She was smiling from ear to ear, her excitement so palpable it felt like it was taunting me. It was so unfair that she was galivanting around Europe and I was stuck here, about to be artificially inseminated against my will. Was she infertile, or had she alreadyfulfilled her commitment to the government? I remembered the grief and excitement the year my classmates started turning seventeen, even remembered the test results of more than a few of my fellow classmates, but I hadn’t known this particular girl very well and had no idea what her status was. It was entirely possible she’d had a baby already, but it was more likely that she was infertile. If I were crazy enough to post a picture of myself at the Department of Fertility and she saw it, would she experience the same jealousy I felt at her circumstances, or would she be relieved?
I hadn’t thought my mood could get any worse, but the post had proven me wrong, and I scrolled past the picture almost violently. After that, it seemed like every post was full of cheery news. Engagements and weddings, pregnancy announcements from people who’d had a choice in the matter, and vacations. It was like they were taunting me, and I suddenly wished I’d gone straight home. I wasn’t in the right headspace to be in public, and I probably wouldn’t be again for a long, long time.
If I got the bill now, I could leave as soon as my food came out.
I set my phone down and leaned forward, hoping to grab Salvador’s attention. The blonde was back at it, and he was listening to her with a friendly yet reserved smile as she chatted about who the hell knew what. Probably how much she worked out or some other topic that would draw attention to her flawless curves.
I lifted my left hand, hoping to flag him down, but froze at the sight of my wristband. Heat flared across my cheeks, and I quickly dropped my arm to my lap, pushing it under my sweatshirt as I glanced around.
Had anyone seen it? I doubted it, and even if they had, I didn’t think most people would realize what it was. I’d seen wristbands on other women but hadn’t had a clue what they were until my first appointment with Hilary, and there was no reason to think the people around me were any less ignorant.
“You okay, Ara?” Salvador asked, popping up from out of nowhere. “You’re acting a bit strange today.”
I swallowed so I could find my voice. “Yeah. I just – ” I hesitated then said, “I’m not feeling well. Can I get the check now?”
He glanced at my club soda, a knowing look in his eyes. “Yeah. I’ll take care of it.”
“Thanks, Salvador.”
He headed for the register, and I once again looked around. Thankfully, the other patrons were absorbed in what they were doing and oblivious to my discomfort.
My gaze moved back to the television where only a few minutes ago, the game had been playing. At some point while I was scrolling through my phone and feeling sorry for myself, Salvador must have changed the channel to a news station. My stomach flipped at the image of people protesting outside the capital building in Washington DC, their faces angry as they waved signs and shouted things I couldn’t hear. The posters said things likeDown with The Fertility ActandFree the Fertile OnesandMy Body Doesn’t Belong to You.
Protests weren’t uncommon, but it had been a long time since I’d bothered paying attention to one. Partly because they did nothing to change the law, but also because it had reminded me too much of how close my twenty-sixth birthday was. Now that I was in the program, though, I realized how stupid I’d been. Maybe if more women put themselves out there rather than ignore what was going on, things would change. A handful of shouting people could be ignored, but if we rose up together, the government couldn’t pretend we didn’t exist. Right? Someone, somewhere, had to pay attention. Had to listen. Didn’t they?
I scanned the words scrolling across the bottom of the screen.
A new wave of protests has begun as the twentieth anniversary of The Fertility Act approaches. Women and even some men gathered outside the capitol building to voice their displeasure about the law, calling it sexual slavery and barbaric.
The image switched to that of a woman about my age with light brown skin and long, wavy hair, a sign in her hand that saidMy body, My choice.I scanned the words scrolling across the bottom as she began to talk.
Of course, I was thrilled when I got my fertility results. It’s so rare these days, and even at seventeen I knew I wanted to have a family. But I wanted a family on my terms. With someone I chose. Now that I’m twenty-five and still single, I’ve realized that might not be what happens. I mean, if I don’t find someone I want to start a family with by next year, the government will force me to have a baby. How is that fair? Why should I be responsible for the human race? I shouldn’t, and neither should any of the other fertile ones. The government needs to come up with another way.
My gut clenched and sweat began to gather in my armpits. It felt like every person in the bar was looking at me, which was insane. Most of these people were too busy talking, drinking, eating, or watching the game to pay attention to the news, and there was no reason for anyone to focus on me right now. I was just a lone woman in a sea of people out having a good time.
The image on the television was replaced by a reporter standing in front of the capitol building, her back to the dozens of protestors as she began to relay the events of the day, but I was no longer paying attention. I didn’t need to. I knew what those women were feeling, knew what they wanted, and I wished I was there.
I was still staring at the screen when Salvador plopped my to-go box in front of me, making me jump.
“Shit,” I said, my hand going to my heart. My right hand.
“Sorry.” He grinned, but there was a knowing expression on his face when he patted the box. “It’s on me, Ara. Okay?”
I shook my head, confused. “What? No. I can pay.”
I reached for my purse, which was hanging on a hook under the bar, but stopped when Salvador lifted his hands. His smile was more genuine, but there was sympathy in his eyes as well. “I can’t remember the exact date but correct me if I’m wrong. Didn’t you just have a birthday?”
My stomach clenched, and I only managed a nod.
“That’s what I thought.” His looked at the television where the reporter was reiterating the details of the protest, then back to me. “Happy birthday, Ara.”
“Thanks.”
My throat tightened, forcing me to swallow again, but Istill couldn’t find my voice. I managed another small nod before gathering my purse and food and sliding from the barstool. More than ever, I wanted to be alone.
The climb to my apartment seemed to take forever. My legs were weighed down, my body exhausted, and despite my previously growling stomach, all I wanted to do was climb in bed and go to sleep so I could forget.
Once inside my apartment, I shut the front door and flicked the deadbolt. Then I leaned against it and closed my eyes. My salad was still in my hand, but I no longer wanted it, and the very thought of eating made my stomach clench in protest. Of course, if I didn’t eat, I would probably get a call from Hilary in the morning. Which was the last thing I wanted.
