“No.” Trevor tapped his finger on the letter. “I was thinking Ara might benefit from a more adult beverage.”
Matt glanced at the letter and his easy smile melted away. “Shit. I’m sorry, Ara.” He glanced around the coffee shop then over his shoulder to the counter before refocusing on me. “And I think I have just the thing for you. Hold on.”
Trevor watched Matt hurry away, an uncertain yet curious look on his face, while I stared at the letter. I’d read it twice already, but that didn’t stop me from scanning the words again, and it didn’t stop them from hurting either. It was so crazy. So unreal. How could this be a law?
May 1, 2067
Dear Arabella Murphy,
Our records indicate that your fertility was confirmed on May 22, 2058, and that you have not yet given back to society through procreation. Under The Fertility Act of 2047, all fertile women who have not yet had a viable pregnancy must report to their local Department of Fertility facility by their twenty-sixth birthday. Our records also indicate that you will be celebratingyour twenty-sixth birthday on May 22, 2067.
Reporting to the Department of Fertility is compulsory and failure to do so by the end of the day on May 22, 2067 will result in imprisonment and fines of up to $10,000. If you have a scheduling conflict and wish to file for an extension, please do so by visiting the Department of Fertility’s website no later than May 15, 2067. A late filing may also result in fines.
Sincerely,
Richard M. Hofstadter
Secretary of Fertility
I set the paper down, my stomach knotting as I thought not just about meeting with a fertility specialist, but about the law as well.
The Fertility Act had been set in place after several pandemics decimated the population, and its sole purpose was to make sure all fertile women gave back to society by having at least one baby. Strict records were kept, and women who didn’t comply were arrested, but they weren’t sent to prisons. Not right away, at least. Prison would have been a mercy, a way out. But for women like me, there was no escape. If a fertile woman didn’t comply with the law, she was taken to a government hospital where she stayed until she completed her time in the program, then she was tried for treason, fined, and imprisoned.
It was a nightmare of Atwoodian proportions, and now it was my turn togive back. Which terrified me for reasons so much bigger than simply being forced to get pregnant. Not that anyone – not even Trevor – knew what those reasons were. If I could have confided in him, maybe it would have made me feel better. Would give me some kind of comfort. I couldn’t confide in anyone, though. It was too risky.
Matt returned and set down two steaming lattes with a flourish that could have rivaled Freddie Mercury preforming atthe Live Aid concert in 1985.
“I think,” Matt said with a wink, “you’ll find this to your liking.”
Trevor gave him a doubtful look. “What’s in it?”
“Let’s just say that Rhonda and I sometimes need a little pick-me-up in the afternoon.”
Another wink.
Trevor laughed. “Okay. ‘Nough said.”
Matt sobered when his focus shifted to me. “I really am sorry, Ara.”
“Thanks.”
I was grateful but annoyed as well. Men were always sorry. I heard it all the time. The podcasters ranting about the injustice of The Fertility Act, protesters waving signs and calling for the abolishment of the bill, men talking about how wrong the whole thing was. They were all sorry, but since it didn’t really affect them, I couldn’t help wondering if it was all lip service. Would any of the men who ranted about The Fertility Act really change things if they could? I wasn’t so sure. After all, without women like me, most of them would never have a child. Matt and Rhonda, for example, had adopted two years ago after nearly a decade on the waiting list, taking the baby of one of the women who’d chosen toopt out. Would they trade their daughter for my freedom? I didn’t think so.
“Here’s to hoping all the treatments fail,” Trevor said once Matt had wandered off.
When he raised his cup, I forced my lips into a tight smile and clinked my mug against his even though I wasn’t sure if that was how I wanted things to go. No, I did not want to be a mom, and I definitely wouldn’t participate in the program if it were up to me, but did I really want to go through years of service only to fail? If I had to do it, didn’t I want it to be successful so someone could be a parent?
I didn’t have a clue.
Two
Avisit to the Department of Fertility was inevitable. I had two weeks left until my birthday, and unless I wanted to be fined or arrested, I had to do it, but I continued to put it off. Every night when I went to bed, I told myself I would go the next day, but when morning inevitably came, I created yet another excuse to avoid it. I had a big meeting at work, I wasn’t feeling well, I had lunch plans with Trevor, and on and on and on. I told myself I wouldn’t wait until the last minute, told myself it would be better to just get it over with. It wasn’t like I had a choice in the matter, so why wait? Still, each morning, I gave myself a silent pep talk –Today you will go. Today you will just get it over with. –and each day, I went about my life as if it wasn’t about to be uprooted.
The uncertainty was what was really getting to me. I wasn’t sure how long the appointment would take, but knew I was entitled to miss an entire day of work – and my job still had to pay me – but did that mean the appointment would take the whole day? Would I arrive to find the waiting room packed and have to sit for hours before it was my turn? Once I was called back, what would happen? Bloodwork certainly, and probably an invasive exam, but what else awaited me? The unknown was unnerving.
Two days before my birthday, I’d run out of time. It had to be done, and unless I wanted to spoil my actual birthday, tomorrow was the day. No excuses. No more putting it off. I would bite thebullet and get it over with.
First, though, I had to let my boss know I wouldn’t be in.
