3. What Do You Mean?

Kiersey rummaged through her clutch purse and finally came up with the Vix inhaler. She dabbed the little container of liquid on her little handkerchief and plugged a deep breath down her nostrils. The fresh heady mint smell filled her head and lungs, filtering out every other smell.

Kiersey found herself smiling like an addict inhaling drugs as she pulled in the next minty fresh breath.

Her nausea had started up again just this morning and after she'd thrown up her pancakes breakfast outside the hospital today, a pregnant stranger had advised her to get a Vix inhaler.

God bless that woman.

Tucking the Vix and the handkerchief back into her purse, she sat straighter and breathed in minted air. A redhead teenage girl and her mother came to seat beside her and she nodded her head in greeting. The two looked distraught and Kiersey wondered what could have brought them to this part of the hospital. Who needed the AI?

Or maybe they weren't mother and daughter, she thought. The resemblance didn't mean a thing. They could be cousins. Or siblings.

"Mrs Lips." The attendant that had come to get her and Rocco on Sunday appeared in front of her with his plastered smile again.

She wanted to correct him that it was soon going to be Kiersey Parrish, but thought it was unnecessary. So she stood up, smiled at the worried duo beside her and followed him.

He stopped at a door at the very end of the corridor. A gold nameplate announced the office belonged to Dr Kennedy in small block letters.

He gently pushed open the door, like he was giving the person on the other side time to be prepared. The elderly woman that had been in pink that day smiled up at her from a wingback chair.

"Mrs Lips," she said in greeting.

The guy excused himself and gently shut the door after him. Kiersey smiled nervously and sat in one of the two chairs facing the woman at the desk. 

"We're deeply sorry for the mix-up, ma'am. We totally understand if you're going to take legal actions against us." The woman cast regretful glance down at the lacquered top of her desk. "We understand how our error may have affected your relationship."

Kiersey was tempted to comb a cursory glance around the room just to be certain they didn't have some hidden audience. The way the woman kept saying 'we' was rather disconcerting.

"And I hope your husband's anger has cooled off, seeing that he's not here?" She probed, her eyebrow barely lifted in question.

"Oh," said Kiersey, beaming, "I don't think so. He left. We're now divorced. Almost."

She was satisfied to see the blood drain from the woman's face. She wasn't about to let them know she was actually a little grateful for the accident.

"Good Lord," the woman muttered. "I'm so sorry to hear about that, Mrs Lips."

"It's Parrish now, actually. That's my maiden name."

"Oh." No doubt she hadn't expected the turn of events. "So, you aren't pressing charges against us . . .?"

"I just might," Kiersey replied. "You put my marriage in jeopardy after all."

The woman sighed deeply. "Alright, then. Whatever it is, we're taking full responsibilities for our mistake."

Kiersey wringed her hands in slight impatience, wondering why she had been called for. She had had to call in sick at work today to make it for the hospital appointment. The caller hadn't said much exactly, but she had a feeling it was someone serious.

"We thought you'd curious to know about the father of your baby."

"He's not the father of my baby, whoever he is," she said defiantly, anger stirring in her stomach. "He's just a sperm donor."

"Of course, I'm sorry, ma'am," the doctor said. 

"I'm not sure I want to know who he is. I think I'd rather he remained anonymous. I don't want any more complications about my baby than I already have," she explained, going sober.

She couldn't begin to think of all the problems that would accompany it. She wanted to be able to truthfully tell her kid when he/she asked about the father that she didn't know who he was. God knew what would happen next when he/she found out the name. Wanting to meet him. Then she'd have to share her kid with a total stranger. Or worse, he could be married now and would openly reject her kid.

Then, what if she ran into him or heard his name somewhere around? Springfield was a big city, but you might never know. It could be online or anywhere. She'd be tempted to know a tid bit more about him. Besides, he might not be someone she approved of. People that donated their sperms to sperm clinics were either homeless and needed money into the worst kind of way or were just plain loco if they donated it for free.

But she would sure like to know about the rest of his profile. Was he a dishwater blonde like her, or a fiery red head? Was he dwarfish or had normal height? Etcetera.

"Anything but his name." 

The woman sighed deeply and produced a small, blue slip of paper from one of her desk drawers. Kiersey didn't care if it bothered her she wanted nothing with the sperm donor. It was none of her business, after all.

The woman produced a pair of pink-framed reading glasses and slipped them on with one hand, clearing her throat. 

"He's has dark red hair and black eyes. He was twenty eight as at the time he made the donation—"

"How many years ago was that?" Kiersey wanted to know.

The woman cleared her throat and scrutinized the paper, although Kiersey had a feeling she had read through the details before. "That was two years ago."

"You gave me a two year old sperm? How on Earth did that mix-up occur? My husb—Rocco's sperm was still fresher."

"The sperms were sorted according to surnames. I think maybe you had similar surnames or something."

"You think?" Kiersey said in disbelief. "What do you mean by 'you think'?"

The woman avoided her gaze, suddenly looking cagey. Kiersey just knew it was bad news. The feeling rose heavy from her gut.