Confidential(40)

But from then on, I was under Michael’s spell, and even though he’d barely glanced at me, he must have known it. He suggested that we each have an individual session: as in, first me, and then the next week, Young.

I was going to be alone with Michael.

And Young—poor clueless Young. He agreed. He had so much faith and trust in Dr. Baylor.

I wished I could feel that way about Michael now, but I didn’t even know if we were still together, if I could hold on to the expectation of monogamy. I was entitled to the expectation that he wasn’t fucking any of his clients. That was the code of his profession, one that he broke with me only because some feelings couldn’t be denied as much as you might wish they could. And even we hadn’t been together until after therapy had concluded.

But Kate said there were others, and as I looked his Wednesday ladies up and down, I could easily believe her.

Michael said he never had “true romantic feelings” for any client other than me. I hadn’t pressed him at the time, because back then, he’d gone on and on about how unique, special, beloved, and erotic I was. But it was a hell of a cagey statement, now that I was looking back from a much less secure perch.

That was, what, a year ago? He might not even have known the giraffe and the chanteuse back then. Their relationships could have been growing right under my nose for months now, shielded by confidentiality. Plausible deniability was more like it. He was always only too happy to respond, “You know I can’t tell you that,” and that was when we were on good footing, nothing like now. I couldn’t ask anything these days.

That’s why I was here, watching and waiting.

Waiting for what? For him to make out with one of them in the street? He was far too discreet for that. I knew that better than anyone.

All I knew was that if I wanted answers, I had to find them myself. And if I wanted Michael—which I did, and had, desperately, ever since session twelve—then I had to fight for him.





CHAPTER 32

GREER

Donor Profile #3731





Interview Notes


Donor 3731 describes himself as “the class clown all grown up.” He’s quick to joke and quick to laugh. He has many friends, both male and female, though he identifies as gay in his sexual preferences.

He is tall and attractive, with blond hair and green eyes. Someday he’d like to be in a committed relationship and have children of his own via a surrogate.

Family is important to him, he says, even more so because his parents disowned him due to his homosexuality . . .

Q & A

Describe your personality.

Lighthearted. Loyal. Imaginative.

What are your interests and goals?

I read a lot and write screenplays in my spare time. I’ve been a hacky sack aficionado from way back. I play Frisbee golf every week. My goal is to make enough money to live comfortably and be generous with my friends. Toward that end, I work in finance where I uphold a strict code of ethics and the golden rule: I treat my clients as I’d want to be treated.

Donor 3731 sounded pretty fantastic. I liked that he was gay, so there were no circumstances under which we would have been in a romantic relationship. In other words, this was the only way I could have had his baby. It couldn’t have been more natural if I’d tried.

But he was twenty-four years old. Who would he be in another twenty? Would he turn out as he imagined, as he hoped, or was he an egomaniac whose subconscious wanted to propagate his gene pool and prove his worthiness after the most stinging rejection anyone could receive from his own parents? I couldn’t know.

But with Michael, I knew. I had experienced for myself that he was highly intelligent, attractive, successful, motivated to help people, able to admit his own imperfections, and that he and I had chemistry.

There, I admitted it. I read the donor profiles and I had no idea whether I’d mix well with this person at all, and yet, with the way evolution and evolutionary biology operated, I had to believe chemistry was part of what made a great baby. We were designed to be attracted to people with whom we’d spawn well. The species depended on it. Pheromones existed for a reason.

In business, I didn’t like to take unnecessary risks, but if I’d sat around waiting for complete information at every decision point, the competition would pass me by. There were always variables that couldn’t be controlled and data that couldn’t be possessed. In this case, the smart decision would be to go with what I knew for sure: how Michael turned out, and our chemistry.

Had I lost my mind? Because asking my therapist for his sperm was starting to seem like my safest bet.

It was unorthodox, of course. Perhaps even impossible, because he might dismiss it out of hand. I had no idea how I’d even broach the topic. The best course of action might be if I just treated it like business: “I know what I want, now how do we make this happen?”

We’d need to stop working together, of course. But it would be easier to find a new therapist than to find the perfect sperm donor. And if I were pregnant, I might not need therapy anymore. Decision made, problem solved, leap taken.

Perfect was probably an overstatement. Even ideal was too much. The best I can do sounded negative, but it was accurate. I was under a strict biological deadline.

I did need to ask him some more questions. His health history and genetics, for example. More about his childhood, maybe? I smirked at the thought. But there had to be other things I needed to know. It couldn’t be this simple.