Linebacker’s Second Chance(58)
Three cycles of in-vitro and all my savings are gone.
“Maybe it’s better that it didn’t work,” I say out loud into the screaming New York wind. “Eli is gone. Who ever heard of a single woman spending her last dime on a worthless man’s frozen embryos?” I wrap my scarf tight around my neck and wipe the cold tears away with my gloves. It would have been nice to go home to New Jersey at Christmas and tell my mom and dad that I’d finally be giving them a grandbaby. But here it is the day after Thanksgiving, and my last hope for a successful pregnancy is gone. Along with all of my damn money, and all of the creative energy I have for painting.
Just a tiny collection of cells from me and Eli. Supposed to be a life, but instead it was just destruction.
Eli had waved his hands like he didn’t care if I tried to transfer the last embryo or not. As long as he was free of parental responsibility, he said, I could do any damn depressing thing I wanted. The tears are streaming down my face now, and the New York City wind is whipping around me, making its way through my peacoat and freezing me to the bone. There’s something about this wind. It starts in November and doesn’t let go until we’re in April. Maybe it’s the chill coming off of the Hudson River, or the channels created through the tall buildings.
The key won’t turn in the door. It’s stuck like usual. I bang on it halfheartedly even though I know Anna’s probably working in the back with her earphones in. I rattle the door, kick it helplessly with my steel-toed boots until my nearly-frozen toes start to hurt.
“Fuck,” I mumble. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!” My voice is growing louder now, and an old man on the street gives me a sideways look as he passes by our rickety little studio on the Lower East Side. It’s not much bigger than a coffin, and the heat is spotty, but we’re still paying a mint for it. After this last embryo transfer, we might have to move out to Queens like we’ve been talking about. I give the door another hard kick and lean against it, sobbing hard now. There’s a shuffling inside, and I know it’s probably Anna coming to my rescue. But I can’t open my eyes now that I’m crying so hard.
“The bill for the damn in-vitro is coming soon, and we can’t even afford this stupid rent. I’m so fucking stupid. So stupid.” I bang my head once against the cold glass. After I lean there for a second, the door gives way, and my heart leaps as I stumble forward into Anna’s arms. The heat of the studio hits me all at once, and I’m standing face to face with Anna, her cheeks flushed and her smile bright.
“Oh God! I’m so sorry, Cadence!” I see the flash of her bright red dyed hair, and she pulls me into a monster hug, and I let myself melt into her. It feels good to be touched in a way that won’t hurt me, in a way that won’t break my heart. “I didn’t want to let my pregnant best friend fall right down on the floor.” Clutching her hard, I start to sob, my body heaving, racked with the guilt and anguish of yet another loss.
“It’ll all clear out over the weekend,” the doctor had said, patting my hand.
He hadn’t known what to say after that, since it’s hard to know what to say to a woman with no chances left. Thirty-two years old, but with no more embryos, no more money, and no more man. Eli had left on the Sunday before I had the final embryo transfer. Between the two of us, we only had three healthy embryos, and no one could tell us why.
Anna’s body stiffens against mine for a second and then she hugs me harder.
“Oh shit, Caddy, shit, shit, shit, I’m so sorry. I should have been there with you—”
“It’s fine,” I half-say, half-sob. “I told you to sleep in. I thought it would be okay this time.”
“Let’s get you some cocoa.” I smile for a second, and Anna loosens her grip on me and drags me to one of the leather chairs we keep by the desk up front.
She sits me down, and I watch her as she smoothes out her hot pink skirt and pours water into her electric tea kettle. Anna and her cocoa. She busts it out around the first of October and doesn’t relent until May. I usually prefer a stiff cup of coffee, or a shot of Bailey’s in a moment like this, but I wont refuse Anna’s Swiss Miss. It might not be the snooty ten-dollar hot chocolate you’d get in Soho, but it’s Anna’s, and she’s the only one who’s talked to me each time my body has betrayed me.
“Here you go,” she says and puts a hot mug in my hand. She squeezes into the seat next to me and puts her arm around me. I lean into her and tuck my legs up under me. I need to work, need to see if I can get a project that’ll see me through the holidays and maybe pay my rent. But I can’t move right now, and my best friend is sitting next to me, blowing on her cocoa. The cold city spins on around us, and even if we’re still right now, everything will be okay. Anna brushes a lock of black hair away from my forehead and takes small sips from her mug. “Your hair looks cute. You got it cut right before Thanksgiving?”