The Other Baby

I will await all the comments telling me that I got it wrong.

Why do I write stories that don't quite fit normal expectations? There are plenty of those, so I enjoy trying to find new angles on old tropes. As a writer, it's fun to do, whether it is fun to read, I don't know...

The Other Baby

"Do you love me?" Cathy said.

"Of course I do,"

"Really, really, really?"

"Honey that's a daft question. You've known me it seems like forever and we've been married five years. Is this some kind of test? I mean, seriously? I'm doing my best not to sound hurt here."

She stopped for a moment, looking thoughtful, not looking at me for a for seconds.

"I'm not trying to hurt you, but, if," she said, still looking at the floor. "If I did actually hurt you, not on purpose, accidentally, would you still love me?"

There are days when Cathy has something going around in her head where she can't quite hit on the right words. She has to take a run at it.

"I'm not sure how to say this," she paused, giving me a weak smile. "You can tell, can't you."

"Love, I don't know what is going on in your sweet head, but if you can't say it, you have two choices."

"Two choices?"

"Or maybe three."

"Go on."

"One; you could write it down. I don't want to sound trite here, but the thing about writing it down is that if you don't like your first go at it, then you can edit over and over, in private without upsetting me or anyone else, until it feels right. That can work better than trying to say it and have it come out wrong."

"Good idea," she said, looking up and smiling at me this time. "What are the other two?"

"The oral version of writing it down. You sit in front of a camera and say it, play it back, say it again, changing the words until you have it right, and then maybe practice in front of the camera or a mirror until you know you can say it without a hitch and get the body language right at the same time."

"Right, yes, also a good idea. The third?"

"The third is the easy one -- you forget it, whatever it is. Put it out of your mind. If you're lucky, your subconscious figures it out, if it doesn't, it stays forgotten."

"Is this what you do?"

"With big decisions, yes."

"And it works for you?"

"You've seen my salary cheques, what do you think?"

She grinned. "Yeah, I guess it does," she said. "Proof of the pudding, bonus cheques don't lie, huh."

"So?" I said.

"I guess I'll do that, I mean, one or two of those."

"One more thing."

"What?"

"No pressure, but there's a lesson to learn there, that build up was kind of scary, so you've got me a bit on edge."

"Sorry."

Suddenly I felt mean, whatever it was must matter to Cathy. If there was something scary in this, then better that she get it right when she tells me, the last thing I need in a delicate situation is a needless misunderstanding.

"It's okay," I said. "No pressure. I love you, so take all the time you need."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

"Do you remember that thing I wanted to talk to you about?"

"Not the actual thing," I said, "but I remember the abandoned conversation."

"I think I can do it now," she said.

"Do I need a stiff drink?"

She tried to smile, but I could see that the tension was getting to her. Okay, I thought, make it easy for her.

"Sorry," I said. "I shouldn't joke, but you did hint."

"Hint?"

"Your body language -- you seemed nervous about whatever it was."

We'd finished dinner, so I took her elbow and led her towards the easy chairs. I sat, trying to look comfortable, wondering what was coming.

"About children," she said. "We always said we'd wait until we were settled and secure, right?"

I nodded.

"We've got there, don't you think? I mean you're making more than we ever thought, and you're not having to work all hours to do it -- so we could manage without my money for a while couldn't we."

"Sure," I said. "And this house and garden would be perfect for kids."

"Great," she said.

What was so hard about that, I wondered? I waited to see what was coming next.

"The thing is, I know this sounds... well I don't know how it sounds to you, because I haven't said it yet. I know some folk would think it was weird, or even be upset." She paused. "It is weird, I mean if I wasn't about to say something that most people wouldn't say, I guess I wouldn't get so wound up."

I waited.

"You know I have this thing about racism?"

"Yeah," I said.

"And we agree about that don't we?"

"We do," I said. "We always have."

"So," she said. "This is where it gets tricky. I want a black baby. I mean how can I say all these things about other people and their values if I don't act on it."

Okay, now I know why she's wound up.

