Barb looked glum. She knew where this was going. “No.”
“Remember Sue Hutton? Graduated a year after us? Divorced. Sally Weinberg? Divorced. Beverly Giovanni? Divorced. Beryl Edmunds? Div—”
“Okay, okay. I get the message, but that doesn’t mean—”
“Yes. It does.” Madison gulped down the last of her drink and looked around for the waiter. “I am not getting married, Barb. Not ever!”
“No husband? No family? No kids?”
Madison hesitated. “No husband doesn’t mean no kids. Actually—actually, I do want kids. Very much.” She paused again. “But I don’t want a husband to get in the way.”
Barb raised an eyebrow. “And you’re going to manage this how?”
Okay, Madison thought, now was the time.
“Artificial insemination,” she said, and if her heart hadn’t been beating so hard at this first public admission of what she was about to do, she’d have laughed at the look on Barb’s face. “Surprised you, huh?”
“You could say that.”
“Well, I know a lot about A.I. It’s safe, it’s reliable—and it means a woman needs a syringe of semen, not the man who provided it.”
Something dropped to the floor. Madison looked up. The waiter, a young guy of maybe twenty, was standing next to their table. Either his jaw or his order pad had just hit the ground.
It was just what Madison needed to ease the tension.
“Another Cosmopolitan for me,” she said sweetly, “another glass of Chablis for my friend … and if I dinged your ego, I apologize.”
Barb groaned and put her head in her hands. “Nice,” she said, once the waiter had scurried off.
Madison tried a quick smile. “Sometimes, the truth hurts.”
“Speaking of which … I’m going to be blunt here, okay?”
“We’re friends. Go for it.”
“Well, have you thought this through? I mean, have you really considered why you want a kid? Could it be to sort of relive your own childhood? Erase your mom’s mistakes? Oh, hell,” she said, as Madison’s smile vanished. “Maddie, I didn’t mean—”
“No. It’s okay. You said you were going to be blunt. So will I.” Madison leaned forward. “My mother depended on the men she married for everything. I never wanted to be like that. I was intent on making my own way in life. On not having to rely on anyone, ever. Doing well in school mattered. So did getting a degree, and an M.B.A., and making it up the corporate ladder.”
“Honey. You don’t have to ex—”
Madison reached over the table and caught Barb’s hand.
“I was sure I’d never want marriage or children, any of that stuff.” She paused; her voice grew soft. “Then, one day I looked around and realized I had it all. The undergrad degree. The M.B.A. The great job. The Manhattan apartment … Except, something was missing. Something I couldn’t identify.”
“See? I’m right, Maddie. A guy to love and—”
“A child.” Madison flashed a quick smile that didn’t do a thing to rid her eyes of a sudden suspicious-looking dampness. “There’s a thousand dollar Picasso print on the wall next to my desk. My P.A. has one of those school photos of her little girl next to her desk and you know what? It hit me one morning that her photo was a lot more important than my Picasso.”
“Okay. I shouldn’t have said—”
“And then, a couple of months ago, a girl who once interned for me dropped by. She had a belly the size of a beachball, her back hurt, she had to pee every five minutes—and even I could tell that she’d never been happier in her life.”
Madison let go of Barbara’s hand and sat back as the waiter served their fresh drinks. When he was gone, she picked up her glass.
“Right about then,” she said, trying to sound lighthearted and failing, “I realized I’m going to be thirty soon. That sound you hear is my biological clock ticking.”
“Thirty’s nothing.”
“Not true. My mother had an early menopause. For all I know, it’s hereditary.”
“I still say there’s a man out there meant for you.”
“Not if my mother’s bad taste in men is also hereditary. Go on, give me that look, but who knows? She was married three times, always to rich, gorgeous, world-class bastards. If she hadn’t been in that accident, she’d probably be on husband number four.”
“What about kids needing two parents?” Barb said stubbornly.
“Did you have two parents?”
“Well, no, but—”
“One loving parent is better than two who screw things up. And, yes, I know A.I. might not be the answer for everyone, but it is for me.”
“You really are serious,” Barb said, after a second.
“Yes.” Madison gave a shaky smile. “I want a child so much … I ache, just thinking about it. The whole thing, you know? The good and the not so good. A tiny life kicking inside me. My baby in my arms. Diapers and two a.m. feedings, the first day of kindergarten, visits from the tooth fairy and in a few years, arguments about curfews …”
“Okay. I’m convinced. You actually might do this.”
Madison took a breath. “I am going to do it,” she said quietly. “I’ve already made the arrangements.”
Barb widened her eyes. “What?”
“I’ve seen my OB-GYN, I’ve been charting my periods—and I went through the donor files at FutureBorn and picked out a guy who seems perfect.”
“Meaning?”
“He’s in his thirties, he has a Ph.D., he’s in excellent health, he likes opera and poetry and—”
“What’s he look like?”
“Average height and build, light brown hair, hazel eyes.”
“I mean, what’s he look like?”
“Oh, you don’t get to see photos. It’s all very anonymous. Well, unless the donor wants his sperm kept for his own future use, of course, but when a woman purchases sperm—”
“Purchases,” Barb said, with a lift of her eyebrows.
Madison shrugged. This part of the conversation was easier. Talking about the emotions driving her was tough; the technicalities were a snap.
“It’s
