Page 87 of Say My Name

“I’m pointing out that enjoying the sex doesn’t make it irrelevant to the arrangement.”

I leave the bed without answering. Arguing would only reinforce her frame. In the bathroom, I wet a washcloth, then return. I want to care for her, even if she won’t let me. I clean her carefully. She watches me without speaking. When I finish, I pull the covers over her and bring back a glass of water.

Elena takes it with both hands. “Thank you.”

I sit beside her. “You can say you wanted me.”

“I said I enjoyed it.”

“That wasn’t the same answer.”

Her fingers tighten around the glass. “The sex served the arrangement. Pleasure doesn’t change why we’re doing this, and neither of us should confuse tonight with a change in purpose.”

Her knuckles pale around the glass, the only sign of the effort it takes to hold her position. She answers pleasure with the same practical language she uses for the clinic. I see the fear behind the logic. I could remind her that she called while the clinic appointment was eleven days away, or ask why conception required the lingerie under her work dress and my tie on her living-room floor.

Tonight, I let it go.

“All right,” I say.

She studies me, waiting for the argument I’m not giving her. Then she sets the water on the nightstand and lies back.

I stretch out beside her instead of reaching for my clothes. Elena turns onto her side, and after a moment, her fingers press lightly against my ribs.

The second clinic appointment is still eleven days away. Elena has already filed tonight under the same purpose, with orgasms added as a practical benefit.

Her hand stays against me as her breathing evens out. If we end up back in the clinic waiting room, I’ll remember this bed and Elena saying my name while I came inside her.

I have no idea how she expects me to treat that like another sample. Not when I can still feel the faint tremor of her orgasm, and the steady weight of her hand against my ribs. Not now.

CHAPTER 13

Elena

Iwatch the test on the bathroom counter for the full three minutes. It's still one dark line and a blank space where the second should be.

Negative.

I knew it would be. Nearly twelve days ago, I told Dominic I was ovulating when the clinic’s projected window was still more than a week away. I let him come to my condo believing we had a real chance of conceiving that night, then spent every day since tracking physical changes as if wanting a different outcome could improve the odds.

My breasts were sore yesterday. That could have meant pregnancy. It could also mean my period is approaching or that I spent too long in a sports bra after the gym.

I was tired Monday. I also worked past nine.

I felt nauseated after lunch on Tuesday, but Maya and I ate takeout that had spent a questionable amount of time in the conference room.

Every symptom had an ordinary explanation. I still bought three tests and took the first one early this morning because Dominic asked me to tell him as soon as I knew.

My phone vibrates beside the sink.

Dominic: Did you take it?

I sit on the closed toilet lid and type the answer.

Me: Negative.

The dots appear immediately, disappear, then come back.

Dominic: Are you okay?