“No. Go. You deserve to find someone.” I rolled my eyes to cover my emotions. “Even if he is a vegan.”
At that, Trevor let out a choked laugh. “I’ll be honest, that part is a bit of a stretch, but you know how it is. There are only so many fish in the sea.”
“I think the saying isthere are more fish in the sea.”
“Not these days.” He shoved his phone into his pocket. “I’ll just explain what’s going on and ask him if we can get together another night.”
My brain told me I should object, but my heart was desperate to have Trevor at my beck and call.
I settled for saying, “Are you sure?”
“Of course.” He pulled me in for another hug, and his lips were right next to my ear when he whispered, “Besides, if there’s any hope of it working out between us, he needs to know you aren’t just my friend. You’re family. That means something.”
This time, holding my emotions in was impossible, and I let out a sniff before saying, “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
I walkedto the Public Health building, my head feeling a little lighter than it should have considering it wasn’t even noon, and my stomach churning from a combination of nerves and too much to drink the night before. And this morning. I was sweating, too, which I attributed to the ridiculous amount of alcohol I’d had since it was barely seventy degrees. It was seeping from my pores.
There was no way I would be able to hide that I was hungover no matter what I did, and despite the twist of nerves in my gut, I told myself I didn’t care and that it didn’t matter. I hadn’t been in the program when I drank, so they couldn’t say anything. Right? What was more, I couldn’t be the only person who’d decided to live it up before having their life commandeered. It had to be common.
Despite the logic behind my thoughts, the knots in mystomach grew tighter.
It was the first of June, which had always been my favorite month since I loved summer, but despite the bright sun shining down on me and the clear, blue sky, it felt like a heavy cloud was hovering overhead and a huge storm was bearing down on me. I walked faster despite my desire to drag this whole thing out.
A man wearing a mask over his nose and mouth greeted me almost as soon as I stepped through the door, his kind eyes crinkling in the corners when he asked, “Where can I direct you?”
“I know where I’m supposed to go,” I automatically responded, my eyes darting around until I located the table I’d noticed last time I was here.
Bottles of hand sanitizer sat beside a couple boxes of masks, as well as one filled with disposable gloves, a sign next to them announcing that masks were optional but encouraged. Even with all the pandemics, few people bothered, but since I was sure my breath smelled of booze, I was grateful for the offering.
The man’s gray eyes followed me as I walked to the table, growing softer when I plucked a mask from the box.
“So few people make an effort these days,” he said, his words dripping with regret. “But, really, it just makes sense. It’s been almost four years since the last pandemic and another one could be starting any day.”
“Better safe than sorry,” I said as I secured the mask over my nose and mouth.
“That’s what I always say!” he replied in a tone that made it seem like I was the first person to ever agree with him. Maybe I was.
He wasn’t wrong. Almost no one wore masks anymore. It wasn’t like they’d stopped the spread of any of the pandemics in the past and they probably wouldn’t do a damn thing to stop the next one. We were living on borrowed time, grasping at straws when it came to understanding what was causing the problem and what to do about the dwindling population. Too bad no one seemed to realize that.
I gave the greeter a nod before heading to the security desk.
The paper covering my mouth was thin but trapped in my breath, making me twice as hot and causing sweat to bead on my upper lip. Every time a pandemic hit full force, mask mandates returned, but it had been almost four years since I’d had to wear one, and I’d forgotten how stifling they could be. Even so, I was thankful for them today. Not that I thought it was going to fool my shrewd and observant fertility counselor.
I went through the metal detector and pat down, then submitted to having my purse searched before moving on to the ID check. There was a different security guard today, and unlike the first one, the man behind the desk didn’t show an ounce of sympathy when I told him where I was headed. Instead, he peered at me with intense, dark eyes, his bushy eyebrows furrowing in an expression I couldn’t read but instantly didn’t care for.
“Haven’t seen you around here before,” he said as he scanned my ID. “You must be just starting the program.”
“Today,” I said reluctantly.
His head bobbed as he passed my driver’s license back. “The human race is grateful for your service.”
I ground my teeth rather than respond, making him frown. His eyes grew darker, and his expression hardened. I was familiar with the look. He was a zealot, a person who thought women like me should be grateful, should freely give our bodies not just during our required time, but before and after as well. He was the kind of person who rallied against compensation, arguing that we shouldn’t expect payment for performing our duties to the human race.
I hated men like him but not as much as the women who believed the same thing. Although, part of me suspected those women were simply jealous that they couldn’t have a baby and wanted to make sure those of us who could suffered. Probably, if it were up to them, we’d all be handmaids.
Even though the man filled me with disgust, I held his gaze longer than necessary, silently challenging him. Challenging him to do what, though? Say something? He could say whatever he wanted and most of the population would agree with him. Eventhose who didn’t think it was fair would remain silent. It was how things were. You didn’t rock the boat if it didn’t directly affect you, and The Fertility Act affected so few of us. We were a handful of dots in a pointillist painting. So insignificant you wouldn’t even notice us if it weren’t for the fact that the fate of the human race rested on our shoulders.
