Chapter_28

Please tell me this is because you couldn’t afford models,” Rosie said, showing Jordan her phone. He stiffened in his armchair. Noguchi came over from the bar cart and looked over his shoulder.

“Can we talk about this later?” Jordan glanced at Lark and Dylan, who sat together on the sofa beside Alice.

“Why?” Rosie said. “It seems like a simple yes or no answer.” She waited for him to respond, and when he didn’t, rage engulfed her. “So, you did. You actually donated your—”

“You should be proud of our boy!” Noguchi said. He pulled Jordan into a headlock and ruffled his hair, then gripped him by the shoulders. “When he got the lab results back, he was like, ‘My swimmers are forty percent faster than the average!’ That’s actually how we came up with the name. He said ‘Swimmers,’ and I was like, ‘No e!’?”

“Oh my God,” Dylan said.

Jordan’s face was red. “OK, OK,” he said, gripping the arms of his chair. “That’s enough.”

“Are you embarrassed?” Noguchi said, looking down at him. “I think you should feel really good about yourself.”

“Oh Jesus,” said Alice. “I’m confused. I thought you ran the company.”

“I do! I mean, we both do,” Jordan said. He was looking between Noguchi and Rosie. “It’s just—it’s like sweat equity, you know? I admired the business and wanted to donate.” His words ran together. Rosie eyed his glass of whiskey. “I’m not embarrassed. I’m just sorry it came out this way. In front of all of you.”

“That part is unfortunate,” Lark agreed.

“No one wants to be the first person to donate to a sperm bank,” Noguchi said, “so Prawn fell on the sword. Donor numero uno.” He looked between Rosie and Jordan. “Wait, you didn’t know any of this?”

“No,” Rosie said. “Somehow I was left off the CC.”

“Yikes,” Dylan said, her expression full of amused horror.

“Rosie—”

“Prawn,” Noguchi said. “I’m sorry to blow your cover. But it’s kind of cool, if you think about it, that the ad made its way to Rosie’s account. It’s like super-targeted. We should give our marketing intern a raise.”

“I told you,” Alice said. “I’ve been saying this. Our phones are listening.”

Rosie closed her eyes. “So let’s see it,” she said.

“What?”

“Your profile.”

“I’ll show you later.”

“I’d like to see it now,” Rosie said. “I think we’d all be interested.” She was too angry to wait, too angry to pull him aside later. She tapped the ad and hit a paywall. “It’s making me create an account.”

“Rosie...” Jordan said. He put a hand on her leg. “I promise, I’ll show you later.”

“Why? You just said you’re not embarrassed.”

“And I’m not!” Jordan said unconvincingly.

“I’ll do it,” Dylan said. Her thumbs worked at her phone’s keyboard. “Just setting up my... Swimmrs ... account.”

“I thought you only had a flip phone,” Jordan said.

“This is for work,” Dylan said, smiling at him. “Rosie, you look like you need to sit down.” She moved over on the sofa, and Rosie sat next to her. She smelled incredible—like wood smoke and cedar. The night before came crashing back. How many times had Rosie come? Once against the nearly imperceptible brush of Dylan’s fingertips, once against her mouth, once against her thigh, Dylan’s teeth against her neck—

“Rosie, I promise, I’ve only donated a few times,” Jordan said. “And I’ll never know if someone chooses me! It’s totally anonymous.”

“It was more like five times,” Noguchi said. “Wasn’t it?”

Rosie, Alice, and Lark huddled to look at Dylan’s phone as she opened the app. The Swimmrs homepage depicted hundreds of men’s faces, which swirled and combined to create one gigantic sperm. The men were hearty-looking, at work in the countryside. Donor #5 sheared a sheep; Donor #23 pulled radishes out of the ground. Others drove tractors; rode horses; tended to freshly hatched chicks; lifted the heavy timbers of split-rail fences; held shovels, sledgehammers, and nail guns.

Rosie looked up at Jordan. “Where did you find these guys? There are so many of them.”

“And what are they building together?” Lark said.

Jordan rubbed the back of his neck and stared at the floor.

“A lot of the images are actually AI generated,” Noguchi said cheerfully.

“Oh my god!” Alice zoomed in on one of the photos. “Like this guy! He has, like, seven fingers.”

Noguchi took out a little notebook and a pen and began writing. “This is good,” he said. “Speak freely, like we’re not here.”

“What happens if someone chooses him?”

“Great question,” Noguchi said excitedly. “Their material shows up as sold out. We wanted to give the appearance of robust choices and create a sense of demand. Although, Prawn, we should make note of that AI guy. He shouldn’t have all those fingers.”

Dylan cleared her throat. “I’m sorry to get into the fine print here, but isn’t the whole idea of your app that the sperm comes from, like, rugged country guys?”

