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My face heats even now, in the clinic, under the paper sheet.

Excellent. Perfect time for that memory, body. Very professional.

The curtain shifts slightly. I lock the phone and drop it onto my chest.

Petra steps into view. She looks exactly the same as she did before the procedure. Pale hair in a smooth knot. Charcoal suit. Tablet. Mouth arranged in its usual calm line.

If I had just undergone a medical procedure involving her employer’s sperm, Petra has decided not to let it disturb her tailoring.

“Dr. Acharya says you may get dressed in a few minutes,” she says.

“Great.”

My voice sounds normal. Good.

Maybe I am good at this. Maybe I’m so good at this I should win an award. Best Supporting Uterus in a Contractual Arrangement.

Petra glances at the monitor by the wall, then back at me. “You’ll receive written aftercare instructions before you leave. The blood test is scheduled for fourteen days from today.”

“I know.”

“Yes.”

There’s a pause. She looks at my face a second too long. I wonder what she sees. Mascara still intact. Hair tied back. Expression calm. Hands cold. Phone clutched like a religious object.

“Are you experiencing any discomfort?” she asks.

“I’m fine, had worse periods than this.”

I say the exact thing that makes her uncomfortable and I can tell that it works from the way she scrunches up her nose like a rat.

The paper sheet slides down to my lap.

“Petra?”

“Yes?”

“Do you ever call it anything normal?”

She blinks. “I’m sorry?”

“The procedure. The appointment. The whole thing.” I gesture vaguely, which is not dignified, considering the paper sheet. “Do you ever say it like it’s a human thing?”

Her face stills.

Not hardens. Stills.

“This process is handled with the language appropriate to its legal and medical nature.”

“Right.”

After I leave the clinic, my phone buzzes before I reach the end of the block.

For one stupid second, my heart jumps.

Then I see the name. Nate.

Not D.