Baby proof

Daphne and Tony exchange an unmistakable glance.

'Would you like a glass of wine?' Daphne says. 'We have white and red.'

'Uh-huh. And let me guess what you have in the fridge. Chocolate mousse for dessert?'

Her eyes grow wide. 'How did you know?'

'Because I know that you know that chocolate mousse is my favorite… So, Daphne, just tell me what's going on here. I mean-do you need to borrow money?'

I instantly regret my joke. My sister has never asked to borrow money from me, but things are frequently tight for her and Tony and maybe they do need some money for fertility treatments. Just in case, I add, 'It's not like I have anything to spend my salary on now that I'm alone!'

Tony laughs. 'Well, yeah, actually I could use some cash. Do you have an extra five grand lying around? I'd love a new set of golf clubs. Or a motorcycle,' he says, making the revving hand motion of a biker.

'You're not getting a motorcycle! They're too dangerous,' Daphne says, lapsing into her normal self for one second. Then she says to me, 'Don't be silly. We don't need any money. But thank you. Thank you for offering. You are such a generous, caring sister.'

I laugh and say in a hillbilly accent, 'Okay. Listen, missus, I want my sister back. What did you do with my sister?'

Daphne gives me her best Stepford Wife expression and says, 'I have no idea what you mean by that.' Then she turns, wipes her hands on her apron, and busies herself with a Screwpull wine opener, Ben's Christmas gift to Tony years ago when we first began our Secret Santa name draw. I can't believe it stuck around longer than he did. I sit at the counter next to Tony and help myself to a crab puff. It is sheer perfection.

'Okay,' I say. 'Have it your way. I'm just happy to be getting the star treatment. These crab puffs are divine.'

Daphne slowly pours three glasses of red wine, and when she finally turns back around, tears are streaming down her face.

Before I can ask her what's wrong, she says, 'We don't want your money, Claudia… But we do want something from you.'

I swallow my bite of crab puff and feel a knot in my stomach. For some crazy reason, I think that Daphne needs a kidney. Of course I will give her one of mine.

'Are you sick?' I ask, feeling weak with fear. The thought of one of my sisters dying young is simply too horrible to bear.

'No,' Daphne says, her voice cracking. 'I'm fine… But my eggs…'

'Your eggs?' I say, even though I know exactly what she is saying and exactly what she is about to ask me. I look at Tony. He is welling up, too. He covers Daphne's hand with one of his.

'I had my tests last week… and our doctor told us that my eggs are no good,' she says, sobbing now. 'They are, like, total shit.'

'Daph… I'm so sorry,' I say, standing to hug her.

She holds up her hand to stop me and then continues, 'So Tony and I… were wondering if… if we might have one of yours.'

nineteen

'So why didn't they ask your other sister?' Richard asks me after I've told him the whole story about Daphne's worst fears coming true. About all of the tests. About the somber meeting with their doctor and his news that even in vitro with Daphne's eggs would be a waste of time and money. I hadn't planned on telling Richard the story, but I feel like I need to tell someone, and I don't want to discuss the topic with Jess. She's sensitive enough about her aging eggs as it is. Besides, Richard and I have just had sex, and I am feeling that surge of closeness, that urge to confide in a man who has just made me come. Twice.

Richard runs his hand through my hair and says, 'Doesn't Maura seem to be the more logical choice since she's already had kids?'

I nod and say, 'They had a few reasons for picking me… First, I'm younger. Better eggs, I guess. Second, I think they think it'd be too weird-you know, if they used Maura's eggs, then the kids would be cousins and siblings. Or at least half siblings.'

'That would be sort of weird,' Richard says.

'And the final unspoken reason,' I say, 'is that Maura would never agree to it.'

'Why not?'

'She can be… a bit selfish,' I say, instantly regretting the comment. I feel disloyal-and I don't want Richard's opinion of Maura to be colored before he even meets her.

'Selfish how? Like stingy with her time? Like she won't go pick a friend up at the airport kind of selfish?' he asks, pushing a piece of hair behind my ear.

'No… Maybe self-centered is more accurate. She means well, but I think she gets her sense of empathy from my mother,' I say. 'My mother will bitch for ages about the fact that Chanel discontinued a certain shade of lipstick, but then she'll expect a cancer patient to just… buck up and think positively…'

'Yeah. I know the type,' Richard says. 'But for the record, I don't think it would be all that selfish to turn this request down. I mean, that's a lot to ask.'

'You think?' I ask.

'Well. Yeah,' Richard says. 'Sisters or not. It's huge.'

I was hoping he'd say just this because I agree-it is a lot to ask. Still, I wonder if Richard is just saying so for my benefit.

'So what did you tell her?' he asks.

'Nothing yet. I told them I needed to think about it.'

'Were they okay with that?'

'Yeah. They seemed to be. Daphne said she understood. Tony thanked me for even considering it. Then we dropped the subject and enjoyed Daphne's lasagna. Or at least I pretended to enjoy it, when all I could feel was the knot in my stomach.'

'So would you and Tony have to get it on?' Richard says as he playfully grabs my left breast.

'Very funny,' I say, pushing his hand away.

'Well? Would you?'

I roll my eyes and say, 'Don't be stupid… There would be a surgery. An egg-removal sort of deal. Just like with in vitro.'

'You'd have to have surgery?' Richard says, wincing.

I am thinking that men are such babies about pain, but I say, 'That's the least of it.'

'What's the most of it?' he says.

I think for a moment and then answer hesitantly, 'If I have a baby out there in the world, I think I'd think of it as mine.'

Richard blinks and then reaches past me for his glass of wine resting on the nightstand. 'You'd think of it as yours? Or you'd want it to be yours?'

'Is there really a difference?' I say, thinking that in that sense, my eggs and my ex-husband might have a little something in common.

We fall asleep shortly after that, but then wake up sometime in the middle of the night, starting a full-blown conversation. It is a phenomenon that only occurs in the beginning of a relationship, when sleep seems to matter little. We are talking about Steven Gaines's radio show in the Hamptons-and how we should try to get one of my authors on-when Richard blurts out a question about my thirty-fifth birthday. I have not told him a thing about my upcoming birthday, which is now only two weeks away. I try to remember if there was a time in recent years when people at work went out for drinks for my birthday. I don't think it's happened since my thirtieth. I'm not big on birthdays-although I don't dread them, either. I'm just sort of indifferent to it. I mean, everyone has one, once a year, so I fail to see what all the