4. Clara

CHAPTER 4

CLARA

C lara sat in the doctor's waiting room and read magazines on motherhood. She'd been called back in after a series of tests to hear her results. The waiting area was comfortable enough with pink furniture and beige walls, all there to provide some sense of womb-like comfort in uncomfortable times. But Clara was feeling optimistic. She'd finally decided to take the reins in her own life, following her beloved sister's advice. She wasn't going to rely on a man to give her what she wanted. And this way, she could take her time about finding the right partner rather than getting tied up with an inferior person just because she was afraid she would run out of time to have a child.

The article she read was on sleep schedules, how to deal with the sleepless nights almost every parent goes through during those first few months. She smiled to herself because she couldn't imagine not being happy with a baby in her arms, even if she wasn't getting nearly enough sleep. She'd be the happiest sleep-deprived mother on the planet. It would be her and her child against the world. She wondered whether she would rather have a boy or girl, and then decided it didn't matter in the least. She even told herself it would be wrong to wish for a healthy child because if she wound up with a sick one she'd just love them all the more. Her thoughts got so sappy as she sat waiting, she probably could have tapped them for syrup.

"Clara Ashford," a nurse called out, reading her name from a clipboard.

She put down the magazine and followed the nurse back to the examination room. Going from pink and beige to white and blue was a harsh change. Clara wished she could have brought the magazine with her. It would have kept her mind off her worries and given her something else to focus on.

The nurse weighed her and took her blood pressure. Then she sat at the computer in the room and began recording Clara's information. "Any new medications?"

"No."

"Do you smoke?"

Clara shook her head.

"How often do you drink alcohol?"

"Just socially."

"How many drinks per week would you say?"

Clara shrugged. "Maybe once or twice a month." She laughed to herself. "The dating scene isn't quite as plentiful at my age. I don't get out as much as I used to."

The nurse gave her a conciliatory smile. "You're still young. You've got plenty of time."

"Oh, you and I both know that's not entirely true." Clara laughed again. "There's a real deadline, which is the reason I'm even here." She paused and felt ridiculous. "For a baby, I mean. Do you get a lot of people in here for this sort of thing?"

"Sure," the nurse said, finalizing whatever she was typing on the computer. Clara was pretty sure she hadn't actually heard the question. Then the nurse stood and said, "The doctor will be right in."

When Clara was left alone with her thoughts, she pulled out her cellphone in order to ignore them. Thinking was the last thing she wanted to do right now. She texted her sister instead. You should be here . This was all your idea, after all. How come you get all the fun, while I have to do the hard bits?

There was a pause and then the three little dots started blinking on her screen. Thank God, Dawn was available. Clara didn't think she could go through this alone.

Finally, Dawn sent her message. Get used to it. That's motherhood. If you wanted all the fun bits and none of the work, you should have kept your auntie card.

Oh, I'm keeping my auntie card all right , Clara wrote back. I'm just adding a mom card to it.

Dawn sent an emoji with its tongue sticking out. Oh, it's on, Sis. We'll see who can spoil the other one's kid worse. Winner gets a week of free babysitting. Dawn always did know how to make her sister laugh, and right now Clara appreciated it more than ever.

The doctor came in, and Clara quickly shoved her phone into her pocket like she was afraid she'd been caught doing something she shouldn't. Her doctor was a woman about Clara's age with dark hair and a smile that was impossible to interpret. She sat on the stool across the exam room, crossed her legs, and folded her hands in her lap.

Clara wanted to quip, Give it to me straight, doc , but decided it would be too cheesy. When the doctor started to speak, she knew for sure it would have been a mistake. Because unless Clara was misinterpreting, the doctor was not using her good-news tone of voice.

"So, Ms. Ashford, your fertility is declining at a faster rate than we would expect for someone your age." The doctor paused just long enough for Clara to absorb the information. "There are a couple ways to look at this, and there's an important decision for you to make. On the bright side, you're fortunate to have discovered this now, while you still have time to try. On the dimmer side, it is likely to be a struggle. IVF isn't a walk in the park financially, and there's every chance in the world you'll be paying through the nose for a procedure that might not produce the results you're hoping for."

That wasn't what Clara wanted to hear, obviously, but she hardly knew how to respond. The truth was the truth, no matter how badly she wished it wasn't. "Okay," she said in a quiet voice. "I guess I have some thinking to do."

"I'll write up a referral for you, and you can choose whether or not to take advantage of it. Does that sound all right?"