“Yeah,” Jordan said defensively. “What’s your point?”

“And you donated?

“I live in the country.” He gestured around the house.

“Oh, I see...” Dylan said. She sipped her drink. “OK, here we go. Donor #1.” She handed her phone to Rosie.

“Rosie...” Jordan said, bringing his palms to his eyes. “Let’s not.”

Rosie tapped the tiny image of Jordan with the ax. The next photo was a close-up of Jordan’s soil-covered hands holding out a tangle of carrots. Then a shirtless, sweaty Jordan pushed a wheelbarrow of fallen leaves, the Catskills towering behind him, the edge of their Scout Hill house just in frame. According to the app, several hundred people had liked that photo.

“Who took this photo?” Rosie asked.

“No one,” Jordan said.

Rosie stared at him. “No one?”

“It was a self-timer.” He held out his hand. “Please. Just put away the phone.”

“I’m not done,” Rosie said, holding it away from him.

Jordan groaned. “Is this some kind of punishment? Are you trying to embarrass me?”

“Are you embarrassed?”

“No!”

“Well, then, good,” Rosie said. I’m just trying to look at the profile for Donor #1.” The drink had emboldened her, and she was happy to shed her own guilt, even momentarily.

Jordan looked up at the ceiling. Rosie resumed scrolling. At the top of each section of text was a Play button. She clicked the arrow for the first prompt: Meet your Swimmr?!

Hi, I’m Donor #1!It was Jordan’s voice. Lark giggled. I’m six-three with a full head of hair, a sperm motility of seventy percent, a love of nature, and a big project on my hands: I’m fixing up a nineteenth-century farmhouse in the Hudson Valley! When I’m not donating my Swimmrs? to those in need, you can find me stacking firewood, bottling fresh maple syrup, or sautéing freshly foraged chanterelles.

“Six-three?” Rosie said, pausing the recording. “Did it make your voice lower than it actually is?”

“Good catch!” Noguchi said. “We actually recruited a buddy from Family Friend to engineer that.”

“It’s not by much,” Jordan said. “It’s, like, five percent deeper.”

“And every guy gives himself a few extra inches,” Noguchi explained, patting Jordan on the shoulder. “One thing we were playing around with was, like, the five senses. So it would be like, Hear your Swimmr, Smell your Swimmr, Taste—”

“Noguchi, please,” Jordan said, holding up a hand.

Rosie thought back to the pile of firewood Jordan had ordered from the family friend when they first moved in. The delivery guy had stacked the wood for them. Was that what he meant by “stacking firewood”? The “fresh chanterelles” must have been the ones Dylan had foraged herself, which Jordan had, the next morning, cooked for so long that they’d taken on the texture of cardboard.

“Have you ever bottled maple syrup?” Rosie said. “Like, ever? In your entire life?”

“This is why I didn’t tell you I was doing this.” His voice was pinched. “I knew you’d just mock me! You’re so embarrassed by everything I do, why would this be any different?”

“What about me?” Rosie said. “Where am I in all this?” She gestured at his profile. “You make it seem like you’re a bachelor out in the country by yourself, single-handedly tearing down and rebuilding a farmhouse, unleashing your supersonic sperm left and right.”

“I wanted to leave you out of it,” Jordan said defensively. “Did you want to be in my sperm profile?”

“I wish I’d had an opportunity to ponder that question! Unfortunately I was never informed there was a profile.” She sipped on her drink before scrolling on and playing aloud the next prompt.

How Donor #1 spends a typical Sunday:

I like to wake up early and take my coffee on a walk in the woods, Jordan’s voice said. I see it as a ritual to clear my head.

“Rosie—” He reached for the phone. She held it out of reach and let it play.

What keeps Donor #1 up at night:

Of course I worry about climate change and the world we’re leaving to our children. I try to be optimistic, but it can be a struggle. This is why it is so important to me that Swimmrs? donates one percent of all profits to environmental groups.

How Donor #1 describes his masculinity:

I’m the kind of guy who would fight a bear and then come home, throw on an apron, and cook dinner for my family.

“Whoa,” Dylan said. “Impressive.”

Why Donor #1 donated his Swimmrs?:

I’ve always been an ally to the LGBTQIA+ community.

Dylan, mid-sip, coughed and turned to Lark, who had her palm over her mouth.

I believe that anybody who wants to become a parent should have that opportunity. This is one small way I can leverage my privilege of high-motility sperm to help others.

“Oh god,” Alice said. “That one’s really bad, Jordan.”

“I didn’t—I wasn’t trying to—”

Where Donor #1 is from:

I grew up on several acres of land. I’m the youngest of three boys, and anyone who knows my family would say I’m the kindest.

