One
Istared at the letter, my hand trembling and the words blurring together until I couldn’t make out a single one. Not that I needed to be able to see to know what it said. The letter wasn’t a surprise, not with my twenty-sixth birthday looming on the horizon, and I’d tried to prepare myself for its inevitable arrival. I’d obviously failed, though, because the impact of holding it in my hand was so sharp it nearly took my breath away.
Dread pooled in my stomach when I ran my finger over the embossed seal at the top of the page. I’d grown up seeing it, could probably draw every line and curve by heart, but that didn’t stop me from studying it now. Circling the silhouette of a woman with her arms raised were the wordsDepartment of FertilityandUnited States of America. Full branches had replaced the woman’s hands, which was supposed to signify growth and fertility, while the sun shining at her back represented a new dawn for mankind.
The image was probably intended to be a calming symbol, possibly even empowering. This woman with her arms lifted, standing proud and strong as she ushered in a bright new future for humanity. She was, after all, the hope for the human race because without women like her, we would be doomed to follow the dinosaurs to extinction. But considering a group of male politicians were the ones behind the laws, I could only find the image ironic. If someone decided to commandeer their bodies, they might change their minds about the whole thing. Not thatthey needed to worry about that.
Disgusted with the whole thing, I shoved the letter into my purse, barely registering the crinkle of paper, then yanked open the door to my apartment. I’d been on my way out when the mailman slipped the letter through my mail slot and was more grateful than ever for my weekly coffee meetup. Although, after getting the dreaded letter, I thought a stiff drink might have been more appropriate than a latte. Getting drunk sounded pretty damn good.
In the hall, I paused to lock my door before jogging down the stairs. My apartment was above one of the local restaurants in the downtown area of my small Ohio town, and as always, the air in the narrow stairwell was thick with the scent of cooking food. Night or day, and even on Sundays when nearly all the restaurants, bars, and cafes were closed, the smells taunted me. Almost like they had soaked into the walls. Sometimes it was welcome, like after a night of drinking when my stomach was growling, while other times, it made me physically ill. Like two winters ago when I’d gotten the flu. Most of the time, though, I barely noticed. I was thankful, however, that the smells hadn’t managed to penetrate the ceiling and take up residence in my small apartment, especially because I liked where I lived. I liked my town with its festive square and local events, and the numerous eating establishments within walking distance. Even in winter or when rain set in, it was no more than a five-minute walk to most of my favorite haunts, and I was enough of a regular that the majority of the staff knew me. My town was quaint and comforting, and I’d created a life I loved. A life that would very soon be turned upside down thanks to the damn letter in my purse.
I shook my head as I stepped onto the sidewalk, which was crowded with people who were shopping at one of the many boutiques scattered throughout the downtown or out to grab a quick lunch. The flowerpots had been filled weeks ago, and their bright blooms combined with the chirping of nesting birds gave the scene a cheery feel that reminded me of the opening of a movie. It was the beginning of May, and spring was in full bloom.Finally.
Despite the sunshine, it felt like a storm cloud had settled over me. I studied the women I passed as I walked, gauging their ages. The older ones I looked at with envy, knowing most of them would never be able to comprehend the turmoil that piece of paper had brought to my life, while the younger ones had me straining to do the math. I passed a blonde several years older than me who’d most likely already fulfilled her commitment to the government, then a Hispanic teen with long, wavy hair who probably had a decade before she needed to worry about getting her own letter. That was assuming they were both fertile, which wasn’t likely. Very few women these days had been blessed with the gift of being able to create life.
Blessed. I turned the word over in my head as I jogged across the street, waving my thanks to the cars that had stopped to let me pass. I didn’t feel blessed. I felt trapped. Trapped by my body and the law that said the United States government had a right to it, trapped by the men who’d created a system in which women like me had no choice. It was unfair, and it filled me with impotent rage. How dare they tell me what to do with my uterus? How dare they put me through months of invasive procedures against my will? It was ridiculous. It made no sense. This was America, land of the free, but there was nothing free about having your rights ripped away from you.
I was seething by the time I reached the coffee shop, and I shoved the door open more forcefully than I’d intended, sending it flying inward with a violentwooshthat drew the attention of nearly everyone in the place. Ignoring the attention, I charged forward when I spotted the person I’d come to meet.
“Bad day?” Trevor asked, lifting his eyebrows the way he did when he was amused.
“You could say that.”
I plopped into the seat across from him, my hand already digging in my purse. When I found the letter, I ripped it out and slammed it on the table. It was crumpled and torn in two places, and folded so the words weren’t visible, but it was no less ominous than it had been when I first pulled it from the envelope.
Brows still raised, Trevor picked up the letter and smoothed it out before finally unfolding it with long, slender fingers. I watched as his brown eyes scanned the words, waiting for a reaction even though I was acquainted with him enough to know he would never allow even a crack in his calm exterior. He was nothing if not controlled.
“The dreaded letter,” he said when he’d set it down without bothering to refold it. “Well, you knew it was coming.”
“I did,” I said, appreciating how calm he was and hoping it would help me regain some control. Especially because, at the moment, I was bouncing between the desire to scream and the need to burst into tears.
Trevor blew out a long breath. “At least you can opt out.”
“Opt out?” I grunted my displeasure. “It’s not really opting out when they still make you go through the whole thing.”
“True.”
He ran his fingers through his dark brown waves, mussing them in a way that would have looked ridiculous on almost anyone else. Not Trevor, though, and not just because he was classically handsome, either. It went with his look. The chic tailored shirts and crisp pants or stylish jeans he always wore, combined with his favorite black Chucks that somehow looked both worn and spotless at the same time. Trevor was a control freak. A perfectionist. Which was one of the many reasons I loved him.
“We could always do it, you know,” he said, breaking the silence. “Together, I mean.”
I barked out a laugh. “Right.”
His lips pulled down in the corners. “I’m serious, Ara. I mean, you know they’re never going to give a baby to someone like me, so this could literally be my only shot.”
I was so taken aback that I couldn’t respond right away. Trevor had never mentioned wanting to be a father before, and even though if Ihadto choose someone, he would have been my first choice, I still couldn’t imagine going through with it. I wasn’t mom material, had never wanted to be a mom or have a family, and he knew it.
“Trev,” I said, putting my hand on his, “you know how much I love you, right? Because I really, really do. But I can’t. I don’t want to.”
Even though his shoulders slumped a little, he shot me a sympathetic smile. “Then you’ll opt out. Things will suck for a bit, there’s no denying that, but when it’s over, your life can go back to normal. This doesn’t have to change things for you, Ara. Remember that.”
I knew firsthand how untrue that was, but since that was something, I couldn’t tell anyone – not even my best friend – I remained silent.
The quiet was broken a few seconds later when Matt, the barista and owner of the coffee shop, stopped at our table. “What can I get you guys today?”
Trevor eyed me. “Should we go somewhere else?”
“Was it something I said?” Matt asked, feigning offense.
