Page 110 of Geordie

Dr. Rivera reviews her monitor, then turns to me, peering over her glasses. “As far as I can see, there were no ill effects from the D and C, and you’re healthy enough to have a child. You shouldn’t worry, Lily. Conceiving can take time, months to years. I would suggest you consider freezing some eggs as a backup, if it doesn’t happen right away.”

If ever, I finish the sentence in my head. I read a study that about 70% of women get pregnant three months after a miscarriage. It gave me hope that one of those women would be me, but it’s been nine months of Geordie and me trying. Month after month, I take home-pregnancy tests and they’re always negative, not even a false-positive to give me hope.

The study is one reason I said yes to trying for another baby. The other is that I realized, while I was fighting with him over what I thought was his lack of support after my miscarriage, is that I care for him. I don’t know if this is love, but it would take me a long time to get over Geordie if he left me.

Breaking up with Stephen, trying to get Michelin’s attention, and my hormones in freefall blurred my feelings for Geordie and I don’t think our relationship will ever be normal, whatever normal is.

Now, there’s a timetable looming. If I can’t conceive by the end of the year, Connie will sweep in with an egg and a younger body that’s already had three healthy children and give him the child he wants. I’d fight for him, but I have nothing to fight with. Convincing Geordie to stay with me, promising I will conceive soon when I know it might never happen… would be no better than what Stephen did to me.

Molly greets me at the door in a flowing, burnt-orange floral maxi dress, with Jamie hiked on her hip, his tiny hands playing with the chain that cascades from her neck. He’s grown since the last time I’ve seen him.

“Geez, this kid gets cuter by the day,” I say, allowing him to grab my finger while he smiles at me. His little hand grip is stronger than I expect.

“Whoa, Jamie,” Molly says to her son, who’s trying to tug my digit out of its socket, “let’s not break auntie Lily’s finger; she needs it for the kitchen.” Molly beams at her son, jiggling him to pull his hand away. “Yeah, my kid is going to be a bruiser, no doubt.” I follow her down the hall until she stops to allow me to enter first. “I’ve set us up in here; the nanny should arrive at any moment.”

“I’m here, Mrs. Licht.”

“Leslie, your timing couldn’t be more perfect,” transferring the child into the young girl’s arms. “He’s been fussy, fighting sleep. Could you put him down for a nap? Oh, this is my friend Lily.”

“Sure, no problem. Nice to meet you, Lily.” She exits the room, singing a Basque lullaby, her sweet voice fading as she walks toward Jamie’s nursery. We take our seats at the dining room table. It looks like more guests will join us, with the number of snacks and coffee laid out. Everything in the room is arranged artfully. Molly looks like she’s about to sit for a photo session about motherhood.

Molly taps at the laptop’s keyboard, pulling up a complicated Excel sheet for the party. “I can’t believe it’s almost your birthday,” she says, squinting at the screen while correcting something in a color-coded column. “Thank you for coming here to do the planning, since you made it clear you want no surprises.”

I study the page. “It looks like you don’t need me; most of it is planned out.”

She waves a dismissive hand at the screen. “This is nothing… all brainstorming. I did all this in about twenty minutes.”

I sigh. “One surprise birthday party is all I need in my lifetime, but I enjoyed seeing everyone.”

“Oh my God, that was a great party. We looked so cute in our ’90s gear. For this party, I thought we could go sophisticated formal, a Rat Pack theme. Men in black tuxes, women shimmering in sequins; it will be fun.”

“I don’t know, I like the dressing-up part, but hearing Sinatra all night might get old.”

She laughs, then takes a sip of her fizzy water. “It’s supposed to be old; that’s why they call it a theme. We can play that ’50s stuff as people are coming in, then switch to something current after the party starts. We’ll use the guest list from the last party.”

I stare at her profile and I know she’s going to try to do it again. “Molly, about the guests...”

Molly gives me a quick look, then goes back to typing. “No,” she says, not looking at me. “I won’t invite Stephen. Although you know he’s going to ask what you’re doing this year for your birthday.”

I slump back in my chair, weary of this battle. By now Molly should have realized that this isn’t just a phase with Geordie, but I’m curious. “How is he?”

Molly looks over, suspicion clouding her eyes. “Why? Are there problems in paradise with the very Scottish Mr. Geordie MacTavish?”

“Just curious. You know Stephen sent me a lovely note and a bouquet of sweet peas after my miscarriage. I called to thank him. It was a brief conversation, but he sounded good.” I reach for a cracker, pick one from an assortment. “I’m sure he’s moved on. It’s hard for someone like him to be alone.” I wave the Saltine in the air, trying to project that I don’t care. By the look on Molly’s face, I’m failing. “I’ve noticed he’s been in the news, connected with a series of beautiful women.”

She twists toward me. I know Stephen is one of her favorite subjects. “He’s not serious with any of them. Have you noticed they all look similar to you? Dark hair and eyes, tawny skin, not a blond or a redhead among them. It’s like he’s sent his minions out to find your doppelgänger. He still asks about you.”

“I don’t believe that he has a type–”

“Yes, he does, and that type is you.” She narrows her eyes, sensing a problem. “What’s going on? You never want to talk about Stephen.” She takes my hand. “The miscarriage had to be rough. Some couples don’t survive it… and you weren’t a couple.”

Should I end this co-parenting before he walks away? It’s something I think about all the time, but I can’t decide, not yet.

“We’re good,” I say, taking a bite of cracker. I don’t want to share any more about Geordie and me. I can’t risk her telling Stephen and him trying to swoop in and fix this. Maybe I could try to conceive with Stephen; he wouldn’t care if I had a child or not. He just wants me and our old life back. Molly is staring while I’m crunching. I swallow. “Let’s get back to the party.” I’m scanning Molly’s list. “I see you’ve written Dalliance as the location of the party, but I’d rather have it at my house.”

“I was going to suggest party decorators. There’s a company out of San Francisco I want to use. If they set up at the restaurant, you won’t have to contend with all those people in your house.”

“I’m good with it,” I say, beaming. “It will be our first party since we moved into our house. Let’s do this; I’m excited.”

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