Marcus Holloway landed his incredulity exactly. His eyes grew wide and he leaned back in his chair as though he was attempting to separate himself from Ethan's advice. Long shadows created by the low restaurant lighting call attention to the clear distinction between our past and present pain.
Are you sincere? Marcus shook a little to show his incredulism. "You want me to father Olivia's child? This is ridiculous.
My demand crushing down on me, I inhaled deliberately slowly. Turning now to Marcus, the sound of clinking glasses and subdued chats seemed far away. Still, I had to surpass his unambiguous uncertainty.
I said, in a measured, cool voice, "I know it sounds crazy." I have not, meanwhile, made this decision lightly. Olivia and I have been slaving at it for years. The never-ending exams and the therapy have been a terrible trip. Dr. Patel essentially restated that natural human conception is impossible.
Marcus's eyes spun with alarm, a tempest of ideas behind them. Ethan, you know I would do for you anything. Still, this runs against a lot of policies. It goes beyond simple friend assistance. It is a wonderful ethical and emotional challenge.
I nodded, implying with the weight of the stare my passion. " I grasp. Still, think from where I stand. Olivia has fought just as valiantly for this as I have. We can only have our children by helping others. Not about me, Marcus. It's about the future we have glimpsed and Olivia, who deserves an opportunity at parenthood.
Marcus was slowly massaging his temples and struggling inside. The fluttering candlelight reflected his tempest. His eyes fixated on me, he searched for any hint of dishonesty and came short. also relevant regarding Elena as well. About my house: Beyond simple decency, every one of us will be affected.
I bent in closer, my voice hardly audible above a whisper. Elena hardly knows anything at all. One can keep the approach personal. Olivia pays it hardly any attention. Should you so agree, that falls between us. Zero extra.
Marcus listened to me and his face grew hard. You wish me to stray from my moral standards. This is concerning regarding the consequences of this kind of choice for the child as well as for other people. Should something go off then? Should this sour my ties with Olivia or my own family, what would happen?
I could see the underlying conflict carved out on his face. Trying as honestly as I could, "I have given all of that some thinking," I said. "On this, I need your trust. I would not doubt that more choices are within reach. This serves merely as a backup. Marcus is: I need your assistance.
Marcus's unresolved repercussions broke the stillness between us. His dreams seemed to direct the flickering of the candlelight. At last, he turned aside, looking far ahead as though he were seeking a response among the wall shadows.
"Ethan," he replied gently, "this is a major risk. It transcends the ethics or the hiding. It's about how every one of our lives will be changed in ways we never could have predicted.
I watched the choice hovering over him, his hesitant attitude. Stressing the authority in my voice, I said, "I know it's a lot to ask." Conversely, if you disagree, we find ourselves at a dead end. Olivia has much travel experience. Perhaps you could be the one guiding us through this.
Marcus's eyes were far off, his head whirling over the several decisions. The shadows around darkened, as though reflecting his inner conflict. At last, he turned back toward me, his eyes reflecting reluctant acceptance.
"Let me consider it," he murmured, nearly as though he were speaking to himself. I have to consider all the ramifications.
Knowing at least my plea had credibility, I nodded. Take your time, I advised him. Remember, though, this is about allowing Olivia and me the opportunity at something we have longed for. It offers a gift as well as a possibility to transform our lives.
Marcus's confused look made it difficult for me to get rid of the idea that the choice still rested on ambiguity and was prone to both atonement and catastrophe. The vital conversation we had was distant background against the clinking of glasses and murmurs of conversation; the restaurant seemed to encircle us.
Marcus's last words hovered about, full of promise for a reply just yet to come. We most definitely disagreed with a muted understanding that our lives would drastically change.
The gnawing dread that something was about to drastically alter trailed me as we drove apart. My chest hurt a lot, and today the choice eluded me. Marcus would find at last what? Should he object, where then would Olivia and I be left? The solutions seemed just beyond my reach, buried in the same shadow that presently enveloped me.
I left the restaurant; the evening was clear and chilly. My ideas flew about me and I hardly noticed the low, far-off city lights or traffic noise. The weight of the discourse was incredible; every stride seemed to be a mile toward a future still to be known. My phone rang in my pocket, but I turned away absorbed in the resounding echo of our conversation.
When I got back to my company, I attempted to concentrate on my work but the daily calendar seemed to be mocking my speed. Every minute seems to last an eternity. I went often to the wall clock, and each tick made me uncomfortable. In accentuating just the silent opportunities, I had been good. With every tick of the clock, I could sense my family, past, and weight hovering in fragile balance down on me.
Then the project came out differently. Again, my phone buzzed, more angrily. Turning on the TV, I was both half terrified and half hopeful about what I might see. Marcus was here delivering a statement. My heart skipped as I realized the short words offered no fast remedy.
"We should get together in the clinic tomorrow am. We ought most absolutely to get in touch.
The comments seemed like an avalanche striking my carefully planned preparations. One feels great weight from a plea this strong. Marcus had to make some choices, not easy ones. That evening, sleep denied me while ideas flew over choices, each darker and more intricate than the next.
Early the following morning I made it to the clinic. The clean surroundings of the professional did not enable me to relax. The foyer glass doors reflected my inner conflict. Marcus came shortly afterward, his face austere and tight. Saying hi quickly, we went into one of the private consulting rooms.
Words not spoken loomed large inside. Marcus corrected his stance and settled down. He cleared his throat, not glancing around at anybody. "Ethan," he began, his voice both robust and strained, "I've given this a lot of thought." I cannot disregard the moral implications or most likely results.
Cold terror started to flip across my stomach. Seeking an even tone, I asked Marcus, "What does that imply?"
Once more, he turned away after the shortest of looks at me. "It points to really major issues. Policies and terms will be in place, if I accept, to safeguard every one of those engaged. It also means managing the unavoidable results for my family.
I nodded, trying to seem calm even with the inner struggle. "What are your terms?" insisted.
Marcus fixed his eyes with a mixture of will and pain. "We have to first clearly uphold excellent secrecy. Not one person outside of this room understands the specifics. Second, Olivia and I fall under a legal agreement outlining our obligations and limitations. Third, and most crucially, I want an assurance that this won't damage my family in any kind ever again.
I listened to his ideas and felt both calmed down and nervous. Though it was a minor triumph, his openness to give the idea serious study has strings attached that may readily break.
Leaning forward, I continued, " Marcus, it implies we are in this together if we agree to these terms. One cannot go back from now. Are you game for the results?
Eyes fatigued, he corrected me; then he fixed. "I know Ethan, but here this goes beyond simple choice. It's about how to live with it and how it would affect every one of us.
We stopped; his comments passed between us like a dense cloud. The moment extended each second weighing what was to come. Though it was still to go, I knew that satisfying Marcus's criterion would be risky.
The clinic door opened just then, feet resonating along the corridor. Looking at one other, Marcus and I both subtly pointed out the approaching ambiguity.
Marcus's phone rang as we got ready to depart. He watched it, his face dark as he considered the sentence. He turned to face me; horror mixed with obedience on his face.
He murmured, somewhat above a whisper, "It's Elena." She knows.
Realizing the whole extent of the problem knocked me down. Our painstakingly produced drawings were beginning to fall apart as the walls closed in.
Marcus said, "We have to act quickly," his voice weighted with resolve. Before things go sour.
His voice sounded terrified, and I realized our situation had deteriorated.