He turned to the flasks and randomly pointed to several dozen of them. Arianna placed each one carefully on a tray and carried it to the electron microscopes in the back of the room. One by one, she put the flasks under a microscope, and a camera underneath captured and transferred the images to the adjacent computer screen. Almost immediately, pictures showed up of circles with vague clumps of cells inside. The inspector squinted at the images, nodding after each one.
“Fine,” he announced after scrutinizing all the images. “You can put them back now.”
He scribbled his signature on the form as she eagerly replaced all the tubes in the freezer. Sweat dribbled onto her upper lip, salty and warm. She licked it away before he could notice any sign of nervousness.
She thought he was walking back to the door when he paused next to the incubator, grabbed the chrome handle, and pulled it open. Arianna sucked in a silent breath; that wasn’t part of the protocol.
Banks peered at tiny petri dishes carefully spaced on the shelves under heat lamps. On the bottom shelf, a cluster of dishes was pushed to one side, under a label marked only with a sad face.
“How are they doing so far?” he asked with a general wave toward the dishes.
“It varies,” she said. “They’re still less than four days old. We don’t know which of them we’ll use yet.”
“Then what about those?” He frowned, pointing to the cluster of dishes under the sad face.
“Oh, those.” She winced. “Those just aren’t doing well. They’ll likely be frozen. We need to differentiate the strong ones from the weak.”
Banks nodded. “I assume those will count for November’s EUEs, then.”
Extra-uterine embryos—the politically correct term for “leftovers.”
“Yes.” Don’t flinch, she willed herself.
He eyed her for a moment. Indifference glazed across her face.
He looked down at his form. “Well, none are missing. They look to be properly preserved. Sign here.”
She took the paper from him that was headed in bold, NEW YORK DEPARTMENT OF EMBRYO PRESERVATION, and signed under her clinic’s name—WASHINGTON SQUARE CENTER FOR REPRODUCTIVE MEDICINE—next to the number 464.
“Good, so we’ll see you next month,” she said, turning to open the door. She stepped out into the hallway and exhaled shakily, as if she had just stumbled off a carnival ride.
“Me or one of my colleagues,” he replied.
“I’ll show you out,” she said, not wanting to leave him alone in her clinic for a second. She walked briskly back to the waiting room as he trailed a step behind. Saying good-bye always felt like an awkward moment to her. Was she supposed to thank him? Act gracious for the interruption that threatened to undermine her life’s biggest project?
In the waiting room, a slender woman with auburn curls was sitting on the couch, drumming her fingers on her lap. She grew still when she saw the inspector enter the room with Arianna.
“Hello!” Arianna exclaimed, and then, remembering, evened her tone. “I’ll be with you in a moment, ma’am.”
Turning back to the inspector, she nodded and casually extended her arm toward the front door. “Have a good day,” she said.
He muttered, “Same to you,” striding to the door. She watched it swing open and slam. And just like that, she thought, they were safe for another month.
With a giant grin, she turned to the woman on the couch, who sprang up and embraced her.
Arianna hugged her tightly. “Thank you so much, Meg.”
“Of course,” Megan said, stepping back. “But first I want to know: How the hell do you stand that guy?”
Arianna shook her head. “It’s easier if I pretend he’s just a handyman coming around for a checkup.”
“With a gun?”
Arianna shrugged.
“So how are the good souls doing?”
“Pretty nippy,” Arianna said with a smile. “But they’re not lonely, that’s for sure.”
Back in her office with the door shut, Arianna thought how much they resembled each other. Both were tall, thin, and pale, thanks to their grandfather’s side of the family. They shared thick hair, though Arianna’s was nearly black. And unusual dark blue eyes. As kids, they used to pretend to be sisters—each wanting a sibling that never came. But it didn’t matter: to be cousins, growing up side by side, was enough to give each the companionship she craved, without the rivalry. Still, being part of a small family had its downsides: With Arianna’s parents dead, Megan’s living far away, and neither woman yet married, they were each other’s Thanksgiving gatherings, Christmas mornings, and faithful standbys through every difficult time when family was indispensable—like now.
As soon as they sat down, Megan’s face contorted with worry, as if she suddenly remembered why she was there. She stared at Arianna with the same determined hope as any other woman about to undergo ovary stimulation. “I want to think my eggs will help.”
Arianna reached across the desk and took her hand. “They will.”
“But what if they don’t? What if they just turn into more failed attempts?”
Arianna shook her head. “Whatever happens, it won’t be a complete failure. The whole thing is trial and error, so we need all those errors to get us closer to the answer.”
Megan sat back with a frown. “Do you—do you think they’re getting closer?”
Arianna looked away. “You know I would tell you.”
“And there’s nothing else I can do?”
“Meg, you’re doing plenty. More than I could ever ask for.” Arianna picked up a chart that lay next to her computer, feeling the steeliness of her professional training cut through her own fear. “All your vitals look good. We can get started if you’re ready.”
Megan grimaced, running her hands through her hair the way she often did when she was nervous. “You know how I get around needles. It’s so embarrassing.”
An injection of follicle-stimulating hormone into Megan’s rear once a day for ten days would make her ovaries produce about eighteen eggs for the month, instead of the usual one. Then Arianna planned to surgically remove all those eggs, as she did for