“Several acres?” Rosie said. “Are you counting the golf course?”

Jordan crossed his arms.

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“No, thank you,” Jordan said. “That will not be necessary.”

“Are you sure?” Dylan said. “There’s no shame in that, Jordan.”

“I don’t know why it’s advertising that,” Jordan said, panicked. “Noguchi, this is your fault. You’re the one who was talking about extra inches. I do not need a dick extender, and I don’t know why it’s asking me that.”

“Dude, your family friend is horny!” Noguchi said.

Jordan looked between Dylan and Lark. “Why are you laughing? Have you guys been talking about my dick in your little witch hut, and the family friend heard? Have you?”

“Lark and I shut that thing off as soon as we knew it was listening to us,” Dylan said.

“But you were talking about my dick?”

“Me?” Lark said. “I don’t think I’ve ever really thought about a dick, let alone spoken of one in front of a robot.”

“What about you?” Jordan said to Dylan. “Are you talking about me with your man-hating friends?”

“Ohhh,” Noguchi said. “Must be the same glitch that got us fired. You remember, Jordan. The D-word glitch that—”

“Of course I remember!” Jordan said. “Do you think I have the memory of a goldfish? Is that what happened here?” He turned to Dylan. “You shut off your family friend, and then someone said I have a small dick, and now the family friend is telling on you? For the record, my dick is totally average.”

Dylan coughed into her fist, suppressing a laugh, and glanced at Rosie.

“Goldfish actually have wonderful memories,” Lark said.

Jordan narrowed his eyes and looked between Rosie and Dylan. Rosie’s stomach had twisted into a knot. “Jordan, please stop,” she said. “No one is talking about you having a small dick. I’m sure the family friend misheard something.”

Jordan stared at her. “And what about Dylan’s TikTok, huh?” He gestured wildly. “That’s so embarrassing! She told us she doesn’t own a smartphone! She makes it seem like she doesn’t care about her appearance, but clearly she does! She’s gassing herself up online, too. If you want to drag me, you have to drag her.”

“Dude,” Dylan said, “I’m not pretending to be a lumberjack and selling my jizz on an app.”

“You don’t have any,” Jordan said. He looked at her flatly.

“What?”

“Sperm. I’m sorry to state the obvious, but you don’t have any sperm. You think you can make anything with your own two hands, but there’s one thing you just simply cannot make.”

“Oh, Jordan—” Lark said. Alice winced. Noguchi wrote something down in his notebook. Jordan stood suddenly.

“I’m going to bed,” he said. “It’s late. Good night, everyone, please leave. Rosie? Are you coming?”

“In a minute,” Rosie said. “I’m going to clean up.”

He stared at her, swaying slightly on the staircase, one hand on the banister, his eyes red.

“Would anyone like to sleep in the fold? We have plenty of space,” Lark said. “Dylan beautifully reengineered the sofa so that it folds out. I find it incredibly peaceful, and there’s a view of the stars. We love sharing it with new friends.”

“Oh, shut up,” Jordan said. “Please.”

“I definitely want that,” Alice said.

“I’ll grab the guest room here,” Noguchi said.

“Do you want to show Alice the place?” Dylan said to Lark. “I’ll help Rosie clean up.” She kissed Lark’s cheek, one hand resting on her waist. Rosie looked away.

“No, you won’t,” Jordan said.

“Jordan,” Rosie said.

“What?” Jordan said. “We can clean up in the morning.”

“Don’t let the mice hear that,” Dylan said.

Jordan sighed. “Fine. Please come upstairs soon.” The banister wobbled beneath his grip.

“I can fix that for you,” Dylan said.

Jordan stared at her for a long moment, then made his way upstairs.

“Let’s get you to bed, buddy,” Noguchi said, following behind him. “All will be chill in the morning.” He waved to the rest of them. “Good night, ladies. And folks.”

Alice turned to Rosie, her hand on her belly. “I don’t know if it was the apple pie or the reveal that your husband has been secretly donating sperm behind your back, but I have to lie down.”

“I’m sorry. Good night,” Rosie said, hugging her.

“Have you tried any dandelion to help with the first trimester?” Lark asked Alice on their way out.

The door closed behind them before Rosie could hear the answer. She heard the sound of the shower upstairs, then allowed herself to turn to Dylan. “I don’t know what to say.” She ran the faucet, letting the water get warm, and began soaping each dish. “He is completely bent out of shape. And a little drunk. I totally understand if you want to leave.”

“Because of Jordan? I’ll live.” Dylan pushed up her sleeves and began drying each plate Rosie handed her.

“He can never know we were talking about the size of his dick,” Rosie said.

