of it. “In general? Or for some specific reason?”
She swallowed what felt like a paper towel, a large and grainy paper towel. “Let’s start with…in general.”
“For someone who has fertility issues or no partner…” He began in his typical professorial manner, then narrowed one eye. “Is this pertaining to you?” he asked, an incredulous gaze on his face.
It was indeed pertaining to her and now was the time to get serious. No more skirting the issue. This tack was making her come off foolish and flaky, and on the topic of artificial insemination, she was anything but.
She’d done her homework, had read with interest about the local donor bank, no doubt supplied by multiple university students in need of extra cash. Wondered if she could go through with choosing an anonymous donor based on her list of specific requirements and qualities. Though it would serve her purpose, twenty-first century or not, how cold was that? Images of immature, beer-goggled university boys flashed through her mind, and a firm twist in her gut had kept her from logging into the Web site. Then she’d thought about her list of requirements and one particular face had popped into her mind.
She finished off the last few sips of wine and carefully placed the glass on the table. “I’m seriously considering it, Jon. I’m not getting any younger, and I don’t see Mr. Right walking in my front door anytime in the near future.” She grabbed his hand, didn’t realize she’d done it until she felt his hard knuckles and lean fingers. She’d never touched him in this needful way before. “I want a baby, more than you can imagine.”
“And you want my opinion about this because…?” It was his turn to guzzle the wine.
Her eyes couldn’t stretch any wider. Since she’d finally opened up the topic, she decided to go all the way. “Traditionally, my wanting a baby would entail finding the right guy, getting married and settling down.” She blurted her thoughts as her eyes roamed around and around the room. “Unless some miracle occurs in the near future, marriage and pregnancy isn’t going to happen. But this is the twenty-first century, who says I have to be traditional?”
His suspicious look, along with the expression of terror, almost made her laugh as she went for the grand finale. How did one go about asking a man for his DNA? She grimaced. Very carefully.
“And I brought the topic up with you, because in my opinion…you’d be the perfect donor.”
He choked, bobbled his glass, which toppled over and spilled. They both jumped up to mop up the liquid.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
“Oh, no, it was my fault for dropping a bomb on you.”
He strode into the kitchen and reappeared with a towel, then when he’d absorbed the last of the wine with it, he produced a damp sponge to clean the wood. “I hope this doesn’t stain.”
“It’s the least of my worries.” She fought with several strands of hair that had fallen in her face during the fuss over the table.
He went still as the topic noticeably sunk in. “Wow. You’re really serious about this.”
She met his gaze and gave an assertive nod.
He scraped his jaw, and paced the dining room. “Wow.”
“Will you at least think about it?”
“Wow.” The bona fide genius, Jon Becker, had melted down to uttering a single-syllable echo.
She’d finally gathered her wits and was ready to talk business. “I’ve jotted down some thoughts about everything, and maybe you can give me your input—” oh, what an unfortunate choice of words “—about anything I may have overlooked?”
His dark eyes took on the wariness of a wild animal. He seemed to need to hold his jaw shut with his hand. After a few seconds considering her proposition, he dropped another look on her that made her take a breath. “You want me to be a father again at forty-two?”
She thought carefully how to best respond. “No, Jon. I want you to donate your sperm so I can be a mother at thirty-six.”
He went perfectly still, stared at her as if he’d never seen her before. “You want a designer baby?”
Sudden calm enveloped her, and clarity of thought finally followed. “Let’s sit down.” She gestured toward the living room to the small sofa in front of the fireplace. He followed.
“I’ve already got my daughters, I don’t want any more kids,” he said. “And I’m planning a sabbatical once Lacy graduates and goes off to college. I’ve waited a long time to be free again.”
“You won’t have to be a part of the baby’s life. I’m just asking you to be the sperm donor.”
“Why not ask Phil? He’s single. Young.”
“He’s also a playboy and irresponsible.” She left out the part that she preferred Jon’s nose to Phil’s. “Jon, I’ve thought about everyone I know, and you are the top of the list. You’re intelligent, healthy…you have an endearing personality—” How was she supposed to tell him the next part? She took a deep breath and spit it out. “And I think your DNA would work really well with mine.”
“A superbaby?”
“A baby. Just a baby with a lot going for it. I’ll take complete responsibility for the child. Nothing—I repeat, nothing—will be expected of you beyond your, uh—” her eyes fluttered and she suddenly needed to swallow “—donation.” She tugged her earlobe and hoped she wasn’t blushing, though her face definitely heated up. “All things considered, your job will be relatively easy.”
Their eyes met and he seemed hesitant, as if he’d mentally walked his way through exactly what his part would be, and was completely uncomfortable with her proposition.
“But we work together,” he said. “How on earth am I supposed to not be involved?”
“I admit it could get tricky, but if you just put yourself in a clinical frame of mind, think of it as a scientific experiment between friends and colleagues, it could work.”
He didn’t look convinced.
She patted his hand, the same hand she’d never touched before tonight. “I just know we can handle this.”
He didn’t look nearly as sure as she professed to be, but she homed in to the subtle willingness to explore the possibilities with him, and seized her opportunity.
An hour or two or three later, after they’d discussed everything from health history to parental obligations or, in his case, lack thereof, to attorney input and whether or not to do home insemination versus clinical, intravaginal or intracervical insemination, the bizarre nature of their conversation seemed almost normal, as if two medical colleagues were discussing lab results.
“You feel like some dessert?” she asked.
He laughed, but admitted he did.
Amazingly, he ate every bite of the apple-and-berry torte she’d picked up at the bakery. Then, when it was time to leave, he hesitated. “I need time to think this over, René.”
