In this week’s story, a creative director revisits an old flame while trying to sort out her feelings about starting a family: 35, single, Brooklyn.
DAY ONE
9 a.m. I’m visiting my parents in the New York City suburbs this week while taking some PTO, but this morning I have a virtual “egg-freezing orientation.” So from my childhood bedroom, I log in to the meeting, which is kind of a group thing, not one-on-one. None of the women turn their cameras on. The nurse, who must give this talk multiple times a week, walks us through the process ahead. When I first talked to my doctor about freezing my eggs, I wasn’t sure about going through with it, but then my fertility tests came back showing lower egg reserves, and my doctor’s tone shifted from “maybe consider” to “strongly recommend.”
11 a.m. The orientation runs long with injection tutorials and questions. By the end, we’re all giving each other tips in the chat and supporting one another.
3 p.m. I go for a walk in the woods with my mom. It’s really beautiful out, and I savor these walks where we can just confide in one another. She talks about my dad’s health, and I talk about mine. I ask her to keep this between us — I’m not sure how my extended family would react, and I don’t want to invite any opinions.
7 p.m. I’m bored enough to download Hinge for the millionth time. Downloading and deleting this app is so routine that I don’t even take it seriously anymore. Though I’m still unsure of my own plans, I find myself paying more attention to how others answer the “preferences for children” questions on their profiles. The last few years, my dating life has been a series of situationships, making it easy to dance around what I truly want. I think I do want a partner who shares my desire to be a parent; I’m just afraid to admit (to others, and to some extent myself) that’s what I’m really looking for.
DAY TWO
8 a.m. I wake up and see that S has liked my profile. We saw each other briefly last year until he ended things after a few dates because he wasn’t ready to continue and wanted to avoid hurting my feelings. Though I felt confused and hurt at the time, I’m grateful it ended when it did. Since we hadn’t had sex, the emotional impact was less than it would have been if things had progressed further. I wonder if he wants another chance or if he’s forgotten we dated. Rather than lingering in limbo, I match and send a note asking what’s changed.
10 a.m. S responds with unexpected honesty. He explains that when we met, he was still dealing with the aftermath of a breakup, something he had briefly mentioned on our first date. He wasn’t ready to date then and felt guilty about it. But now, enough time has passed, and he tells me he’s ready. I’m surprised and excited by his vulnerability, and so we exchange numbers.
2 p.m. A surprise FaceTime from a friend brightens my afternoon. The call reminds me I have a life waiting for me in Brooklyn.
6 p.m. For my last night in the suburbs, I visit my best friend’s studio for an arts-and-crafts night. Last year, she quit a demanding corporate job and moved back to the town we grew up in to pursue her creativity at a slower pace. I’m terrible at crafts, and we laugh through it all. I’m so proud of her.
9 p.m. Back home, S suggests meeting up, and we do the back-and-forth of comparing schedules. I catch myself worrying about appearing too available before remembering I’m starting hormone injections soon — playing it cool seems ridiculous now. We set a date for later in the week.
DAY THREE
8 a.m. Pack up my things. I feel guilty leaving my parents, but I can’t stay home forever.
11 a.m. Sneak a peek at my work Slack. I’m a creative director, and I love my job and the people I work with. They’re all smart, talented people who’ve grown into cherished friends. This team is what I’ve been working toward my entire career, and the creativity and community keeps me energized and fulfilled.
2 p.m. One last walk in the woods with my mom, and this time my dad joins us. Since he’s had some health issues lately, we maintain a gentle pace. I feel deeply grateful for this moment with them.
5 p.m. On the train back to the city, and I can’t help but notice all these cute guys! I lock eyes with one across the aisle and we exchange half-smiles. If it weren’t so crowded, I’d find a way to strike up a conversation.
8 p.m. Finally back in the city. There’s something exhilarating about disappearing into the crowded subway with music blaring in my ears. S texts, asking if I’m free tonight. He knows it’s last-minute and offers to come to my neighborhood. The spontaneity feels refreshing; I don’t feel like overthinking it and say yes.
10 p.m. Back at the same bar from our first date. It feels surreal seeing him; in New York, it’s so easy to never cross paths with someone again. I’m more tired than nervous. The conversation flows easily, we make each other laugh. Just like our first date, I find myself not wanting the night to end.
12 a.m. We walk around my neighborhood. Eventually, it gets too cold to keep wandering. I invite him up to my place to wait inside while he calls a car. He offers to wait outside — a gesture that feels genuinely considerate and respectful — but it’s starting to rain. He ends up not calling a car and coming up instead.
2 a.m. Hours of conversation turns into making out on my couch. We agree to take things slow, but each time we pull away, the kisses only grow more passionate. During a break, and encouraged by our honest conversation, I tell S about freezing my eggs — partly for practical reasons, since the process will probably affect my sex life. I tell him that I’m doing it because I think I’ll want to have kids, not because I have any immediate plans. It’s extremely out of character for me to be this vulnerable on a date, but I feel like I can handle it and the relief of honesty washes over me. His response is thoughtful and the moment passes. We return to making out until the rain stops and he calls a car home.
DAY FOUR
8:30 a.m. I make coffee while fighting waves of doubt about last night. Did I share too much? I remind myself I’m just tired and adjusting to being back here.
10 a.m. I usually head to the office, but today I’m working from home since I have my period and the cramps are killing me.
12 p.m. Finish therapy, which I do virtually today. I’ve been with my therapist for years, and she’s seen me through a lot. I talk about my trip home, egg freezing, and the new development with S. She reminds me to stay present and not overthink things.