Dylan raised a hand. “No need to worry about that.”

“He’s really not always like that,” Rosie said quietly. “I don’t want you to think—”

“I’m not. I’m not thinking anything. I literally never think about Jordan. He occupies no space in my mind. I was just surprised to see him so mad.” She lowered her voice. “Does he know about—” She indicated to Rosie and then herself.

“No,” Rosie said. “He would be furious, obviously.”

“Then I guess you can’t be too mad at him.”

“Does Lark know?”

“I told her this morning.”

“Is she upset?”

Dylan shrugged. “Not upset, exactly. It came as a surprise to her.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“I don’t know,” Dylan said. “Nothing. She knows it’s not serious.”

“Right,” Rosie said. “Of course not.” She tried to quickly digest that characterization. Dylan stared at the family friend on the counter. “So these things.” She picked it up. “They, like, never stop listening? Even when you shut them off?”

“Basically, yeah. It’s actually why Jordan got fired from his last company. There was a scandal. Someone’s family friend said the D-word.”

“Which D-word?”

“I don’t think I should say it,” Rosie said. “Or—can I say it?”

Dylan laughed. “I don’t know, Rosie, can you?”

“I don’t know,” Rosie said. “And actually, now it refuses to say that word in any context. Watch.” She raised her voice slightly. “Hey, family friend,” she said, “how do you pronounce D-Y-K-E?”

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“No,” Rosie said. “What does... ‘dyke’ mean?” She blushed as she said it.

That word is a noun. That word is a wall or embankment built to prevent flooding.

“Do dykes get wet?” Dylan asked.

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“No,” Dylan said. “Can you use ‘dyke’ in a sentence?”

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Upstairs, the shower turned off. The floorboards creaked overhead. “OK, stop, stop,” Rosie said to Dylan.

Cool, the family friend replied. You know where to find me!

Dylan was doubled over laughing. Rosie filled a glass of water at the sink and chugged it, then refilled it, wiping at her cheek with the back of her sleeve. “So,” she said, half listening to Jordan’s footsteps. “Are you ready to admit that you’re, like, a TikTok legend?”

“Oh god,” Dylan said. She took a forkful of the pie directly from the pan.

“You said you didn’t have a smartphone.”

“I didn’t say that. You assumed. I only use it to document my work.”

“Your work, right. Fashion advice for timber framing.”

“Please don’t watch that stuff,” Dylan said.

“It’s too late. Now I know the importance of phone hygiene.”

“Oh god, stop!” Dylan said, running the empty pie pan under a jet of water. “It makes money, OK? That’s it. I tell people how to be less addicted to their phones, or what jeans I’m wearing, and I turn in a little circle. It’s how we pay the bills.”

“And is all that stuff true? Do you have a different girlfriend every season?”

“It’s more about figurative seasons. Shifting priorities and desires, which we all experience, even if we stay with one person forever.”

“I have no idea what that means. Have you ever been in a traditional relationship?”

“Traditional?”

“Monogamous, I mean.”

“No,” Dylan said. “Even when that was the expectation. I always knew monogamy didn’t work for me, but it took me a long time to figure out how to be ethically nonmonogamous.” She leaned against the counter. “And so I talk about it on TikTok, and people like it.”

“They like you.”

“Maybe,” Dylan said, shrugging. “I don’t know what to say. I’m not proud of it.”

“You know in movies how people are always throwing their phones into a lake? I’ve always wanted to do that. I sort of thought that’s what I was going to do when I came here. And I guess I thought that’s what you’d done. You said you only used a flip phone.”

“That’s not exactly what I said.”

Rosie raised an eyebrow.

“Look, I can’t make money out of nothing. Anyway, it could be worse. I could be putting semen on drones and—”

“Too soon,” Rosie said darkly. She heard the sound of Jordan’s electric toothbrush. “But so... what’s your plan? When will you settle down? What if you want kids?”

“I am settled,” Dylan said. “On the inside, I’m settled. And I do want a kid. And they’ll be raised by me and whoever’s with me or around me. There are so many ways to have a family, Rosie. It can look any way you want. What do you want?”

She dried her hands on a towel and then took Rosie’s hand, their fingers entwined. Rosie felt the charge move up her wrist. “I—I thought I wanted to live out here with him,” she said.

“But?”

“But—it hasn’t turned out the way I pictured it.”

Jordan appeared at the top of the stairs, a towel wrapped around his waist. Instinctually, Rosie moved away from Dylan, but not quickly enough—or perhaps too quickly, so that the movement drew his attention. He froze, taking in the scene.

“Hey,” Rosie said, attempting a casual tone.

“You can sleep on the couch.” He averted his eyes, turned around, walked to the bedroom, and clicked the door shut.