Elizabeth Harbison - Mission Creek Mother-To-Be

“I agree.” Dr. Cross’s voice was quiet. “There is nothing worse for a child than to feel unwanted.”

“Believe me, this baby will feel wanted and loved. He or she will have more loving attention than most kids. I have…means,” she understated. “I’m fortunate in that I won’t have to go to work and put my baby into someone else’s care. I’ll be there for him twenty-four hours a day.” She hesitated. “I believe that’s a tremendous advantage for him. Or her.”

A moment passed before he spoke again. “Miss Tourbier, I’m not going to play games. I am aware of your financial advantages. One of my concerns, though, is that a baby might seem to you to be a fun thing to have around, something to cuddle and play with, when in fact a baby is only a baby for a short period of time. Having a child is a lifetime commitment.”

“Dr. Cross, I’m not a teenager looking for something to comfort adolescent angst. I’m a grown woman who has contemplated this and made a careful decision.”

“And I want to help make sure it’s the right one.”

“But I don’t need help with that, since, as I’ve said, I’ve already made the decision.” Half an hour ago she’d hoped she’d meet this man again. Now he was turning into the biggest obstacle to her plan. Be careful what you wish for, she thought.

“Please understand, here at the clinic we like this to be a cooperative process.”

“Well, I’m trying to cooperate, but I feel like I’m up against some stiff opposition and I’m not sure why.”

He kept his gaze steady on her. “What you perceive as opposition is simply caution.”

“And what is it about me that makes you feel so cautious?”

“You are a young woman seeking to raise a child alone.”

“Why is that so shocking?”

“Not shocking,” he said in a measured tone. “But only about five percent of our cases are single mothers.”

“And do all of them undergo such scrutiny?”

“Every one of them.”

“It’s a wonder you’ve stayed in business, then.”

“It’s one of the reasons why business is thriving here. Our standards are high for both our patients and—” he paused “—our donors.”

Melanie’s face felt very hot. She knew they were picky about their donors, of course. That was why she’d chosen this particular clinic. She didn’t want sperm from some guy who was trying to make a quick five bucks to support his drinking or drug habit. She wanted the father of her baby to be someone who was carefully screened.

“All right, let’s cut to the chase,” Melanie said. “What are you worried about in my case?”

“It’s not easy to be a single mother. I’m afraid the reality of parenting might be a bit different from what you expect. Although you’re not the first single woman to want to conceive, you are young and clearly used to a lifestyle that allows you unusual freedom.”

“What’s your point?”

“What happens if it all turns out to be much harder, and maybe a lot less enjoyable, than you expect?”

“I’m sure at times it will be,” she said steadily. “And at those times I will love my child just the same.” She chose her words carefully. “Dr. Cross, life is often not what we expect. I have learned that several times over. But I would never, ever take on a responsibility like this if I wasn’t ready to give it one hundred percent.”

“I’m glad to hear that.” His voice softened and he scribbled something in her folder. “Honestly, I am. However, I’m sure you understand that we need to explore this further. It’s our standard operating procedure.”

She glanced at the desk. Did he have some sort of checklist he had to go through? “Okay,” she said, resigned. “Explore away. We’ll do it your way. I want you to feel as comfortable with this as I do.”

He gave her the look a teacher might give a mischievous child. “Now you’re suddenly feeling cooperative?”

“I’m suddenly feeling that I have no choice.”

He shrugged and gave her a quick smile. “That will do, I guess. So tell me, do you have any experience with children?”

She felt her cheeks grow warm. “Not exactly.”

“Hmm.” He leaned his elbows on the desk and steepled his fingers before his face. “What do you mean ‘not exactly’?”

“Does a person have to have experience with children in order to have one?” she countered.

“Not necessarily—”

“Good. Because I’m perfectly willing to learn on the job.”

He kept his eyes on her for a moment, then made another note. She tried to see what he was writing but couldn’t.

“Am I getting points against me for that?” she asked. “What are you writing?”

He looked at her with exaggerated patience. “I’m just making a few notes to myself.”

“Care to share them?”

He looked at his pad, then set it down. “Okay. You want me to be blunt, I’ll be blunt. I don’t think you know what you’re getting into. It may not be what you expect, and if it’s not what you expect, your disappointment may become evident to the child. The best way to fix a mistake is not to make it in the first place.”

“Dr. Cross.” Melanie used her most authoritative voice. “While I do appreciate your candor, it doesn’t sound to me as if you’re trying to help me make this decision at all. It sounds as if you’re trying to talk me out of it.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Does it?”

She’d had enough therapy after her parents’ deaths to recognize the basic psychological trick of making her reveal some hidden truth by encouraging her to talk. In this case, presumably, the truth he had in mind was her secret wish to be talked out of having a baby.

“Yes, it does,” she said. “I’m willing to discuss this with you and reassure you and the clinic that I’m a good candidate, but it seems to me that in order for this to work, you must be impartial. To insure that I’m committed to the child’s welfare, not to waste valuable time—yours and mine—trying to talk me out of my decision.”

“Are you afraid I will talk you out of it?”

“Not at all.” She tried to maintain her calm. “Look, as you are aware, the timing of this treatment relies on…” She searched for a delicate way to put it. “…my monthly cycle. I’m afraid that we will waste so much time driving down this dead-end road that we’ll miss this month’s, er, window of opportunity, that the entire process will be delayed. You’ve got my chart there, I assume. So you know I might need many attempts and that, even then, the chances of it working are slim. I don’t want to wait. Surely you can understand that.”

He looked at the chart, and his expression, when he looked back at her, was more compassionate. “I do sympathize with your concern. But surely you understand that I can’t rush things simply because a patient may have trouble conceiving.”

“If it’s possible at all,” she said, her voice wavering slightly with emotion. Stay calm, she told herself. Breathe.

“If it’s possible at all,” he agreed.

She took a moment to collect herself, then asked, “All right, what do I have to do to convince you?”

“Slow down a little. Truthfully, Miss Tourbier, I’m less concerned with your complete lack of experience with children than I am with your all-fired determination to do this so quickly despite the inexperience.”

He didn’t think she could do it. He wasn’t even going to give her a chance. He was going to take his little notes and then recommend to the clinic that she was a bad candidate for the treatment. Her dreams for a child, or children, would be blown out like a match, on this one man’s whim.

“Please, Dr. Cross,” she said, her heart beginning to ache. “What can I do to prove to you that I’m ready for this?”