Page 3 of Damon

“No, we can use a syringe. An artificial insemination kit.” My eyebrows shoot up and I blink at her in confusion. “Damon can do his thing and we put it in a syringe, then transfer the sperm into me.” Her voice is level, calm, and completely at ease with the suggestion. My heart rate skyrockets at the thought. “It means we can try multiple times a month at the optimal time, and more importantly.” She pauses, focusing on me. “If one month it doesn’t happen, we can try the next easily.”

“It does make sense,” I stutter, unsure. “But I’ll need to speak to Damon.”

“Of course,” she replies with a smile. “I’ll send you some instructional videos I found online.” She takes both my hands in hers. “I want to make this happen for you, Connie. My studies have improved amazingly since I moved in. You have helped me without even realizing it. If I can do this for you, I will.”

***

Emma’s optimal time to become pregnant rolls around. Damon holds his plastic beaker and wanders off to the toilet to do his duty. He returns ten minutes later with the contents, passing them to us. We’re standing at the kitchen counter, syringe poised.

“I’m out,” he says, walking off, and we both giggle. I pour my husband’s semen into the syringe, then we both head to her room. Sliding a syringe filled with my husband’s sperm up another woman’s vagina isn’t something I ever thought I would do, but so be it.

The previous weekend, I had suggested to Damon that perhaps natural conception would be best. He’d balked then lost his temper. “I am not sleeping with another woman,” he barked. “How can you even ask that of me?” His face had turned bright red as he stormed around the room.

“It was only a suggestion,” I muttered, annoyed.

“You need to stop watching those weird videos online,” he shot back. “We are using the syringe method. No arguments.”

“But sperm…”

“Bubbles, I don’t care if it increases our chances to ninety-nine percent. I am not putting my dick in another woman’s pussy. Is that clear?” He turned to me, furious eyes holding me to the spot. “Don’t ever ask that of me. It’s always been you, and I will not have you be able to think of me with another woman, whether the relationship was business or pleasure.”

In hindsight, he was right. The thought of him having sex with someone else would have killed me. But in that moment of madness, it had seemed like a sensible suggestion. Creating a baby can become all-consuming, especially when you can’t do it yourself.

***

Two weeks later, Emma comes bursting into the living room. It’s a Tuesday morning, so she doesn’t have classes either at the school or online. I’ve been surprised how many classes she has delivered remotely rather than in the classroom. Damon is tying his shoes, getting ready to leave for work.

“I’m late!” she shrieks. I’m sitting on the sofa in my huge snuggly robe drinking a massive mug of tea. Her voice causes me to jump, and a little liquid splashes over the side onto my pristine velvet sofa.

“For where?” I ask her, confused, as I dab at the stain with my robe.

“My period,” she says, looking at me as if I’m a fucking idiot. She waves a box in her hand. “I’m off to pee on this stick. Wait here.” She skips off out the door in the direction of the bathroom then appears back five minutes later placing the white pregnancy test on the table between us all. “We need to wait ten minutes then look. We want two blue lines.”

I roll my eyes at her. She hasn’t a bloody clue how many of these things I’ve looked at over the years. Hundreds, if not thousands. They always had one effing line.

She stares at her watch. “Time,” she announces. “You check, Connie.”

I lean forward to look at the little stick, and two blue lines blink back at me. “We’re pregnant,” I whisper, shocked. Emma starts to dance around in celebration. Damon leans over, embracing me and kissing my temple.

“We’re going to have a baby,” he says.

My body floods with emotions—happiness, joy, pain, fear, sadness, relief—a heady cocktail which is hard to understand. My gaze moves to the young woman who has made this possible, and all I feel is deep appreciation for her. Gratitude that we found each other when we both needed it.

“We better get baby shopping,” Damon says, diverting my attention to him. He flashes me a breathtaking smile. “It’s happening, Bubbles. You’re going to be a mummy.”

***

June 2021

Emma’s pregnancy, our pregnancy, has finally been announced to the world with the simple explanation that she is the surrogate mother. Our baby is due in December, and I can’t wait to meet them. Life is feeling hopeful, as if we’re almost near completion of our goals. So far there have been no complications apart from a bit of morning sickness, but Emma charges on doing what she needs to do. In a strange way, she’s become the little sister I never had, helping around the house and talking about girly things. We’ve enjoyed the summer sunshine together, lying out on our loungers while talking nonsense.

Damon was recently promoted at work, which is demanding more of his time. He’s moving through the ranks quickly, and has been headhunted into the National Organized Crime Unit in recent weeks. It’s a role that will put pressure on him in the workplace and push him to move in darker, more dangerous, circles. A lot of his job we can’t discuss, but I know things are changing for him and for us. When we’re out of the house, he is that bit more cautious, his eyes scanning the situation as we go about our day. It makes me uneasy.

I’ve made a quick stop to get some groceries for dinner. The supermarket is quiet on a warm Thursday afternoon. I park in a spot in the far corner of the parking lot. Damon treated me to a shiny SUV in preparation for our new addition; it’s bright red with four slick black alloys. I don’t want it being dented by an asshole that can’t drive.

As I walk across the pavement toward the wide entry doors, a man dressed in black with a baseball cap steps out of a small white van. He steps into my path, stopping me in my tracks. “Connie McKinney?” he asks curtly.

“Yes, who’s asking?” I snap back.

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