Screw the Fertile Years

“So how long do we think it will take before they start plunking out babies? Who wants to make bets?” Jeffrey’s aunt’s voice was loud and surprisingly shrill. She was tall, with a handsome face, but had the reedy voice of someone who’s constantly straining to be heard.

There was no seating chart for Jeffrey and Kate’s wedding. Instead, there was a table in the back of the hall with all the name cards on it, and when we walked in most folks had already picked their cards up and placed them at tables to sit with their friends. Jordan, Paul and I picked up our names and wandered over to the last two partially empty tables in the room. We knew no one, so we plopped our cards down on one table at random. When everyone filtered back in from the courtyard and sat down to dinner, we discovered we’d chosen a table with Jeffrey’s conservative, alcoholic, extended family.

“Give me a tequila.” A portly red-faced man to my left was tugging on the sleeve of a waiter who’d just passed by. The waiter inclined his head to show he’d heard and started to step away.

“Don’t bring that tequila,” the aunt instructed the waiter. Then she leaned forward to look the red-faced man in the eye. “You need to take it easy, Dad.”

“It’s a celebration,” the grandfather protested. “You’re saying I can’t relax a little and have a tequila at my own grandson’s wedding?”

“Alright, you can have one,” she relented.

“With a twist of lemon peel,” the grandfather said, looking back up at the waiter.

The aunt turned to Paul, who she’d just met, sitting on her left. “It won’t be just one,” she said to him. “He can’t control himself.” Paul stared down at the table and reached out for a tiny potted agave plant, pretending to be interested in the points of the leaves.

“What’s that?” shouted the grandfather in the aunt’s direction. Then he turned to me. “I can too control myself! It’s one tequila! This is a celebration, right?” He pinched the waiter’s sleeve again. “Bring another in ten minutes,” he muttered, and then let go. The waiter turned tail, clearly not keen on getting wrapped up in the conversation. I wondered what he would decide to do.

I raised my eyebrows and nodded vacantly, and then turned sharply to Jordan. “So what were you saying earlier about — ” my mind was reeling, trying to think of any topic to keep a conversation going just with Jordan, but I ran out of words before the sentence was done. I lowered my voice as I trailed off, giving Jordan a meaningful look. Please pretend to talk to me.

Before I could come up with something, Jeffrey’s aunt cut in again, speaking over her dad who was still fussing about tequila. “I think it’ll be two years before they’ll have a little one on the way,” she said, settling back in her chair. “Who wants to put money on it?”

“Absolutely not,” I blurted. Everyone turned to face me — the grandfather, grandmother, Jeffrey’s uncle and niece, Jordan and Paul. The words had popped out of my mouth with a force that surprised even me. The aunt frowned for a millisecond and then corrected her face, pretending to be interested in what I had to say. “I don’t make bets on my friends’ big life decisions,” I added quietly.

The aunt waved the interruption away. “They’ll get to it sooner or later. Makes it easier if it’s sooner.”

“Do you have kids?” the uncle asked me. His voice was soft and friendly, as though he was trying to steer the conversation to more comfortable ground. The aunt’s eyes darted from me to Jordan.

“No.” I said simply.

“Got big plans to take care of first? Career to build?” the aunt asked.

“I’m not having kids,” I said.

Directly across the table from me, the twenty-year-old niece looked up from her plate, wide-eyed. Her eyes scanned my face, probably trying to calculate my age. “I think that’s really cool,” she said.

I smiled a little. “Thank you.”

The waiter dropped off the tequila and the grandfather tugged his sleeve again. “Could you bring me another in a few minutes?”

Jordan leaned to whisper in my ear. “I have to pee. I’ll be right back.”

“Don’t leave me!” I hissed. He patted my arm and got up from the table.

“One, Dad,” the aunt shouted. The grandfather suddenly looked angry. He pointed a red stubby finger across the table at her.

“My grandson is only getting married once! I’m celebrating for godssake!” He gave a hearty chuckle, as if to pass off his anger as a joke. “Another,” he said firmly to the waiter, who darted away as soon as the grandfather let go of his sleeve.

“With any luck it’ll only be once,” the niece said sardonically, pushing her fork along the tablecloth with her knife.

“Well, they’d better get down to babies soon. Kate is what, twenty-six? That biological clock is ticking.”

“Everyone loves hearing that,” I said loudly.

The niece smirked, still staring at her fork on the table. The aunt pressed her lips hard together in a thin line. The grandfather tossed his tequila back in one go and looked longingly at the bar. The uncle simply sat there looking calmly ahead into space, a mildly pleasant smile on his face. I had a hunch this was a well-practiced mask he put on at many dinner parties.

No one spoke for five solid seconds. I swear I could hear thoughts ticking around in the aunt’s brain.

“I’m hungry!” the grandfather suddenly shouted out of nowhere. “Where’s the goddamn dinner?”