Josh and Gemma Make a Baby(40)

“But do you feel pregnant? Are your breasts tingly? Do you have an increased sense of smell? Any nausea?” asks Hannah.

“It’s been one day,” Carly says. “Also, during each of the last six two-week waits, I’ve had every early pregnancy symptom possible and I’ve never been pregnant.”

Everyone is quiet. Carly’s mood is sober. I realize it must be a lot safer not to get your hopes up, especially after so many tries. “Let’s hope she sticks,” Carly says, and there’s a thick, sad note in her voice. “My husband would like a baby girl to dote on.”

I think about Carly’s scowling, tense-looking husband, and I can’t imagine him doting on anyone. She gives me a self-mocking smile, as if she knows what I’m thinking and she agrees.

“Baby dust to you,” Hannah says.

“Thank you, darling.”

“So, Gemma.” Brook turns to me. “A few days after your period starts you’re going to be put on some meds. Listen to me carefully.”

I look at her. “Okay?”

Brook smiles. “You get to stab yourself daily with needles and inject some wonderful hormones.”

“Right. FSH and hMG,” I say. FSH stands for follicle stimulating hormone and hMG means human menopausal gonadotropin. Basically I’m going to be loading myself up with hormones to make my follicles grow so that I can get some good eggs.

“Mhmm. That’s right. And they’ll either make you crazy angry, angrier than you’ve ever been in your life—”

“Yeah. Brook stabbed one of her clients with a fork,” says Hannah.

“I missed,” Brook argues. “The fork got stuck in his chair, which he was cuffed to, so the fork was a good reminder not to be a chauvinistic ass.”

Holy cow.

“And she pushed a man into the path of an oncoming bicycle to get a cab,” Carly says.

I give her a shocked look.

Brook nods. “It’s not pretty. Anyway, if the injections don’t make you crazy angry, they’ll make you insanely horny, so get your vibrator or your man ready.”

I widen my eyes and look at Carly for confirmation.

She shakes her head. “Don’t look at me. I haven’t had sex in months. The most action my eggs get is in a petri dish.”

“Sad, Carly, sad. All that money, all those good looks, yet no sex,” Brook says.

“IVF has taken the passion out of it.” Carly shrugs.

“I hear that. My husband doesn’t even want to have sex anymore, he says it’s too much pressure. Especially since he knows that he’s basically shooting blanks. He’d rather get off in the privacy of the shower than come near me,” Brook says.

Hannah raises her hand. “Sad guys. Really sad.” Then, “I’m the horny one. I jump my husband at least three times a day. And if we’re not supposed to do it, then I have to, you know, take care of it other ways.”

“Wow.” I can’t say anything else. I’m imagining Josh saying it’s “too much pressure” and sending him photos to help him along. I’m thinking of BJs after transfers to help fertilize. And I’m wondering what I’ll do if I become insanely horny and need it three times a day.

“Or you may become a sobbing emotional wreck,” Brook continues.

Carly nods. “That’s me. I sobbed when I saw a hot dog commercial last week. Or that advert with the old couple.” Her lips start to quiver and she wipes at her eyes.

“Case and point,” Brook says. “No matter which way it goes, you’re in for a ride. You ready?”

“Of course,” I say, “of course I am.”

Carly blows her nose into a tissue. “Sorry, it was a really sad advert.”

“It’s okay. Never be sorry for expressing your inner truth,” I say, quoting Ian. Then for some reason I picture him as a Ken doll, being represented in court by an angry, fork-wielding Brook. I shake the image out of my head.

“Well, best of luck this week. We’re here for you,” Hannah says. “Let me know if you want to borrow any crystals.”

“Okay. Thanks.” I smile at them all.

When we’re on the sidewalk, everyone says goodbye, and see you next week, and thanks for everything.

“Aww, screw off, all of you,” Brook says.

Hannah elbows my arm. “Should we tell her about the sugar all over her nose?” she whispers.

“I tried,” I say.

Hannah nods. “Sometimes we’ve got to learn from our own mistakes.”

But then, Carly who has donned her wig and hat, turns to Brook and says, “Come here, you bitter old hag.”

Carly pulls her into a hug, and when she does, she rubs Brook’s nose against her dress.

Brook pulls away. “Ugh. Gross. Feelings.” She looks at us and when she does I see that the sugar is gone. I glance at Carly. She’s brushing the sugar from the shoulder of her dress. She winks at me. I smile back.

“Have a good night,” I say.

“Bye.”

“Screw off.”

“Laters, darlings.”

Once I get home, I lay on my futon, the hard metal support digging into my back, and I try to read a book about improving egg quality. But the words blend together. I wonder what Josh is doing. I wonder how his dad is. I wonder if he’s ready for next week. I wonder if I’ll get my hopes up only to have them let down.