“Are you listening?” Hilary snapped.
I cleared my throat. “Yes. Sorry.”
“I know this is a lot of information, but trust me, you are going to want to hear it.”
“I’m sorry. I just got distracted.”
“Well, try not to,” she barked, then went on. “As I was saying, failure to follow the rules we’ve already discussed or breaking the nondisclosure agreement can and will result in hefty fines and even imprisonment. You must adhere to all the guidelines set forth in this document as well as any instructions your doctor gives you. All procedures are compulsory including but not limited to regular ultrasounds, an amniocentesis, genetic testing, gestationaldiabetes testing, and a cesarian if your doctor determines it’s necessary. Failure to comply will result in fines and possible imprisonment for the duration of your time in the program, as well as forfeiture of compensation. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” I said, feeling suddenly exhausted by the weight of this whole situation.
Hilary scribbled furiously on the paper in front of her, and I cringed, imagining her notations about how distracted and uncooperative I was being. Oh, well. I was here, I’d done my duty, and it wasn’t like they could punish me for not being happy about it. Right?
When she finished writing, she shoved the papers toward me, a scowl on her face that reminded me of the sullen nurse from earlier. Did no one who worked for the Department of Fertility have any empathy for what I was being forced to go through? Hilary sure as hell didn’t, and the nurse had thought I should be happy. How delusional.
I signed and initialed, then slid the papers back, jumping a little when Hilary snatched them up. She tapped them against the table violently before setting them with the others and returning to the stack we still had to go through.
“This goes over your wristband.”
I blinked, confused. “My what?”
“Every woman enrolled in the program is outfitted with a wristband,” Hilary explained in a voice that wasn’t even a little patient. “You’ll get yours when you report here on the first of the month. Wearing it is a requirement, and it cannot be removed for any reason whatsoever. It will monitor your temperature, so we know when you’re fertile, keep tabs on your blood pressure, as well as give us other important information about your health and wellbeing.”
In a sudden rush of understanding, I recalled all the women I’d seen wearing identical wristbands over the years. Gray with a small rectangular face, the bands had reminded me of smart watches but were much less stylish than the ones most people sported. Still, I hadn’t thought much about it, had just assumed it was a cheap brand or maybe a style I wasn’t privyto. It wasn’t like I went out of my way to keep up with things like that. Now, though, I realized that the seemingly innocuous looking wristbands had been a way for the Department of Fertility to keep tabs on the women in the program. Like the scarlet letter Hester Prynne had been forced to wear, they marked each and every woman wearing one as fertile. And soon, I would be wearing one as well.
I shuddered.
Hilary was still talking, but she was mostly repeating herself as a way of hammering in everything that was required of me. None of it was much of a surprise. I learned I’d be flagged once I was in the program, preventing me from buying alcohol or tobacco. No big shock since part of The Fertility Act stated that any woman who appeared to be of childbearing age had to show her ID before the purchase of such items could be completed, and since the government owned those women body and soul, I’d figured they had a way of preventing them from destroying their bodies.
I wasn’t an idiot. There were ways around the law. Have a friend buy you cigarettes or booze. Easy. To me, it wasn’t worth the risk, but I was sure it happened. What I didn’t know was if what I actually put in my body was trackable via the wristband. Probably. I wouldn’t put anything past the government.
When we’d finished with that section of the contract, I signed and initialed where indicated.
Hilary put the papers aside before picking up the final stack, the bright smile from earlier back on her face. “Now it’s time to go over your compensation and how you can potentially earn more. We like to save the best for last!”
I had to bite back a bitter laugh. This woman really was kidding herself.
“As you know,” she began, “you will be financially compensated for participating.”
Participating? She made it sound like I actually had a choice.
“Each woman earns $5,000 upon successfully completing the program whether or not they give birth. Those who do have a baby and choose to keep it will be compensated more by being moved into one of our government run neighborhoods wherethey’ll have all the support they need, including childcare at the neighborhood facility, regular house calls from the doctor assigned to the neighborhood, as well as neighbors who have all been through the same program and understand what they’ve gone through. It’s not only the government’s way of thanking you for your service, but also a way to ensure you don’t feel alone or abandoned, and that your child, who is the hope of the future, has every advantage available to them.”
She sounded like a commercial.
“You also have the potential to earn more money by participating in the program again. Each year you participate after the initial three, you will be given another $5,000, and each baby you give birth to after that earns you even more bonuses.”
She set a piece of paper in front of me, which held a chart outlining how much money I could earn if I continued in the program. Second baby, ten thousand. Third baby, fifteen thousand. Fourth baby, twenty thousand. On and on it went, the number reaching a ridiculous crescendo at ten babies and fifty thousand dollars. Was this taking multiples into account, or did some women really take it that far? I couldn’t imagine.
“Pretty great, right?” Hilary said in a much too chipper voice.
I pushed the paper away. “I’m sure it seems amazing to some women.”
She frowned, opened her mouth as if to say something, then shut it.
After she’d composed herself, she started again. “It seems you’ve already made up your mind, but I’m still required to go over this.”
“Go for it.” I sat back and crossed my arms.
