The Baby Maker’s Club

When I’m done, I’m panting, out of breath and feeling weak and hungry. It’s getting late. I should go. The man who might just be my baby’s daddy is still in the shower. I get dressed. His clothes are still flung across the floor where we left them. I decide to fold them and put them in a neat pile for when he’s ready to get dressed. When I lift his pants off the floor, his wallet falls out. It opens when it hits the carpet and his driver’s license is right there in front of me. I don’t mean to break one of the rules of the baby-making club, but it’s right there, staring at me, and I can’t help but see his name and birthday. He’s Chaucer Brigg, thirty-two years-old.

I scramble to put his wallet back in his pants and back where I found them in a pile on the floor. The shower goes off, and I rush over to the bed and pretend to be buttoning my pants as if I’ve just been getting dressed.

He emerges from the bathroom in a towel wrapped around his waist. His hair is wet, torso glistening, every muscle beautifully on display. When he comes over to sit next to me, he smells fresh, the amazing aroma and heat from the shower emanating from his skin.

“That shower would’ve been so much better with you in it,” he says as he brushes the loose hair off my shoulder.

My mouth trembles when I smile. I feel so guilty knowing his name when he has no idea who I am. If I tell him what happened I could get kicked out—even if it was an accident. This is my chance to have a child. I don’t want to blow it. Even though I’m riddled with guilt, I can’t risk saying anything.

“But I guess there’s always next time,” he says.

My eyes open wide. So I might get the chance to be with him again after all. “There’s a next time?” I say.

He nods. “I’m told we’ll have several appointments together throughout the next two weeks.”

Now that the stakes are high, I can’t possibly fess up. I won’t risk my chance of seeing him again. No way.

“Good. I’m glad,” I say.

He looks relieved, as if he weren’t sure I’d be interested in a repeat performance. “Me too.”

There’s a moment of awkward silence. I know if I don’t leave right now, I’m going to say something. My guilt will take over and I’ll end up telling him my name and admitting what I’ve seen. Although we’ve just met, and we owe each other nothing, keeping a secret from him feels wrong.

I stand up quickly. “I should go.”

He stands up too, and places a hand on my cheek. He leans down and places his lips on mine, kissing me deeply. It’s unexpected but completely welcome. I breathe him in, memorizing his scent and the way his skin feels under my fingertips. I want to remember everything about him before he leaves and keep him fresh in my memory—though, he’s not the type of guy I could easily forget. But still. I do it anyway, then I rush out of the room before this goes any further.

4

At work the next day, it’s hard to think about anything but the incredible evening I spent with Chaucer—

I chide myself for even thinking of his name. I’m not supposed to know it. I need to get it out of my head. I can’t make the mistake of letting it slip when I see him again.

I’m trying to focus on work, but every time the door opens, I look to see if it’s Megan coming into the office. When she finally waddles in, her ankles swollen, a big-gulp soda in one hand and breakfast burrito in the other, I flag her down. She nods and heads my way, bumping the back of a co-worker’s chair and knocking his jacket to the ground. She weaves through the maze of desks in the huge room, barely able to squeeze by in her condition. She looks at the various items she knocks over as if contemplating picking them up, then shrugs and keeps walking.

She leans against my desk, takes a bite of her burrito and talks with her mouth full. “So, did you go through with it?”

I feel myself blushing and try to tamp down my smile. “I did, and it was just as amazing as you said it would be.”

Megan nudges my shoulder, leaving a grease smear on my shirt. “I told you. And how did you like the man they chose for you?”

I’m practically swooning at the thought of him. “He’s my dream guy. He was so beautiful. It’s too bad I couldn’t have met him outside of the club.”

“You’re lucky. Great sex is an added bonus, but let’s see if it does the trick.” She points at her swollen belly. “But I’m lucky too since I found a man who doesn’t care that I was pregnant when I met him. He’s just as excited about this baby as I am. I even caught him showing his friend an ultrasound picture the other day. He’s already a great daddy.”