2 p.m. A funny text from C interrupts my workday. We’ve been close friends since high school, but afterwards, he moved to the West Coast and has no plans to return anytime soon. The emotional intimacy in our friendship sometimes feels like dating, and though we’ve never crossed that line, we’ve both acknowledged it. He’s mentioned wanting kids before, and now I catch myself wondering if he’ll “always be my maybe.” But the reality would likely be messier than my daydream.
4 p.m. I take advantage of the quiet afternoon at work and head to yoga. I’m looking forward to being in my body for an hour. The class is amazing, and by Shavasana, I’m feeling grounded and happy. After class, I return to my locker to find a sweet text from S about last night, asking if I’m free later this week. I feel light and buzzy but decide to reply later. I hate texting on the go.
6 p.m. Too exhausted to make dinner, I take a hot shower and crawl into bed. I text S back and we plan our date for later this week. We have a tentative idea of what to do, including a walk between our neighborhoods followed by dinner. He sends some restaurant recommendations. I’m still surprised by all of this.
8 p.m. I drift off to sleep. I get really tired on my period.
DAY FIVE
3:30 a.m. I wake up starving and decide to make dinner at this absurd hour. While the pasta boils, I consider texting K for small talk, knowing he’s the only person likely awake right now. We’re exes turned friends, which is new territory for me. My friends think he’s an asshole, and they’re probably right. I decide against it.
12 p.m. I sleep in and head into the city for acupuncture. My acupuncturist is an angel, and our sessions are invaluable. I carefully budget to afford these appointments and try not to think of what my family would say if they knew the cost. As I’m leaving, I run into a friend. We head back to Brooklyn together, catching up. She’s on her own fertility journey and asks how I’m doing with everything. I tell her that this entire process has made me deeply question what I want in life. It’s surfacing questions I’ve been avoiding and don’t feel ready to answer. While my life is filled with love and I’ve built a career I’m truly proud of, I wonder if my priorities are in the right place. I can feel some tears coming and she gives me a big hug and reminds me not to be so hard on myself. I’m so grateful for her wisdom.
3 p.m. I meet my friends for lunch, our first real reunion in weeks. We catch up on postholiday stories and tonight’s plans. When I update them on S, they’re excited for me and suggest our ancestors serendipitously orchestrated this chance for good sex before the procedure. We are shrieking with laughter.
7 p.m. I clean my apartment and do laundry to restore some peace to my space. I’m supposed to see other friends tonight, so I run more boring errands before I’m supposed to meet everyone out and make it home just before a torrential downpour hits.
8 p.m. I suddenly don’t feel like dealing with the chaos of a night out in bad weather and cancel to stay in. They totally understand. I enjoy the peace in my space; the quiet feels unexpectedly right.
DAY SIX
7 a.m. I make breakfast and settle in for a cozy morning. My friends had a late night, so I don’t expect anyone to be up for a while. We have plans for lunch later today, and I can’t wait to get the download on last night’s events. I keep a fairly regular journal, and out of curiosity I find the one from last year and flip to when I met S. There isn’t much new information — just some forgotten details from our few dates, the initial excitement, and disappointment when things didn’t work out. Then life moved on.
2 p.m. I meet my girlfriends for lunch. We’re trading stories from last night. I feel incredibly lucky to be surrounded by these amazing women. No one makes me laugh harder than they do. We ask the hostess to take a Polaroid of us, and when it develops, everyone is positively beaming.
7 p.m. Home to a long bath and reading. S confirms tomorrow’s date, but we need to settle on a time. I check my work calendar first. Balancing dating and work isn’t my strong suit, but I’m committed to making an effort.
10 p.m. I do a little work to get ahead of the day tomorrow. It’s lights out for an early start tomorrow.
DAY SEVEN
7 a.m. Run some errands before work. At the health-food store, I buy the vitamins and supplements my acupuncturist recommends. Shit, everything is more expensive than I thought.
11 a.m. My period is over. How convenient.
2 p.m. I wrap up work early and run around getting ready for my night with S. I always get cold feet about 15 minutes before any date and fixate on the most random things. In this instance, it’s taking out the trash. So I miss when he buzzes the door and run into him on the stairs of my building as I’m holding a bag of garbage. Sexy.
5 p.m. We were supposed to leave hours ago, but instead we sit on my couch talking. Since S lives on the opposite side of Brooklyn, I offer to drive us closer to his neighborhood for dinner.
8 p.m. We find a cozy, low-key spot. The meal is delicious and our conversation drifts naturally between small talk and deep topics. With nothing else really open nearby, S invites me to his place for a movie. We find parking — a miracle — and I see his apartment for the first time. He gives me a little tour, pointing out his favorite books and knickknacks. I’m totally charmed, learning new things about him.
10 p.m. We make out heavily during the movie and pause to check in before taking things further. I admit I’m feeling some whiplash at the timing. I also admit that I really want to have sex. We move to his bedroom, tear each other’s clothes off, and kiss hard. I am so turned on. Some guys can treat sex as a competition to see who will finish first, but not S. He has a great dick. Still, an orgasm eludes me. I don’t force it. I’m okay that I didn’t come; I’m still having a great time.
2 a.m. It’s late and S invites me to stay the night. While he sleeps, I stare at the ceiling, trying to figure out why I didn’t come — that’s unlike me. Maybe it’s my body’s response to everything happening. I give myself some grace and let my body do its thing.
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