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rate is somewhat
     depleted, which is not unusual for a woman of your age. You’re thirty-four?”
    “Thirty-five.”
    The doctor flipped back to the questionnaire portion of the test.
    “A smoker?”
    “Never.”
    “Right. Well, that’s good. Smoking decreases ovulation rate dramatically.”
    “But you thought I
might
be a smoker. Isn’t that bad?”
    “Not necessarily. Your results show that your ovulation rate is lower than it probably was a decade ago. But what I’m saying
     is, this is normal. How long have you been trying?”
    “I haven’t yet. I was just wondering for when I
do
try. I mean, I’ve been thinking a lot lately about how I should
start
trying.
     Or at least
trying
to try.”
    “So you’ve been thinking about trying to try to conceive?”
    “That’s right.”
    “Do you mind if I level with you?”
    “Absolutely not.”
    “As I mentioned, I’m a fertility specialist at Women’s College, which means I spend most of my waking hours trying to get
     women pregnant.” He paused, looking slightly perplexed. “In a manner of speaking.”
    Meredith smiled, then she thought of Mish, of the ribbon of blood unfurling down her inner thigh.
    “Most women who come to me are not as forward-thinking as you,” Dr. Veil went on. “They end up in my office at the age of
     forty or later, after they’ve been trying with their partners off and on for five years. We do everything we can, but by that
     time, more often than not, it’s too late.”
    “So what are you saying?”
    “I’m saying that if you really want a baby, you should start trying as soon as you can. Within the year is my advice.”
    “This year!” she accidentally shouted. “How am I supposed to fit in having a baby this year? You talk about it as if it’s
     just a matter of putting in the effort, like ‘Don’t forget to clean out those eaves troughs before winter comes.’ It’s crazy.
     I don’t even have a boyfriend. I haven’t been on a date in months. I work all the time. I barely have time to take care of
     myself, let alone someone else. I have no family here. My friends are either turning into their parents or are completely
     fucked up.”
    He waited for her to finish before starting to speak. “Meredith, you seem pretty pulled together—”
    She interrupted him with a sharp laugh. “You know, that’s what everyone always says about me. I seem so together. So on top
     of everything. So under control. But you know what I feel like inside? A bomb site. A disaster area.” She opened her eyes
     wide and pointed to her chest. “I am Beirut.”
    “That’s how everybody feels,” he said.
    “That’s not true.”
    “I assure you,” he said, “it is.”
    “Then why is everything so well timed in other people’s lives?” she said, glancing at the photo of the little girl on his
     desk. “It’s like I’ve been off schedule from day one. I think I was born out of sync.”
    His eyes smiled. “If you’re talking about children, I can tell you, there is never a convenient time—for anyone. Children
     are not convenient. They require...a leap of faith.”
    Meredith shook her head. “I’m sorry, Doctor, but it’s hard for me to take advice from someone like you.”
    “What do you mean?” He looked surprised.
    Meredith looked at his shoes—perfectly safe. “You just don’t seem like someone who’s taken many leaps of faith.”
    “I don’t?”
    “Not to me.”
    He folded his clipboard and stood up. Meredith remained seated. Her face felt tingly, as if she had been smacked.
    “I’m sorry if my bluntness offends you,” the doctor said quickly. “It’s just that I see this sort of thing every day. It’s
     really discouraging to watch healthy young women become infertility statistics just because they waited too long and didn’t
     have the facts.”
    Meredith nodded and reached for her bag to leave.
    “Don’t forget,” said Dr. Joe.
    “Forget what?”
    “Your Pap test.”
    “Oh, right.