Atlantea Ch. 07

"It does not seem strange to me," she interrupted, "I feel about you as I have no other person, despite our short acquaintance."

"I'm glad," I said. "But what I was going to say, even if the baby is Laurent's, it won't change how strongly I feel about you, and I would be honored to be the baby's father if you would have me."

Calista began to sob.

"That makes me happier than you can imagine. But in my heart I do wish you to be the biological father of my child. And there are many other reasons besides, which I would divulge to you, if I could. Sadly, the ultimate consequences of such an action would be dire."

* * *

Soon we were standing outside the sturdy metal door of office 1269 of the medical/dental building, which I had been to before. The door swung open without either of us having to speak; Calista had texted the clinic on the way over.

"Please step this way," said the dark-skinned, green-eyed woman I had seen the last time.

Her name tag read, "Anitta Kirkpatrick, M.D., Ph.D".

"So is this a husband and wife operation?" I asked, noting that her last name was the same as the other doctor's.

"Yes," she said, in a melodious, even voice, "we have been running this clinic for many years."

I looked quizzically at her. Like her husband, she looked to be no older than thirty-one, and could easily pass for being in her late twenties. It was hard to see how "many years" could pass between completing both an M.D., and a Ph.D., and starting up a private medical practice, to boot. I did not have time to think too hard about this, however, as we were immediately ushered in to an exam room. Calista was holding my hand tightly; there was no question about whether I would join her duringa the procedure.

Calista was instructed to lay back on an exam table. She was wearing a loose top, which I assumed would have to be taken off. Instead, without giving any further directions, the doctor ran a wand, which looked something like a curling iron, over Calista's belly. A detailed, 3-D image of her womb appeared on an LCD screen mounted on the wall. Doctor Kirkpatrick rotated the view, using a device she was holding in her palm, and numbers began to appear in boxes on the right side of the screen. Anitta smiled.

"Congratulations, Miss Corey, you are most definitely pregnant," she said.

Calista face relaxed markedly, but she was still gripping my hand, hard.

"Can you tell when, precisely, I was inseminated?" Calista asked, voice full of hope and fear.

"We can narrow it down to a 48-hour period," Anitta said, and told us the earliest possible date.

"Why, that's the day we came to this clinic!" Calista said.

Anitta picked up a tablet and scrolled around.

"Yes, that's right. Although there is only a 12% probability that that was the day of conception. There is an 88% chance that it was the following day."

She made a swiping gesture, and the diagram of Calista's uterus was replaced with a histogram showing the probability of conception having occurred at different points during the 48-hour window. Although this technology seemed fantastical to me, I was not in an emotional state to quiz the doctor about how it worked.

"Dr. Kirkpatrick, could Jason and I have a few moments?" Calista asked.

"Of course," came the reply, "and there is no rush, we will not be needing this room for a while."

Once the doctor left, Calista burst into tears. I could not tell if they were tears of joy, or sadness, or a combination of both. I hugged her until her sobs finally abated.

"Calista, what's wrong?" I asked, brushing damp hair from her eyes.

"Oh, why are things always being taken away from me?"

"I'm sorry, I just don't understand. Isn't this what you wanted?"

"It is," she said, "I have never felt such intense and conflicting emotions at the same time. Having a child with you is more than I could have hoped for. Yet, at the same time, my being pregnant means we will have to be separated for a time, and I will be unable to provide more than the barest explanation."

"Separated?" I said, choking back my own tears now. "Why?"

"I must return to my own country, in no more than two days. The ramifications of our having a child together ripple far beyond you and me. I cannot say more, but I implore you to believe me. I have never told you an untruth, and I am not doing so now."

"Where is your country? Couldn't I go with you?" I said, now weeping openly.

I knew precious little about Calista's birthplace, not even its name, or what language was spoken there. Whenever I brought it up, Calista deferred the conversation, saying it would be complicated to explain, and she would tell me another day. Because we had only known each other for a little over a month, I had not yet pressed the issue, assuming there would be plenty of time to learn all about her.

"Obtaining a visa to visit or work in my country is a tightly controlled, and complicated process. I will do everything in my power, when I return, to get you one. I was hoping you would want to come."

"Oh great!" I interrupted.

"But I must warn you, the process will be... an ordeal; lengthy and confusing. And I can tell you nothing about it. You will see why."

* * *

The two days that followed the revelation that Calista was having our baby are, to this day, hard for me to recall; I find I am still unable to bring myself to write down the details of that bittersweet time. It does not help that I spent much of the time in the strange daydreaming state I had been experiencing around Calista.

She was able to provide a single concrete piece of advice to me about the visa process. We went to her gym, and for the first time she paid close attention to my personal workout routine, rather than focus on her own. Two changes were made: she doubled the length, from one to two hours, and tripled the number of exercises that targeted the glutes.

"These exercises will be important," she said. "You will need to work out five days a week from now on."

She went on to explain that even telling me why there was such a need for secrecy could hurt my chances of visiting. So we focused on enjoying each other's presence, or at least trying to, for the scant time we had left. The knowledge that we would soon be parted for an extended time hung over us like a dark cloud. We both found ourselves bursting into tears at random times.

At last, the forty-eight-hour period came to an end. Calista and I were standing on her balcony, and could see a late-model, black Mercedes SUV with tinted windows pull up outside her building. A squad of gray-suited women wearing baseball caps emerged. They came up to her apartment, and began packing up.

"Jason," Calista said, "I have one more thing to say to you."

"I love you," I said, cutting her off, "I have loved you since the moment I set eyes on you."

"I love you even more," she said, smiling wanly, "And you are a bad male for saying it first."

"Miss Corey, we will be late," a gray-suited woman said from the driver's seat of the SUV. Her face was blurry under the gray baseball cap.

We parted with a final, lingering kiss.

"Miss Corey!" said the driver.