It had been an emotionally raw week, full of tears, laughs, and the kind of squinty-eyed, staccato wheezing that’s hard to identify at first but that usually ends up being tears. We had discussed every aspect of Susie’s home life, her work life—and, with toe-curling awkwardness, her sex life. In meetings with doctors and shrinks, I learned everything I never wanted to know about Drew’s little sister and was terrified somebody might ask. I heard about her ovaries, her hormones, and the glorious womanly flow of her menstrual cycle, all the murky female potpourri being gay was supposed to exempt me from. I listened as the doctor described how he planned to retrieve the eggs by lubricating a rubberized wand and inserting it gently into her—okay, I couldn’t handle any more. This wasn’t how I’d expected making a baby would be. It was all so intimate. Thankfully, we could put that behind us now and start imagining what our baby might look like. A little kid who was biologically related to both Drew and me.