"So, do you mean we should adopt and not have kids of our own?"

"Not exactly."

"Not exactly?"

"I wasn't planing to adopt. It feels like that would be cheating, too easy, and too much like a stereotypical do-gooder."

"You do know that do-gooders often do actually do good."

"Yeah, I know, but they tend to get given a sort of holier than thou kind of rap. I want to select a black man who has the right qualification and have his baby."

"So you want a divorce?"

"No, Tom, I don't want a divorce. I want it to be our baby."

"As if I was infertile? or a cuckold?"

"It's not about you love."

"You say that, but there will be people laughing at me behind my back, and there will be plenty of folk thinking you're a slut."

"I suppose-- but I don't care what they think. People like that will always be horrible. So what? The sperm donor will be a sperm donor, nothing more. You'll be my husband, the kid's dad. The point is that I will have actually given birth to this child. Obviously I'll have to have sex with the donor a few times, but I don't want a divorce."

I don't know what I looked like. Usually I can keep a straight face, but there wasn't a mirror handy. I wished I'd filmed the whole conversation. I was so shocked that I thought my face must have given something away.

"I know you could divorce me if I do this," she said, "I understand that, and it's what a lot of guys would do -- they'd probably start planning to find a lawyer before I stop talking. Please, please don't. I love you, I can't imagine bringing up a baby without you. I don't want another husband, I really, really don't. I just want a black baby."

I knew right away that I ought to take my own advice -- stop and think -- but that's easier said than done.

Right that second, it was just a conversation, nothing recorded, nothing certain. Hardly grounds for a divorce unless it was backed up by action. I guess irreconcilable differences covers a multitude of sins, but none of those sins had happened yet. I guess I could divorce Cathy on the grounds that I didn't like something she said, but that would make me look like some sort of selfish bastard. If I waited until she was pregnant and then tried to kick her out, I know I'd end up feeling shitty. To make matters worse I know I would lose friends. Sure, they would sympathise, but my commitment to anti-racism would be shown up as only skin deep. I'd be accused of walking off and abandoning Cathy just because the baby was black. Would that be a reason to lose her? Really? or as she put it, really, really really?

Sure, like she said, loads of guys would be out of the door already. I should have taken my own advice, insisted on time to think, but emotions get in the way. Seconds later I heard myself speaking.

"So you're planning to have an affair, to cuckold me with some black guy."

"No," she said. "Well, yes, theoretically, in a way, I suppose, but I don't mean it like that."

"Well how do you mean it?"

She sighed. "It is a bit like that, but I won't love him, I may not even like it... or him."

"You know what they say about going black?"

"No... What do they say -- whoever they are?"

"If you go black, you don't come back."

"I don't plan to go anywhere."

"That's not what the phrase is supposed to mean."

"Well what does it mean?"

How can she be so naive?

"The assumption behind the saying is that black men are superior at sex, so once you've tried it, you would never want anything else."

"Is it true?"

"I am not aware of any properly controlled studies." I almost laughed at myself, sounding like a pompous academic in a discussion like this -- running away to safe ground, but I couldn't stop myself. "If you read stories on the web, some of which may be true, then there's a lot of anecdotal evidence, but I think it would be difficult to prove the concept as an absolute truth with any degree of certainty."

If you mix with lawyers and management consultants all day, it only takes a little stress and the pomposity comes out. It's almost a conditioned reflex. It didn't phase Cathy.

"But," she said. "The idea is scary enough for you to tell me, right? You think if I have sex with one black man, I'll want to ditch you?"

"If the circumstances were reversed, I mean if it was said about black women, wouldn't you feel obliged to mention it?"

"Um, well, I suppose so."

"There is another way to have a black baby."

"How."

"I could find a black women."

"No. Well, yes, but for me, that would be the same as adopting."

Cathy has always had a full on approach to life. She needs the visceral experience, it would have to be her baby.

Before I could say anything else she came back at me again.

