"No, you're not. You're the furthest thing from it. But, can I just say, that I've never had this conversation with anyone. Not my dad. Not my closest friends. No one. They all know about the surgery, but they don't know about my other plans prior to that."
I take her hand in mine and interlace our fingers to offer some support and thanks without interrupting.
"Adopting isn't easy, but it's entirely possible and something I'll definitely pursue if I can't make plan A reality."
"You like a good plan, don't you?" I'm cheering her on, whatever it is.
The smile that lights her eyes is the fire of determination. "I fucking love a good plan."
"I like it when you get that look in your eyes. Go on, tell me about plan A."
"I've always wanted to be a mum. I don't know if it's because I lost mine so young, or if I wanted to think of my uterus as something with the ability to give life, instead of take it, but it's always been the one thing I felt I was put on Earth to do. And I always thought it would happen in due time. I'd get my degree, start my career, meet the man of my dreams, marry, and have a baby. Turns out the man of my dreams part is tricky."
"Dudes can be douches," I offer.
She huffs out a laugh and nods. "Unfortunately, yeah, a lot of them can be. About a year and a half ago I stopped dating because I was so discouraged. It's not that I was forcing an agenda or a timeline, I was frankly just pissed that I had such horrid judgment when it came to men. So, after I hosted a fuming pity party of one for a month, I did some legendary soul searching, scratched husband off my to-do list with I-am-woman-hear-me-roar gusto, and decided that every problem has a solution. Next month, I have an appointment with a doctor to hopefully provide that solution."
"What? Like a sperm donor?" Even though I know my best friend, Gus, wouldn't exist if Audrey hadn't made the same decision, I still feel bad for Gemma. Why couldn't one of the douches she dated have been a stand-up guy that made her happy and married her so she could have it all?
Her nod is minimal. She thinks I'm judging her and is regretting telling me any of this, I can see it in the wrinkle of her forehead and the pursing of her lips. "Donor insemination. You think I'm a nutter, don't you?"
I shake my head. "Nope. Your body, your choice. You met my friend, Gus?"
"Yeah. He introduced me to your magnificent bum, how could I forget."
"His biological dad is his mom's best friend. Years ago, she asked him for his swimmers and he heeded the call. Turns out the two of them, with some medical intervention, build quite stellar offspring."
Her expression flips from worried to surprise. "You're joking?"
"Nope."
"Huh." She pauses and I can tell she's stunned. "That's amazing." She processes the thought over another prolonged pause, and then eventually moves on to the next topic when she's done with the mindful examination. "Any other questions?"
"Tell me about the dudes you dated in England? Maybe I can tell you where you went wrong."
"Rugby players. Always rugby players."
"Why rugby players?"
She shrugs. "Don't know. I grew up going to rugby matches with my dad and loved the sport. And I've just always been attracted to big blokes, I guess."
"Size matters? Thank God for that," I interject.
"Turns out sizable, American, tattooed drummers with wicked wit and a cheeky smile might edge out rugby players on sex appeal." She raises her eyebrows as she tries, unsuccessfully, to repress a satisfied and telling smirk.
I pump my fist in the air in victory. "Yes! Drummers finally get the justice they deserve!"
She's laughing next to me, but every feature on her face is beginning to tire. I don't know if it's the tequila or exhaustion. I know she works long days.
I pat my chest. "Come here, you look sleepy."
Burrowing in like she intends to stay snuggled for a good, long while, she says, "I'm knackered."
"You should probably go in and go to bed."
"Would you think badly of me if I asked you to come sleep with me? Just sleep."
It's been over a year since I fell asleep next to someone. I miss it. Sleep, though an unconscious act, is intimate and vulnerable. "I don't think I could ever think badly of you, Gem. Do you like to spoon? I'm a major league spooner."
"I love a good cuddle."
"Let's go."
We went inside. She put on her Bieber jammies.
And we spooned like our bodies were created singularly for the act.
I haven't slept that good in I can't remember how long.
Tuesday, January 23
(Franco)
I feel my phone vibrate in my pocket while we're driving to the studio. It's early, which means it's probably my mom. She's always up early and assumes everyone else is too.
After everyone piles out of my truck, I slip my phone out of my pocket to check the text.
It's Gemma. Morning. Would you want to go with me to the museum's grand opening tomorrow evening? It starts at 7:00.
Me: Morning. Can I wear jeans? I don't have any nice clothes with me and I won't have time to shop.
Gemma: Jeans are fine.
Me: What time should I pick you up?
Gemma: 6:15 Traffic is always murder.
Me: See you at 6:15.
Gemma: Thanks!