“I had more medical complications. When I stood up to go to the bathroom, I got dizzy and short of breath. I started having chest pains. It turned out that I had a blood clot that had developed postpartum, which had settled in my lungs. I was put on heparin, and during blood tests, the doctors learned I had a genetic condition called an AT III deficiency—basically, it means I’m susceptible to blood clots, and the pregnancy probably made it worse. But the first question I asked was whether I’d still be able to have a baby.”
“What was the answer?”
“That this could happen again. There could be even more severe complications. But that ultimately if I wanted to try to conceive again—I could.”
“Did Max want to try to have another baby?” Angela asks.
“I thought so,” I admit. “He always had been on the same page as me before. But after the visit at the doctor’s office, he told me that he couldn’t be with me because I wanted a baby more than anything in the world—and that wasn’t what he wanted.”
“Whatdidhe want?”
I look up. “A divorce,” I say.
“So you were still reeling from the death of your child, and dealing with all these medical complications, and then your husband told you he wanted a divorce. What was your reaction?”
“I really can’t remember. I think I went to bed for about a month. Everything was a blur. I couldn’t focus. I couldn’t do anything, really.”
“What did Max do?”
“He moved out, and went to live with his brother.”
“Who represented you in your divorce?”
I shrug. “We represented ourselves. We didn’t have any money or property, so it didn’t seem as if it was going to be complicated. I was still so numb back then, I barely even remember going to court. I signed whatever papers came in the mail.”
“Did the three frozen embryos at the clinic ever cross your mind during the divorce proceedings?” Angela says.
“No.”
“Even though you still wanted a child?”
“At the time,” I explain, “I wanted a child with a spouse who loved me. I thought that was Max; I was wrong.”
“Are you married now?”
“Yes,” I say. “To Vanessa Shaw.” Just saying her name makes me feel like I can breathe easier. “She’s a school counselor at Wilmington High. I’d met her years earlier, when she asked me to do some music therapy with an autistic child. I ran into her again, and she asked me to work with another child—a suicidal teenage girl. Gradually, we began to hang out as friends.”
“Did something happen that brought you closer together?”
“She saved my life,” I say flatly. “I was hemorrhaging, and she was the one who found me and called an ambulance. I needed a D & C, and as a result of the procedure I learned that I had endometrial cancer and needed a hysterectomy. It was a very, very difficult time for me.”
I am not looking at Max, now. I’m not sure how much of this he even knows.
“I knew, once I had that hysterectomy, I’dneverhave a baby,” I say.
“Did your relationship with Vanessa change?”
“Yes. She took care of me, after the surgery. We spent a lot of time together—hanging out, running errands, cooking, whatever—and I started to realize that when Iwasn’twith her, I reallywantedto be. That I liked her as more than an ordinary friend.”
“Zoe, had you ever had a same-sex relationship before?”
“No,” I say, carefully picking my words. “I know it seems strange, but when you are attracted to people, it’s because of the details. Their kindness. Their eyes. Their smile. The fact that they can get you to laugh when you need it the most. I felt all those things for Vanessa. The fact that she was a woman—well, it was unexpected, but it was really the least important part of the equation.”
“That seems hard to understand, given the fact that you were married to a man . . .”
I nod. “I think that’s why it took me a while to realize I was in love with Vanessa. I just didn’t get it. I’d had female friends before and never felt like I wanted a physical relationship with them. But once our relationshipdidtake that turn, it felt like the most natural thing in the world. As if not having her in my life would be like asking me to stop breathing air and start breathing water instead.”
“Do you call yourself a lesbian now?”
