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Our Future
by EJ Ginger
The cot is uncomfortable and cold. The thin paper covering sticks to my skin, crinkling with my every move. How long have I been waiting in this exam room? I pass time by tracing the goosebumps on my arms. Connect the dots. Like I taught Felicity, like I would have taught Jud—
No. Think of something different.
I read the posters on the walls. One depicts the stages of life of an unborn baby. Brain activity after five weeks; heartbeat at six; and so on all the way to the first breath after delivery.
Judith didn't make it much further than that.
If only my husband were here. Malachi wouldn't have been much comfort, but he would've held my hand, shared in this silent grief. He spent hours on the phone last week with our health insurance and Dr. Greene’s office for an exception to be made for me to attend alone.
I've never been to any appointment alone.
It was difficult, but I got approval. Dr. Greene is one of the best prenatal and pregnancy specialists in the state. It's a privilege to be seen by him. He'll fix everything.
The door opens with no preceding knock, and Dr. Greene walks in. He's tall; his face creased with stress. In his hand is a manilla folder.
He shuts the door, never looking up from the folder. The corners of his eyes crinkle as he reads. Wrinkles appear on his forehead.
Suddenly, his face clears, and he looks up. "Good morning," he says to the empty chair across the room. He frowns. The wrinkles reappear as he turns to me. "Just you?"
"Yes, sir." His expression doesn't change. I tap my fingers on the cot. "This was an emergency appointment? My husband couldn’t get off work."
His stare is cold and dark under heavy brows. The paper covering rips under my sweaty hand as I fidget.
“No other male family?”
My voice has stopped working, words glued to my tongue.
Taking my silence as an answer, he flips through the folder, humming to himself. "All right, missy, I see you've delivered twice. Both daughters."
He doesn't look at me for confirmation. The paper covering crinkles as I shift, hunching my shoulders.
He sighs and turns to the next page. "Your eldest at twelve, but I see here you began menstruating at ten. A bit early, but still. . ." He catches my eyes. I hate this part.
"I struggled to conceive for a while after my marriage."
“Mmh-hmm.”
Can he tell I'm lying? Our families couldn't, but maybe he can see through our deception? I can’t tell him that Malachi was concerned I wouldn't be able to safely give birth so young.
Dr. Greene doesn't look at me, but nods along to my words. "You know women are required to deliver at least one child of each gender. You have yet to give birth to a boy."
"I know—"
He grins. "Daughters are wonderful, but those babies can't have babies by themselves. We need boys to help bring about the next generation. Children are our future!"
"I know the law, sir.” When he doesn't speak, I continue. "My—my last was an emergency delivery. Only twenty-eight weeks… She . . . she didn't make it. This appointment was made because of concerns about my ability to carry any more children to term—"
"Nonsense. We have plenty of resources to make sure every baby survives. Your most recent was just one of the unlucky few. I’ll give you a pamphlet on how to improve your health so this doesn’t happen again and prescribe you a daily vitamin." His face grows stern. "Be thankful her death wasn't your fault. You already delivered her, so it was in the doctor's hands to ensure her survival. He's the one that will be facing charges, not you."
He flips through my chart again. “You've only been having intercourse twice a week?"
I flinch at his hard tone. Twice weekly is the minimum as mandated by the state. The minimum is generally disapproved of.
"My husband's job takes him away for days at a time. Sometimes the minimum is all—"
"I will contact his employer. Anything else?"
Tears sting in my eyes. I look at my lap, twist my fingers together. "Since Judith—”
"Who?"
I squeeze my eyes shut. "My last daughter. She d—” I pause; swallow the pain. “passed in the NICU?"
"Oh, yes. The poor dear. She would have been a great mother."
A beat of silence passes. "Since her death, the grief . . . my husband hasn't wanted . . ."
It’s bold, blaming Malachi, but it’s the truth. Judith's death hit hard for him. He had been anxious the entire pregnancy. My first was rough, and Felicity had been premature. She was healthy, if a little small and delicate. Judith wasn't so lucky.
"Nonsense," the doctor says again. I can’t remember hating a word more. "You need to make yourself more available to him."
Anything else he says washes over me. I hug myself, hands resting on my stomach.
Be a boy next. Please be a boy.
Malachi is home when I return.
"I wasn't expecting you until morning."
He greets me at the door with a long hug that I melt into. "The doctor called my boss. I got sent home early.” He pulls back and brushes his knuckles against my cheek.
I lean into his touch. Countless times I have thanked every diety I knew that I was married to this man; someone kind enough to open himself up to friendship with me, if not love.
"Are you all right?"
He deflates as I tell him everything. "I thought so." There's sorrow in the lines by his mouth, downturned into a miserable frown. Worse is the heaviness in his eyes, the grief and resignation I see under his furrowed brow.
"My mom has Felicity.”
He nods and kisses my forehead. "Come," he whispers and leads me down the hall to our bedroom.
Please. A boy. A happy, healthy boy.
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