You May Kiss the Bridesmaid - Camilla Isley Page 0,1

I come out, Dr. Philips is already waiting for me. Her usual friendly smile stamped on her lips.

“How are you feeling?” she asks.

“Good,” I say, sitting on the bed—my legs are still a little like Jell-O. “The needle sounded scary at first, but I honestly didn’t feel a thing.”

“Happy to hear.” The doctor nods, satisfied, and taps the medical folder in her hands. “I have your results here,” she says. “The procedure was a success. We were able to retrieve seventeen eggs, of which fifteen were viable and have been frozen.”

“Fifteen eggs? Is that good?”

“Fantastic. You’re under thirty-five, and with this many eggs, you stand a seventy percent chance of a live birth.”

“Okay.” I nod. Even if the pessimist in me can’t help but concentrate on that thirty percent chance I’ll never have a baby.

The doctor must be used to her patients not being a cheery bunch, because she doesn’t comment on my scarce enthusiasm but continues to give me my prognosis. “Now, the side effect of having produced a great number of eggs is that you’re at risk of OHSS: Ovarian Hyperstimulation Syndrome.”

That doesn’t sound good.

“Luckily,” the doctor continues, “the condition incurs only if you were to get pregnant, which”—she checks my file—“I see is not the case with you. We’re not proceeding with fertilization, right?”

And I know she’s only doing her job, just like the nurse earlier, but, once more, it feels as if the doctor is purposely pointing out how single and desperate I am.

“No,” I say. “No sperm donors on the horizon for now.”

“That’s fine. Frozen eggs, if properly conserved, remain viable indefinitely. And our facility is top-notch. We also offer a wide selection of donors in case you decided to proceed with fertilization later in time.”

Again, she’s just giving me my options. But I can’t help feeling like a total failure, a woman whose sole chance to have a baby will be to pick a dad from a catalog because she couldn’t find a man in real life.

The doctor finishes her report by giving me a list of medications I have to take for the next two weeks and mandating that I use protection were I to have sex.

Aha. Fat chance!

I’ve been in a dry spell for months and before that, the last man I had sex with ruined my life. Well, not just him; I had a big part in my own self-destruction. But still, I’ve sworn off men. Hence the need to freeze my eggs if I ever hope to have a family.

On that cheerful note, I thank the doctor one last time and leave the clinic. A few minutes later, on the street, I hail a cab to JFK.

***

At the airport, I clear the security checks super early. Unsure how long the procedure would take, I’ve kept a nice cushion and booked the red-eye flight back to LA.

With a couple of hours to kill, I could stroll the shops, but I’m not in the mood for shopping. Plus, with the anesthesia fresh in my system, I’m still a little groggy. I don’t even have the energy to go look for a proper restaurant and settle for the first bar I find in my path.

I sit at one of the high stools at the deserted counter.

“Hey, you’re back,” the bartender—a friendly-looking guy with sandy hair and blue eyes—greets me as if we were old friends. He does a double-take and adds, “Not from the jungle this time, uh?”

What the hell is he talking about?

I stare, unsure how I should reply.

But the bartender just keeps going. “And how’s the doctor?”

The doctor? How could he know I’m coming from the clinic? Do I have “sad lady who froze her eggs because she can’t find a man” written all over my face?

“Did he find you?” the bartender asks.

He?

I blink, confused.

“Winter?” the guy asks, calling me by my sister’s name. “Are you okay?”

And the mystery is solved: he thinks I’m my twin.

“Sorry,” I say, smiling. “Wrong sister. I’m Summer. We haven’t met.”

The dude’s eyes widen. “Oh my gosh, you look exactly the same.”

“I know, identical twins and all… So, you’ve met Winter? When?”

“A few months ago. She was coming back from Thailand all upset about a professor not loving her. She told me her story over breakfast, and after she left, what do you know, the dude showed up and chased her halfway down the airport—guess he was in love. But I never heard how it ended.”

“Well.” I sigh, contrasting emotions swirling in my head—mushy joy, a