge,” Justin insists.

“But you were close. Thank goodness I managed to snare you away.” Elise turns to Abby, her eyes sparkling. “I asked him for a date. It was on a dare. My friends bet me that I wouldn’t, and to prove them wrong, I did. I asked Justin Morgan, the most delectable boy in the tenth grade, out to a basketball game.”

“And did he say yes?” Abby says.

“Not at first. But I was persistent. I waylaid him in the guys’ locker room in front of all his teammates. He was standing there, naked, when I walked in. It was such a hoot. Everyone yelled at me and covered their whatevers.” She rolls her eyes. “Like I’d never seen my brothers naked before.”

“Elise, do you really have to tell that story?” Justin is turning a nice shade of beet.

“No, go on,” Abby insists.

“So he grabbed a football jersey to cover his you-know-whats immediately, and in front of all the boys in the locker room, I asked him out again. I refused to go away until he said yes, and everyone yelled at him to say yes, or they’d forever call him gay.”

“And how long did you go out for?”

Elise furrows her brow. “Since we were sixteen . . . until the second year of college?”

“Yeah,” Justin says. “Then you broke up with me.”

“I didn’t break up with you. It was mutual. There was no way we could sustain a long-distance relationship with you in Princeton.”

Justin opens his mouth to say something, and then thinks the better of it when he glances at Abby.