“Whew.” He exaggeratedly wiped his brow, reminding me of a cartoon character.
Still grinning, Owen reached for his nearly empty glass just as I leaned forward to pick up my own drink. His gaze darted from my face to my hand, now wrapped around my glass, and his smile faltered. I looked down, wondering what had caused the mood to shift so suddenly, and my eyes alighted on the gray wristband. No wonder he looked like he’d just stumbled upon a tragedy of epic proportions.
“I know it isn’t pretty,” I said, lifting my arm so he could see the band more closely, “but all the cool people are wearing them these days, or so I’ve been told.”
The smile that curled up his lips was half amused, half sympathetic. “Trevor filled me in on what’s been going on. I’msorry you have to deal with it.”
“Yeah, well,” I took a big gulp of club soda, wishing it was something stronger, “I’m not the only one.”
“I know.” Wine glass in hand, Owen leaned back and propped his left leg on his right knee. “The things the government’s doing in the name of saving the human race are a travesty. I just wish more people understood how wrong it is.”
“You and me both,” I grumbled. “Unfortunately, most people think it’s the right thing to do.”
I liked Owen but really wished we were talking about anything else.
“I don’t think most people do,” he said. “Not based on what I’ve seen at the marches and protests I’ve attended. I think, though, that most people don’t know what to do about it or they feel like they have no voice when it comes to the matter. In a way, they’re right. I mean, this law was passed without public consent, so there’s no reason to think the government would listen even if the majority of the population didn’t agree. That doesn’t mean we can give up, though. We have to keep trying to get them to listen by attending protests. That’s just my opinion, though.”
“You’ve been to AAFA marches and protests?” I asked, genuinely surprised. I didn’t know anyone who’d done that and hadn’t thought a man – and a gay man, at that – would bother.
“Plenty.” He swallowed the last dregs of wine in his glass and set it down. “Haven’t you?”
“Um,” I gnawed on my bottom lip, ashamed to admit the truth, “not really. I mean, I never saw the point because, like you said, I didn’t really think I had a voice.”
“I get that,” he said. “But think about how much we could change if everyone who believed The Fertility Act was wrong actually tried to do something about it. If we banded together, they’d have to listen eventually.”
“Yeah,” I mumbled, but had to admit I didn’t really buy it. The government didn’t have to do anything. Not when they had all the fertile women by the pussy.
Trevor came back just then, a glass of wine in each hand. “I did hear you when you said no,” he said, passing the red to Owen, “but I figured even if you did have to drive home, you have hours before you have to leave. One more glass won’t hurt.”
“If I didn’t know better,” Owen said, taking the wine with an amused smile, “I’d think you were trying to make it so Ihadto spend the night.”
“Me? Never,” Trevor said in a mockingly innocent tone.
Owen chuckled and clinked his glass against Trevor’s. “Not that I’m complaining.”
The two stared at one another long enough to make me feel like a third wheel before Trevor shifted his focus to me. “What did I miss?”
Eighteen
The next week and a half went by faster than I wanted it to. Keeping busy so I didn’t think about things just made time go by more quickly, but vegging out left my mind too free to wander, which I definitely didn’t want. I spent as much time with Trevor as I could, but he and Owen were in the early stages of a relationship, and being around all that happiness reminded me of how alone I was. No, I wasn’t looking for romance – even if I hadn’t been in the program, I wasn’t interested – but that didn’t stop their happiness from emphasizing just how isolated I’d felt lately.
Days ticked by, and I grew more uneasy. I had no idea which way I wanted this whole thing to go. If I found out I was pregnant, everything would change. If I wasn’t, it wasn’t like my life would go back to normal. Couldn’t there be a door number three? A way out? A reprieve?
I couldn’t think of one.
The day for my expected period finally came and went.
Work was busy, full of meetings as we prepared for a big presentation with a potential new client, and it wasn’t until I’d gotten home that evening – takeout in hand – and sat down to eat that I realized what the date was. And that I hadn’t had a visitor this month.
Totally in denial, I pulled my phone out and double checked my app. Twice. I wasn’t mistaken, though. My period was a daylate.
My stomach knotted tighter.
Flashbacks from ten years ago threatened to crush me, and my hands began to shake. It wasn’t real. Couldn’t be. Thiscouldn’tbe happening. There was no way I was in this situation again. Except I was.
Still not ready to accept it, I told myself it didn’t mean a thing. Yes, my body had always run like clockwork, but it was just one day. It could have been a fluke. Stress. Something else. There was no reason to freak out. Not yet.
Despite trying to convince myself of that, I held my breath each time I used the restroom the next day, and with each disappointment, my dread increased.
