“Reason for visit?” the plump, bored looking black woman with a name tag that read Vera asked.
“The Fertility Act,” I said, trying not to let my voice shake too much.
At my words, she looked me up and down, her large, dark eyes softening slightly. “It isn’t as bad as you think it’s going to be.”
So, she’d been through this herself.
She was older than me by a good six years, meaning she’d probably been out of the program for a couple years now, but it was still nice to know I wasn’t alone. Not that I was going to ask about her experience. There was an unwritten rule among the fertile ones. We didn’t ask and we sure as hell didn’t tell. That wasn’t the kind of shit you wanted to advertise. For a lotof reasons. And this part of it, our time with the Department of Fertility, was a topic that was strictly off limits in instances like this. If you wanted to talk, you went to one of the support groups that had sprung up across the country and vented there. But in public, you kept your mouth shut and your questions to yourself.
The woman held her hand out. “I just need to see your ID, so I can verify your identity.”
I fished in my purse, taking longer than necessary to find it, then passed it to her. She eyed my picture, glanced at me to compare, then pulled a handheld scanner from her hip. The thing beeped as it took in my information.
“Okay.” Vera holstered the scanner like a gun and passed my ID back to me. “Top floor.”
“Thanks,” I said as I put my ID away.
She gave me a sympathetic smile, then turned her attention to the next person in line. “Reason for visit?”
The Department of Fertility soldier eyed me as I passed him, but I avoided looking his way. I was walking so slowly that he probably thought I was insane, but I couldn’t help dragging my feet.
The up arrow was already illuminated when I reached the elevators, and two other people stood waiting. A man in his sixties glanced my way, and despite the mask over his nose and mouth, I could tell he smiled because the corners of his eyes crinkled. I did my best to return the gesture, but knew it fell flat even before he averted his gaze. The other person, a plain woman wearing no makeup and blue scrubs who I guessed to be around my age, stared at her phone and ignored us. Something I was grateful for.
A ding announced the elevator’s arrival, and the door slid open. In a misguided act of chivalry, the man waved for the other woman and me to go first, a gesture she probably couldn’t see because she still hadn’t looked away from her phone. That didn’t stop her from hurrying into the elevator, her fingers flying across her phone’s screen as she did.
I followed her, giving the man what I hoped was a grateful smile.
The woman glanced up long enough to jam her thumbagainst the number three, freeing me of the need to do the same, and then went back to typing.
When the man stepped in, he pressed the number two then looked at me. “Which floor?”
The question was pointless since there were only two options and they had both already been chosen, but I still felt compelled to reply. Although I had to swallow before I could get any words out. Why was my mouth so goddamn dry?
“It’s already lit up. Thank you.”
The skin at the corners of his eyes once again crinkled as the elevator door slid shut.
The three of us stood in awkward silence. Well, maybe it was only awkward for me. I was, after all, heading to an appointment I’d been dreading for almost as long as I could remember. The man, although I could only see the top half of his face, looked more tired than uncomfortable, and the woman appeared to be in a heated text exchange. I was grateful, at least, that I didn’t have to make small talk. Thank God for small blessings.
When the elevator stopped on the second floor, the man waved to the open door as if expecting me to step out. The woman, who I hadn’t thought was even aware of her surroundings enough to realize anyone was with her, looked up as well, her expression expectant as she waited for me disembark.
I shook my head, my cheeks warming at the knowledge that at least the woman, and possibly the man, knew why I was here. It felt like an invasion of privacy even though I knew there was no real patient confidentiality when it came to The Fertility Act. No, doctors couldn’t share my medical information with just anyone, but the government knew everything about the fertile ones. We were property of the Department of Fertility, and as such, the needs of the many outweighed my rights to medical privacy.
“Good luck to you, my dear,” the man said, then slipped from the elevator.
The door slid shut before I could gauge whether his comment had been made in sympathy or if he was hoping I would help continue the human race by giving birth in nine months.
The other woman narrowed her dark brown eyes as theelevator started moving once again. “You don’t look familiar. Is this your first visit?”
I shifted uncomfortably. Clearly, she wasn’t one of the fertile ones or she would have known to keep her fucking mouth shut.
Instead of telling her what I was really thinking I said, “Yes.”
“Wow.” She shoved her phone in her pocket and pushed her unruly brown hair out of her face. “It’s been a while since we had a new face. It will be a nice change.”
Nice? Was she insane?
“I’m one of the nurses.”
