Page 67 of Geordie

“If you're not leaving on a secret date, Harv says, “then let's do the crew meeting.”

I push open the door to my apartment, drop my backpack on the chair in the hallway, and head for my kitchen. I open the gleaming-white fridge to retrieve half and half. I left the restaurant before I had a discussion with Harv about Kenzie's visit. It'll allow me time to think about what I'm going to say to him about my meeting with her before I see him tomorrow.

The pantry is my next stop. The bar of premium dark chocolate sits next to the sugar. Swiping both, I close the pantry door with my hip. Did I really hurt Geordie? Didn't I say no in the kindest way? I shake my head as I find a small pot, fill it with water, then set it on the flame to simmer. Breaking up the chocolate bar into an aluminum bowl, I then set that in the pot inches above the water to melt. I place the mug of half and half in the microwave to heat.

While the chocolate melts and the milk gets hot, I look through emails on my laptop. A large amount is junk, final sales at a few clothing stores, a reminder of a salon appointment next week.

I scroll until I find the email from the sperm bank. The staff sent me two files, Donor A and Donor B, that match my physical must-haves. I unzip A's file. This blossoms out to several sub-folders. There's audio. I click this. A deep male voice fills the kitchen.

I dash back to the stove, chocolate melted down to a smooth dark-brown puddle, grab the warm milk, and combine the two. The man sounds nice, in his twenties, confident, warm, even funny as he answers the interviewer's questions.

I pour the chocolate milk back into the mug, then take a seat at the table. I listen as he recounts his childhood experience of being caught in a water-gun fight with his brother. I take a sip and click on the file with pictures. It's a studio picture of him at about five years old, blond hair combed neatly away from his forehead, smiling at the camera, a beautiful boy. There are more, but no pictures of the man he's become. His voice and childhood photos are all I'm allowed to have with an anonymous donor. I go through the montage of candid images while listening to the disembodied voice, when a sudden sadness overwhelms me. I stop the recording and close the file.

It wasn't supposed to be this way. I knew who I was going to spend my life with, who I wanted to be the father of my children. I take a breath, steady myself a bit, and scroll down to find the salon reminder to confirm I'm keeping my appointment.

Ugh, I've gone too far, I'm into emails from yesterday. There's a little shock when I stumble on an email from Stephen titled:You should know. My finger hovers over the delete button. This is probably another empty gesture to get me back, but curiosity makes me click to open.

It's a photo of Stephen in his office holding up a sheet of paper. I zoom in on what's in his hand and sigh. It's a clinic bill for his vasectomy-reversal procedure dated yesterday. The caption reads, I did it; I love you, come back.

I slam the lid of the laptop down. “Asshole,” I scream at the laptop. As if that's enough to prove he's changed. I'm thinking about hurling something at the wall. I want to feel the release of an angry burst of energy that results in destroyed pieces of pottery or glass on the ground. I scan the room for the perfect item and huff as I come to my senses. It's not worth the cleanup or paying someone else to do it. My fingers curl around the warm mug. I lift it with two hands, letting the drink warm me. In a moment of chocolate-fueled clarity, I reopen the laptop, tap out an email, hit send, and pick up my phone.

Chapter thirty-two

Genetic Material

Geordie

Challengingmymusclesafterall this time feels like a coming back to myself. I didn’t realize the physical restrictions affected my mind as well. This first full workout is a renewal. The building has a gym that’s open 24 hours, and the place is empty at midnight. All the hedge fund managers and investment brokers who favor living in this building are tucked up in bed or working on foreign markets.

I pad down the hall to my apartment, sweat breaking out on my brow from the heat of my workout, my scent leaving a trail. When I turn the corner, there’s a figure in a black hoodie, on the floor, slumped against my door, an arm around a backpack. The person doesn’t stir as I stand over them; the hood covers the face, the chest rises and falls with the sound of soft snores. “Excuse me, you look pure done-in. There must be better places to sleep than my doorway.”

The face turns up to meet my gaze, eyes blurred with sleep. “I’ve been waiting for you. What time is it?”

“Near one is my guess.” I extend my hand. “Why are you here, Lily?”

She does a languorous stretch before she catches my offered hand, pulling her to her feet. “Have you been out running?”

I step past her to unlock the door. “I was using the building’s gym.”

She glides past me into the apartment. “I want to talk. I called a few times, but you didn’t pick up.” She shrugs. “I was in the neighborhood, so I thought I’d stop by.”

“At one in the morning?”

“Insomnia.”

Irritation with this woman is reaching my limit. “What do you want to talk to me about?”

She wrinkles her nose. “Shower first, then talk.”

I take my time showering, hoping that Lily will give up and leave so I’m spared more drama. When I can’t stand any more of the hot water pounding my body, I towel off and pull on dark-gray sweats. I run the tines of my comb through my damp hair. This discussion shouldn’t last long. It’s a dead certain something will scare her during our conversation, and she’ll scamper away like a frightened rabbit.

Lily is at the counter looking at her phone, a mug wafting steam beside her. She glances up. “I made tea. Would you like me to fix you a cup?” She’s already sliding off her stool.

“You don’t need to wait on me anymore.” I pour a cup and add the milk. I don’t join her at the center counter. I rest against the wall next to the electric kettle.

She looks around the kitchen. “I love what you’ve done with the place. Have you been working with a designer?”

“Nothing has changed. I kept all the appliances you thought I couldn’t live without.”

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