Clara nodded, but she wasn't really hearing everything the doctor said. She was mentally spiraling down in a way she hadn't expected. No matter how much she thought she'd prepared herself for bad news, some silly part of her hadn't believed it was possible. After all, she was still young, relatively healthy. What could go wrong?

While the doctor printed out her appointment summary, Clara gathered her things like a zombie. Then she was in her car. She didn't even remember leaving the building. She sat in the driver's seat with her seatbelt buckled and her hands on the wheel, staring out the windshield at nothing. Her phone buzzed in her pocket, but she couldn't bear to read the message. It was Dawn — it had to be — and Clara had no idea what to say to her. Her sister had been so excited for her. They'd made plans together, talked and joked about what it would be like to raise their children together. Clara couldn't stand the idea of letting her sister down.

She tried to talk herself out of despair. Maybe it wasn't as bad as all that. She could just try anyway, couldn't she? Spend every last penny and go deeply into debt just for the privilege of having her heart crushed when it was all said and done.

No, she couldn't talk to her sister or her parents, and she couldn't go home either because then she'd just talk to herself, and it would all be negative, unhealthy self-talk. She needed to go somewhere where she could do her best to forget everything, where no one knew her name and no one would be glad she came. The opposite of Cheers . She laughed to herself. A dive bar would be just the ticket, and she knew just the place.

Dylan's Bar was where Clara went when she wanted to disappear. It was dark and crowded. Music blared and televisions distracted everyone at the bar from talking to each other. Who would talk here anyway? It was a place people went to when all their dreams had just been flushed down the toilet. Everyone was equally miserable, and misery did love company, even if it didn't want to talk to a soul about anything. It was good to just sit and drink.

She didn't even notice the man sitting at the bar next to her until he spoke to her. "You look like you're having an even worse day than I am."

"Thanks so much," she said, allowing the sarcasm to drip from her tongue. She glared down at the table. She wasn't in the mood to get into it with some creepy bar crawler. But there was something in his tone that made her curious. He really did sound miserable, like something had just broken his heart as badly as the doctor's news had broken hers. She looked up just as he looked away, and she suddenly found herself eating her own words. He was gorgeous ! And she was an idiot.

He was dressed far better than any other man in the joint — his gray suit fit like a glove. He had an olive complexion with dark brown hair and a jawline that sent her heart into a frenzied dance in her chest. His eyes were the warmest brown she'd ever seen, and she noticed that his left hand was pretty darn ringless.

Well, if her day started out terribly, she was determined to make it better. She deserved an exciting date after all the duds she'd put up with lately, right? Today was rock bottom. She could only go up from here.

"Sorry," she said to him. "That was rude of me."

He turned back to her and Clara just about melted into her barstool. "No, I shouldn't have pried. Whatever you're going through, it's none of my business. I was selfishly looking to commiserate with a beautiful woman and thought I'd gotten lucky."

Whatever kind of puddle she'd become, it was gradually turning to steam at his words. His voice was melted chocolate, and he'd somehow managed to compliment her, while apologizing, without sounding like he was shooting his shot one last time. She quickly got ahold of herself. "So… you're having a bad day, too?"

"The worst." He smiled down at her and she clutched her purse tightly to keep from throwing herself into his arms and begging him to take her home.

"I'm sorry," she said.

"Why? You're already making it better."

He was shamelessly cheesy, and she was loving it. "You're quite the charmer, aren't you? I bet you say that to all the girls."

"I do." He nodded. "But I never meant it until today."

Ah, he was even adorable when he lied. Clara couldn't help the broad smile growing across her face.

"Would it be stupid to ask if I could buy you a drink?" he said.

She bit her lower lip. "Yes, but do it anyway."

"May I buy you a drink, Miss…?"

"Clara." She offered her hand and he took it. His grip was exactly as firm as she'd expected it to be.

"Luis," he said with a grin. "But you probably already knew that."

Clara cocked her head at him. "Why would I know that?"

He narrowed his eyes at her and seemed to reconsider. Clara couldn't think of what social faux pas she'd committed, but she wished, more than anything, that she could take it back. Then he shook his head, and his smile was back. "Never mind. It's not important." He called the bartender over. "Name your poison," he said to Clara.

She shrugged. "Just a beer, please."

One of his eyebrows arched ever so subtly. "Any particular brand?"

"Surprise me," she said.

Suddenly, his smile broadened, and she realized it had been restrained before. Now it was real, and it was heart-melting.