Page 35 of Say My Name

“Good.”

The single word hangs in the air, definitive. I watch her pen stop moving. Her shoulders settle against the chair, and the tension that has lived around her mouth since she walked in finally eases.

I helped negotiate those protections. I asked Rebecca to make the recusal broader than Elena’s original request because a personal arrangement with me cannot cost her the authority she spent years earning. Hearing the safeguards read aloud still makes the consequences more concrete. If we stop before conception, those employment boundaries remain. If we have a child, Elena and I will make decisions together for the rest of our lives.

The proposal felt different when it was four pages of notes on my desk. I could test the logic, research the risks, and decide whether I was willing to ask. The agreement has taken that private decision and built a permanent structure around it. Elena will never have to trust my intentions in place of actual protection, but the protections also make it impossible to pretend I offered her something temporary.

Amelia moves to the co-parenting provisions. “The agreement establishes shared parental responsibility and equal legal parentage, subject to any additional documentation required at birth. Neither parent has unilateral authority over education, nonemergency medical care, religion, permanent relocation, or other major decisions.”

“Emergency care doesn’t require advance consent,” Elena says.

“Correct. The parent present can authorize necessary treatment and must notify the other as soon as reasonably possible.”

We continue through custody planning, childcare, travel authorization, financial responsibility, and dispute resolution. Routine daily choices remain with whichever parent has the child. Schools, full-time childcare, international travel, and elective medical treatment require both of us.

I know every sentence. I approved every revision. Hearing the attorneys discuss school enrollment and medical insurance gives shape to a child who doesn’t exist yet.

There will be appointments Elena and I attend together. A room in her condo and one in my house. Bottles left in the wrong bag, calls from school, arguments over screen time, and a first day neither of us will be willing to miss. The agreement can divide responsibility. It cannot tell us who our child will become or what it will feel like to know them.

I picture a car seat in the back of Elena’s immaculate SUV and a child reaching for both of us without caring which house we’re standing in. The image arrives so easily that I force my eyes back to the contract.

Elena asks about the proportional-expense language. Amelia answers, and Elena underlines the sentence confirming that a greater financial contribution does not create greater decision-making authority.

She doesn’t want my money buying influence in our child’s life. She also doesn’t want anything I offer becoming a debt she has to repay. I know enough about her ex to understand why it matters. She has never told me his name, and I haven’t asked. What she shared at dinner was enough.

“The privacy section limits disclosure of medical and personal information to the parties, their attorneys, treating providers, and anyone they jointly authorize,” Rebecca says. “It also leaves the timing of family disclosure to mutual agreement.”

Elena’s pen pauses over the paper. She’s looking for a guarantee, not just a clause. “Nothing happens without both of us agreeing first.”

“That’s correct,” Amelia says.

“Including Cliff,” I add.

Her eyes meet mine. “Especially Cliff.”

Her brother will have opinions about every part of this, most of them delivered at a volume he’ll later deny. Being his best friend doesn’t give me the right to tell him before Elena is ready.

“We’ll tell him together,” she says. “If there’s a pregnancy to tell him about.”

“Agreed.”

Involving our families in every attempt would only force Elena to absorb their hope along with her own. Waiting is the right decision. It also means we will stand beside each other at family dinners and keep this hidden until we know whether it worked.

Rebecca turns another page. “The final draft confirms that the initial conception attempt will take place through the fertility clinic selected by Ms. Vale and under the supervision of her treating physician.”

Elena looks down at the clause. “Yes.”

“Yes,” I say.

Her answer carries relief. Mine takes more effort.

The clinic is what she asked for, and I agreed without qualification. I won’t turn her decision into an argument because the alternative has occupied too many of my thoughts since I made the offer.

The procedure asks more of her than it does of me. She’ll track her cycle, undergo the exams, follow whatever protocol her doctor recommends, and carry every physical consequence if it works. I’ll provide a sample and wait. Eleven pages can divide rights and responsibilities. Biology remains uneven.

I can attend every appointment she allows, learn every instruction, and rearrange my schedule before she asks. None of that lets me take a single physical burden from her. The realization sits badly with the part of me that handles problems by taking action.

Rebecca slides the next section to the center of the table. “This covers health disclosures and conduct during active conception attempts.”