"Look I know that is an unfair thing to ask. There's nothing wrong with adopting, in fact it is a noble thing to do. It's just that if I was a white mum with a white baby, adopting a black kid, I'd feel like some kind of fraud. If my first child, my first actual nine months in the womb, first child, is black, it changes everything, at least that what it feels like to me."

Changes everything, sure, and everything includes a whole heap of things that I'm pretty sure Cathy has never considered. I couldn't see any easy way to break into her world view. I knew I needed to get into those other. I fought down the temptation to walk out of the door. This wasn't about to happen tonight. There was time to get to the bottom of it if I could keep my cool.

"So will he come here, this guy that you find, and then what? Do I move into the spare room? Does he just come for the night? Do I go out for the night?"

"No, no. I don't want to hurt you or embarrass you."

"It might be hard to avoid."

"I could use the spare room," she said.

"Does he stay the night?"

"No, of course not."

"So we have reclaim sex after he's gone, is that it?"

"Not exactly. I mean if we have sex, then you might make the baby."

"So you and I use condoms?"

"I don't know," she said. "Condoms can break."

"So your plan is to find some black guy you like and then kick me out of the bedroom until you get pregnant with him? Or do you plan to go to his place?"

"He has to come here.?

"Not a hotel?"

"No."

"You want to be on your own turf?"

"It has to feel like our baby, made in our house."

"And sleeping with him?"

"No, you and I still sleep together, I don't plan on actually sleeping with him. If I woke up with a stranger in my own house, I think I'd feel very weird."

"Poor sod," I said. "He gives you his sperm and doesn't even get breakfast." When I'm stressed I have a tendency to become flippant -- I should have demanded a time-out. "Do I get to have sex with you once you are pregnant?"

"I'm not sure. I guess, maybe."

"Maybe?"

"I've read about it, usually it's okay, you know, unless the pregnancy is fragile in some way. It will be might first baby, and first babies are more tricky. It would be better to be careful, at least for the first few months."

"What happens if you really like having sex with this guy? What if he wants to be involved with the baby."

No," she said. "No I don't want that. I won't allow that. I won't even tell him that I'm pregnant."

"What will you tell him?"

"I, um... I need your three choices again."

I laughed.

"Well," she said. "I could have you tell him that I'm an airhead slut that wanted some strange cock."

"No, I'm not going there. Plenty of folk will be ready to bad mouth you, I don't want to add to the insults, even with strangers."

That came out without thinking. Jesus, I thought, I'm giving in already.

"Look," I said. "I think if we put our minds to it, in time I'm sure we can work out the right thing to say to anyone who asks, but it is a hell of a big step. Kids are for life. If we do this we both have to be absolutely certain, and I still don't know what I think deep down."

"You're saying you're not sure?"

"Would you believe me if I said yes right away?You've only just sprung this on me. You've had time to think about it. I need time. There are so many issues. Would we your sperm donor sign something saying he relinquishes anything to do with any baby that happens along? I know that sounds cold blooded, but seriously, what would you tell this guy?"

"Mmmm, you're right. It is more complicated than I thought, isn't it?" she said. "I didn't see all these issues. It is asking a lot of you. Will you be able to cope?"

Shit, what a question, throwing it back on me. If I say no, then I'm the weak kneed husband who is stopping his wife doing something she thinks is really important. If I say yes, I have no idea where it ends up. More to the point, Cathy doesn't know either. She has this one idea and it's taken over her mind.

"Cathy love, I need time to think. This is a big deal. It could be brilliant, but it could be absolutely awful. Have you talked to your parents? Whatever kids we have will be their grandchildren."

That stopped her in her tracks.

"See, I was right about talking to you first, not just because I love you and you're my husband, my partner in life, but you know stuff, you see angles." She stopped for breath. "I haven't thought about Mum and Dad or your parents."

