I was too upset to even attempt snark when Hilary escorted me out, saying, “Your temperature checks will resume this evening, and with luck, we’ll be ready for another insemination in just a couple weeks.”
As sorry as I felt for myself, I couldn’t help thinking about Bette as I left the building. She was so sweet, so wholesome, and so close to giving birth. Just six weeks away. Thinkingabout that had another question popping into my mind. Assuming we did get sent away, would she be allowed to return home once she gave birth? The Department of Fertility was dedicated to keeping babies safe, so what were the odds they’d let her leave with a newborn when a pandemic had just started? Slim to none. Probably closer to none. Which suddenly hit me as even more unfair than my situation. Bettewanteda baby. Had signed up for this, and she had a husband. She had stability and money, and there was no reason to keep her locked up. But they would. Instinctively, I knew they would.
I thought about the article I’d read before Hilary had collected me for my appointment, about the government neighborhoods that were being advertised as an incentive for fertile women to have a baby. What would the Department of Fertility do about them?
My imagination went wild, thinking about fences being built around the neighborhoods, about armed guards outside the gates as they were turned into internment camps. No, relocation camps. That was what the government had called them during World War II when they rehoused Japanese Americans under the guise of keeping them safe. History was full of that stuff, so it wasn’t much of a leap to imagine families with children being moved to fenced neighborhoods so they could be kept safe from the most recent pandemic. It would be so easy, too, because the Department of Fertility had all the power, and we were pawns. No, worse than that. We weren’t even part of the game.
I was too shaken to go to work, and even though I usually felt guilty about not making it in, I couldn’t even conjure up that emotion as I shot Teresa a quick text. After all, it was very likely that she’d have to find a replacement for me soon because I was about to be shipped off. Hidden away. Imprisoned.
Deciding I needed company, I headed to Trevor’s small office on the opposite side of the square from where I lived, hoping against hope that he could squeeze me in. And that he could give me some legal advice.
Sophia, the seventy-year-old receptionist who had miraculously made it through every pandemic wasn’t wearing amask, and she flashed her always lipstick-stained teeth at me when I stepped through the front door. “Ara!”
“Hi, Mrs. Traeger.”
She waved her wrinkled hand and tisked. “I keep telling you not to call me that. My mother-in-law was Mrs. Traegar, and she was the meanest bitch I ever met. I tell you, I couldn’t force out a single tear when the old bat died.” She flashed me another grin and winked just like she did every time she told this story. “If I hadn’t been so good in bed, I’m pretty sure my husband would have divorced me for it. Lucky for both of us, I was great at giving head. No gag reflex.”
Her eyes sparkled and, despite my terror over what would happen next, I couldn’t stop myself from laughing. “You are too much.”
“My husband didn’t think so,” she shot back, as quick as ever.
After another laugh, I sobered and nodded to Trevor’s open door. “Is he available?”
“For you, of course!” She turned her head so she could yell over her shoulder, “Trevor, you have a guest!”
A second later, my best friend appeared in the door, a mockingly irritated expression on his unmasked face. “You have a phone, Sophia.”
“I also have lungs.”
She was one of the oldest people I knew, thanks to the decimation of the human race, but also one of the most quick-witted, and she never failed to make me laugh. And despite the inappropriate personal talk with me, she was as professional as they came when clients were in the office, which made her an asset to Trevor.
My best friend smiled, which melted away the second he took in my expression. “What is it?”
“Does that dollar I sent you still count as a retainer?”
“Of course.”
“Then I need some serious legal advice.”
He stepped back and motioned for me to come into his office.
Like everything else in Trevor’s life, the space was tidy andimpeccably decorated. The office was a decent size, with modern furnishings and pieces of art on the bookshelves, and a large, immaculate desk in the center of the room. The chairs looked more like art than functional pieces of furniture, but I knew from experience that they were as cozy as they were attractive, and it was actually a comfort to be able to sink onto the one across from his desk.
As Trevor crossed to the other side, I scanned the items in the room, noting the recent addition of a picture of him and Owen on one of the bookshelves. At least he wouldn’t be alone when I got sent away. That was good.
Once Trevor had settled into the chair across from me, he said, “Tell me what’s going on.”
I repeated everything Hilary said in a monotone voice that didn’t sound even a little like me.
As a lawyer, Trevor was a master at hiding his emotions. At least with everyone but me. Normally, during a consultation with a client, he sat in professional silence, his face a mask of concentration. As I relayed what I’d learned during my appointment and all the things that had occurred to me since, however, his mouth hung open in shock.
“Holy shit,” he said when I’d finished talking. “I mean, we’ve all heard the rumors, and I knew they could be true, but I told myself they weren’t. Told myself the government couldn’t possibly be that corrupt.”
“Well, they are.”
He blew out a long breath and sat back, instantly switching from best friend to lawyer mode. “So, let’s troubleshoot this. You signed a contract that says they can change things at any time?”
“Apparently.” I shrugged, making him frown. “Seriously, Trevor, the thing was hundreds of pages long. I tuned out a lot of it because I knew I didn’t have a choice! I mean, they set this whole system up to make it look like we’re willing participants, but we’re not. What was the point in listening to all that legal jargon when I had no choice in any of it?”
