What The Nursery Needs.... Terry Essig

a plan B.”

      “There wasn’t. Now there is. It’s simple. Go to a sperm bank.”

      Monica almost fell off the ladder she was standing on. “What?”

      “You heard me. Cut out the middle man, go directly to the source. From what I understand, people do it all the time.”

      Catherine dunked her sponge in her bucket and began to wipe out the interior of a bottom cabinet. Her plan made perfect sense to her. One had to be flexible in this life. A determined person could always find a way to achieve her goal.

      Monica, however, was not convinced. “That doesn’t make any sense at all. You’d be adding a middle man, not taking one away. The man is the source.”

      Catherine pulled her head out of the cabinet she’d been scrubbing and threw her sponge into the bucket, splashing soapsuds on the floor. “Fine, if you want to play word games, be that way, but you know what I mean. If I really want a baby, which I do, I need to start rethinking the whole project. Otherwise it’s going to remain nothing but an unattainable dream.” She squeezed out the sponge and attacked the next cabinet in line.

      Monica opened the cabinet next to the one she’d just finished. Her voice was muffled now and echoed slightly, but her disapproval was still clear. “You were always daydreaming and playing pretend as a kid. You’ve gotten a lot better about getting real. We’re all so proud of the way you’ve made your business succeed, but there’s such a thing as taking it too far. Just be patient. Some guy will turn up, and I’d hate to have you miss all the fun involved in creating a baby naturally. I meant what I said about you being a natural candidate for motherhood, Cath, but I know you like I know the back of my own hand, and I’m telling you I don’t think you’ll be happy doing it this way. You crave family. The whole shebang. You need the husband to go along with the kiddies. I know.”

      “Yes, well, unfortunately, Prince Charming is taken, Monica. Cinderella got her claws into him before I even had a chance. I almost made a very bad mistake out of what I now see was desperation. I’m not going to risk it again.”

      Monica sat heavily on the third step of her ladder. “But a sperm bank? It seems so cold—so impersonal. Your baby’s not going to know its daddy?” she asked weakly.

      Catherine backed out of the cabinet and shrugged at her sister. “Desperate times call for desperate measures. A lady brought in the most beautiful four-poster canopy crib for me to sell for her last week. I brought it home. As a matter of fact, last night I also decided to decorate the spare bedroom as a nursery instead of an office. What do you think of that?”

      “Oh, my God, you’re really serious about this.”

      Catherine nodded emphatically. “You bet I am. I’m going to decorate that room, set up the crib, then fill it. I am not about to go sit in there every evening and get maudlin over the empty crib. I’ve got my college degree, my resale shop is doing fantastically well, and now I’ve even got my own home. Things aren’t going to get much more orderly than that, and so I’m going to bite the bullet. No time like the present, and all of that. I’m going for it, Mon.”

      Monica stared at her sister. “I can’t believe this.”

      Catherine nodded firmly. “Believe it.”

      “Do you even know where there is a sperm bank?”

      “No, but how difficult can they be to find? You read about people using them all the time in the newspaper.”

      “Usually because there’s been a problem. All the sperm defrosted or somebody’s is missing. Something awful like that.”

      Catherine shrugged off Monica’s concern. “Well, they’re not going to publish the normal day-to-day success cases, are they? You know the press. They only publish the grimmest of the grim.”

      “I don’t know, Cath. I mean, what if you got overfertilized and ended up with sextuplets or something? I hear that happens all the time at those places. How would you handle a multiple birth all by yourself? You’d be too tired to run the shop.

      “And besides, I bet you don’t have even the foggiest idea how to find a sperm bank or what to do or say if you did. Do you know anybody who knows anything about this? Outside of the newspaper stories, I mean. Those all seemed to be in California, as I recall, and you don’t want a baby born with a need to go surfing. He’d be in for a real disappointment here in South Bend.”

      “All right, so I’ll rule out any sperm that might have originated in California.” Catherine agreed with a shrug. “It’s a big country, even without California. I’m sure there are plenty of other sperm out there. And think about this, Mon. Doing it this way I can have the absolute baby of my dreams. I can probably just give them a checklist of attributes I want. Blond hair, blue eyes, IQ over 120.”

      Monica rolled her eyes, and Catherine gave her a disapproving look.

      “Quit being so discouraging. I’m telling you, my plan is scientifically sound. I’d have a say in all that stuff, whereas if I sit around waiting to fall in love, I’d have to take whatever I’ve fallen for. Gerald wasn’t all that hot looking, but he was smart and seemed nice enough—or so I thought. This way, I can have it all. Oops, we’ll have to finish talking about this later. Here comes dinner.”

      And in fact, before Catherine could even pull herself to her feet, the back door opened to admit Monica’s husband and their twelve-year-old daughter, both carrying bags brimming over with small white cartons of Chinese takeout.

      “We’re back,” Don Davies announced as though a broad-shouldered six-foot-two man stood a chance of going unnoticed. “And we’ve got supper with us. You two find the plates and silverware yet?”

      “We’re not quite ready,” Catherine said as she emptied her bucket into the sink. “We got kind of distracted,” she confessed with a glare at her sister. “But I know what box they’re in.” Catherine had known Donald a long time. The man got cranky when he got hungry. It was best to keep him fed. “Everything go okay?” she asked as she began to rearrange boxes to get at what she hoped was the right one.

      “Yep,” Don assured her as he began pulling cartons from the bags and setting them on the kitchen table. “This smells good. I’m starving. We returned the rented van—you owe me an extra twenty-seven bucks, by the way—dropped off John, picked up the food and came right back. Todd and Mary Fran take off?” he asked, naming several more relatives who had helped with the move.

      “Yes,” Monica confirmed before Catherine had a chance. “Just a little while ago.”

      Don moved all the boxes and papers that had been stacked all over the table and onto the countertop. “There, now we’ve got some room. You find those forks yet?”

      “I think so—yes! Here they are.” Catherine looked up from the carton she’d just pulled the flap up from to successfully wave an eating implement.

      There was an unexpected knock and all four heads turned to glance curiously at the back door.

      “You expecting anybody?” Don asked Catherine, immediately slipping into the role of protective brother-in-law.

      Catherine shook her head.

      “Well,” Monica huffed, but at least she kept her voice down, “you’d think the neighbors would at least give you a day or two to unpack before they descend on you.”

      “Amy, honey, would you get that for me?” Catherine asked. “I’ve still got to find the box with the dinner plates.”

      A few moments later Amy returned with a girl about her age. “Aunt Cath,” Amy said, drawing the girl into the room, “this is my friend from school, Maura. Guess what?”

      “What?”

      “Maura lives right next door to you.”

      Catherine said, “Awesome. You can see each other when you’re over, Amy.”

      Amy