“I couldn’t believe he’d do that to me,” I say. “I’m forty-one. Even if my eggs were still worth anything, insurance won’t cover fertility treatments for me to harvest them again. This is literally my only chance to have my own biological child with someone I love.”
“Zoe,” Angela says, “have you and Vanessa talked about what Max’s relationship to these embryos might be if you receive the court’s permission to gain custody, and you have children?”
“Whatever Max wants. Whatever he’s ready for. If he wants to be a part of the babies’ lives, we’d understand; and if he doesn’t want to, we will respect that.”
“So . . . you’re willing to let the children know that Max is the biological father?”
“Of course.”
“And be involved in their lives, as much as Max is comfortable doing so?”
“Yes. Absolutely.”
“Do you think you’d be given the same courtesy, if the court awards the embryos to Max?”
I look at Max; I look at Wade Preston. “I’ve spent two days hearing how deviant my lifestyle is, how vileIam for choosing it,” I reply. “They won’t let those kids within five miles of me.”
Angela looks up at the judge. “Nothing further,” she says.
Angela and I go to get a cup of coffee during the recess. She won’t let me travel through the courthouse alone, for fear I’ll be ambushed by one of Wade’s special interest groups. “Zoe,” she says, pushing the buttons on the vending machine, “you did great.”
“You were the easy part,” I tell her.
“That’s true,” she says. “Wade is going to come after you like Bill Clinton on an intern. But you sounded calm, and smart, and very sympathetic.” She hands me the first cup and is about to put coins in for the second cup when Wade Preston walks up and puts in fifty cents.
“I hear you’re not getting paid for this one, Counselor,” he says. “Consider this my contribution.”
Angela ignores him. “Hey, Zoe? You know the difference between Wade Preston and God?” She waits a beat. “God doesn’t think he’s Wade Preston.”
I laugh, like I always do at her jokes. But the laughter jams in my throat this time. Because two feet away from Reid, staring at me, is Liddy Baxter. She’s come down here with Max’s lawyer, presumably for the same reason I have.
“Zoe,” she says, taking a step forward.
Angela speaks on my behalf. “My client has nothing to say to you.” She steps between us.
In a completely uncharacteristic move, Liddy says, “But I have something to say to her.”
I don’t really know Liddy well. I never wanted to. Max always told me I was missing out—that she was funny and smart and knew all the dialogue toAttack of the Killer Tomatoes!for whatever that was worth—but I couldn’t see past a woman who, in this day and age, actually waited for her husband to come home from work so that she could ask him about his day and feed him a meal. Max used to say we should go out shopping, or to lunch, get to know each other—but I figured we’d run out of things to talk about before we’d backed out of her driveway.
She seems, though, to have developed a little bit of a spine. It’s amazing what taking away someone else’s embryos can do for one’s self-esteem, I guess.
“Thanks, but I’ve reached my prayer quota for the day,” I tell her.
“No prayers. Just . . . well . . .” She looks up at me. “Max isn’t trying to hurt you.”
“Yeah, I’m only collateral damage. I get it.”
“I know how you must be feeling.”
I am amazed at her nerve. “You havenoidea how I’m feeling. You and I,” I spit out, “have absolutely nothing in common.”
I shove past Liddy, Angela hurrying beside me.
“You giving your clients lessons in charm, Counselor?” Wade calls out.
Liddy’s voice rings down the hallway after me. “We do have something in common, Zoe,” she says. “We both already love these babies.”
That stops me in my tracks. I turn around again.
