There are worse things than turning forty.
However, I can't seem to evade my worry of my biological clock, and my fear that time is running out. I've always wanted to be a mother, and with each passing day, there is a greater chance that might be a dream of mine that will never come true.
And if the clock isn't loud enough— my controlling and overly judgmental mom is. Her snide comments never go unsaid and her numerous failed attempts at setting me up with any new bachelors in town are enough to spur small town gossip for months at a time. Never mind the fact that she tried to set me up with Old Man Bucky down the street from her— the frail but sweet widow who walks with a cane and has grandchildren my age.
But this isn't about my mom or her obsessive need to see me settle down and pop out the grand babies she so desperately wants. This is about the emptiness that has lingered inside of me for so long that I worry I will never fill it.
I have a lot to be thankful for in my life. I'm in good health. I run a successful cafe that I inherited from my grandparents and an incredibly handsome best friend who is willing to help make my dream of becoming a mother come true.
It may not be the most conventional way to start a family, but there is no one that I trust more. Besides, we agreed that it would only happen once. Regardless of the outcome, we walk away with our friendship intact. I know this is crossing the line of friendship, but this is my one shot. It's one night.
What could possibly go wrong?