"The thing is, love," I said, trying to sound as reasonable and considerate as I could, "there are a lot of folk who will raise their eyebrows, one way or another. If you have a black baby, and I'm not saying you shouldn't, then you are taking on a lot more than motherhood. If you do it, you will need support. If you expect me to be that support, and there's not much point in me being around if I'm not, then I need time to think. You know me, I'm not the sort of guy who says, 'Oh, Wow! what fun,' and jumps into things. Please don't rush me."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

We agreed on a week. The first few days I tried to pin down my worries. If I followed convention, I'd tell her that if she had a black baby, she'd be on her own. I guess that's what some folk would expect me to do -- the expressions 'Kick to the Kerb' and 'Burn the bitch', spring to mind.

She'd be on her own, but I'd be on my own too. Did I want that? Would I ever find another woman like Cathy? She has brains and looks and in a heap of ways she's my soul mate. Should I ditch all that for one wild idea? Admittedly an idea that would last a lifetime, but in ten years time would it still seem so wild?

One thing for sure, we'd soon find out who our friends were. The more I thought about it the more I came to realise that the one thing that really scared me was losing her. The way the courts work, and with a good lawyer, she could leave me for the father of the baby and she'd get the house and some support too. If I have to pay, then why not enjoy the kid, and Cathy would owe me, which can't be all bad.

How would I interact with the donor guy? Should we meet? Do I offer drinks? How do I avoid looking like a cuckolded wimp, or worse still, feeling like that? Does it matter what he thinks? Would it change how I think of myself? What would Freud think? If my Id is being primitive and jealous, and my super-ego admires the way that Cathy is operationalising her anti-racism, then what does my Ego think? Does it matter. If I lose Cathy -- I lose Cathy -- why I lose her makes no difference.

The deeper question, at least to my mind was the possibility that whoever this guy was, he might want to continue the relationship. Was there any way I could stop that?

If I was a suspicious husband, worried about the possibility of a covert affair, what would I do? One obvious thing would be to bug the spare bedroom. How would Cathy feel about that? Recording everything would mean I could be part of the scene. Could they cope with that?

What if the other guy was so much better at sex than me. Would it be right for me to insist on limiting Cathy's pleasure. The thought occurred to me that we could end up with Cathy having some interloper for sex, while I earned the money and got nothing out of it apart from a black baby to bring up and pay for.

If that was the plan what would happen to me? I let that idea float around in my head for a day. I tried to find an upside to it, but couldn't see it. Worse still, what if Cathy realised that she needed me, so ended up giving me mercy sex because she took pity on me.

There was no way our marriage would last if that happened. I needed some skin in the game. A cuckoo baby and a pitying wife could end up being hell. What was worse was that there would be no way of predicting that outcome in advance. For sure Cathy would insist that there was no possibility of that happening, until it did. I would never know until it was too late.

I won't bore you with every scenario that went through my mind, some made me laugh, other burned a trail of fire. When I had all those options clear in my mind, I sure as hell could see why 'burn the bitch' appeals to so many guys. By the middle of the week I was ready to say no, but where would that lead? This wasn't a comment on me as a husband, or Cathy wanting better sex, this was Cathy's way of fighting racial prejudice -- a whole different can of worms. This was more of a political decision, or a philosophical one. In many ways it had nothing to do with love and marriage -- to some extend it could be argued that love and marriage got in the way.

On the fifth day the answer came to me from somewhere. The only problem was that my solution, when it emerged, was as outlandish as Cathy's request. Did I dare tell her? I agonised about that and decided that life was complicated enough. Cathy was determined to go through with her plan, my price was that I would have my plan and I had one good reason for keeping my plan a secret. There was no way to be sure that my plan would come off until it was almost done. When I was sure that is could work, that would be soon enough to tell Cathy.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

"I've been thinking," I said over breakfast.

"About my idea?"

"Yeah."

"You have another day. You know we agreed on a week."

"I know, but I think I'm there. Are there going to be any rules in this business?"

"Rules?"

"Guidelines -- ways of avoiding surprises, catching ourselves out. When you first came up with this..."

"I know," she said. "You were blindsided. I've had time to think too... I don't know if I could have done things differently, but if you'd come home with an idea like that... well I think I might have been climbing the wall. You did pretty good in the circumstances."