Synopsis
Abigail Nichols has tried everything from rash-inducing herbal
creams to acupuncture in a desperate, last-ditch effort to get pregnant. Wedged
into her iPhone schedule among new business pitches and rebranding design
meetings is Abby’s ovulation cycle, along with potential opportunities for
illicit afternoon quickies. With all of their hopes and savings on the table,
Abby and her husband Jack enter the whispered world of fertility clinics.Along with a meddling mother-in-law, competitive pregnancies, and constant obligatory sex, Abby’s baby-track mind conspires to ravage her career, her marriage, and her sanity. One thing she knows for sure: a healthy sense of humor (and the occasional glass of red wine) is the best coping strategy. One thing she wishes she knew: whether it will be enough.
Ms.
Conception is an honest but
light-hearted novel inspired by the ups and downs of fertility treatments and
the emotional burden that rests on those trying to conceive.
Buy Links
Paperbook Amazon.ca | Amazon.com | Barnes & Noble
eBook Amazon.ca | Amazon.com | Kobo | Nook | Apple | Google Play
From Chapter 12
My assistant Scott appears like
a mirage at my door. I stare at him. Do I dare trust him? How badly do I want a
child? Can the office gossip keep silent? Maybe we should skip a month. What would happen if we were a few hours late with
the needle? Am I willing to risk it?
“Scott,” I
begin, very hesitantly. “Scott, I need to tell you something.”
“Here it comes. Wait – let
me sit down for this. Okay.” He grips the armrest and I see his knuckles go
white. I would have expected him to be gleeful at finding out what I’ve been up
to, but instead he appears nervous.
“Actually, I need to ask you a
favor. How are you with needles?” What if Scott passes out and I have to call
the ambulance with my pants down? Try explaining that away.
“Are you
doing drugs?” He arches a perfectly tweezed eyebrow.
“Piss off, Scott. No, I’m not
doing drugs. I just need help with a hormone injection. I can’t quite reach.” I
gesture toward my derriere.
“Hormone injections are easy.
My neighbor down the hall is getting them for gender transformation surgery.
Hang on, are you…?” He trails off and looks me up and down.
“I’m not becoming a man. I
don’t know how you guys walk around with those–” I gesture to the general area
of his crotch “–things. No thank you. Look, this is really personal and
extremely private. I need to know I can trust you to keep this a secret.” Scott
is nodding furiously. “Seriously, Scott, you are not exactly known for your
discretion.”
“It hurts that you think that
of me, Abby.” He holds his hand up to his forehead and sighs dramatically.
“Give me a break. You happily
tweeted the bra size of the last Ms. F&F.”
“Okay, I’ll give you that one,
but come on; she was a double-d–”
“Scott, this is for real. I
will kill you if this gets out.”
He nods eagerly.
“Fine. The truth is, I’m–”
“Oh my god, you’re dying. You
have cancer and only a short time to live. Oh, the insanity. It’s a cruel,
cruel world. So young and no time left.” He whips out a pink handkerchief from
his breast pocket and fans himself. I fix him with a sober glare, waiting for
him to run out of steam.
“Are you finished?” My serious
gaze prompts him to pantomime zipping his lips. With a sigh, I continue, “Scott,
I’m not dying. I’m trying to get pregnant.”
“What? You’re not dying?”
“No, I’m fine. I’m – well,
not just me – we’re, Jack and I, are a tad … reproductively
challenged. But it’s okay, we’ve got ourselves a membership at a fertility
clinic.”
“Fertility clinic? Wait, this
means you’re going to be a mom. My little Abby is going to be a mom.” He claps
his hands together loudly.
“Hush,” I hiss. “I’m not
pregnant yet. Can I trust you to keep this between us?”
“Of course, honey. I’m just so
glad you aren’t dying. This place would be rather lonely without you.” His
somber expression gives way to a glimmer of hope. “Can I be Uncle Scott?
Please?”
“Well–”
“Please, Abby, please. I’ll
take your secret to my grave.”
I crack a playful grin. “I
thought you might actually be Auntie Scott.”
“Auntie
Scott; I love it. I can’t believe I get to help make a baby.”
“Whoa, I only need you to give
me a needle – not your swimmers.”
He mimes slapping on a pair of
latex gloves, eyes gleaming with mischief. “Bend over, boss, I’m going to enjoy
this.”
About Jen Cumming
Jen Cumming had two dreams: to be a mother and a writer. The first was much harder than she’d imagined, but it gave her plenty of material for her second dream. Now she’s realized both and traded drug cocktails and early morning line-ups at the fertility clinic for juice boxes and evening PTA meetings. Jen’s latest dream is to live in a small village in France and eat croissants. Being allergic to wheat might hamper that dream, so in the meantime she does her best to balance life with two young children and run a business with her husband in Toronto. She loves to spend time at the cottage in the summer, ski in the winter, and travel whenever she can.
No comments:
Post a Comment