Free Carry Me Home by Rosalind James Page A

just holed up in their own houses. I even know my neighbors. So, really,” she said, trying to cheer herself up, “it’s all good.”
    “Hmm,” her dad said. “I’m sure Mayberry R.F.D. is peaceful. Just remember, ‘peaceful’ doesn’t usually translate into ‘career progress.’ There’s a time in your life to stop and smell the roses, and there’s a time to plug away. This is your time to plug away. The first ten years of your career set you up for the rest of it.”
    Another maxim. “But you know,” she said slowly, “in ten years, I’ll be thirty-nine.”
    “Yes, you will,” he said. “And set up.”
    “But . . .”
    “What?”
    “Well, you know.” She tried to laugh. “What if I decide I want the whole deal, after all? I guess my biological clock is ticking. Must be those babies in the snowsuits.” Cheeks pink with cold, warm hats and mittens and boots, stomping on the frozen puddles in City Park because it was so much fun to crack the ice. Being lifted into swings by mothers . . . and dads. Dads who were there to do that, who wanted to do it. Babies shrieking with glee as they flew through the air on those baby swings. They made her smile. They made her feel . . . something. Something new.
    “Have you met somebody?” her dad asked. “Is that what this is about? It’s too soon for that. The first year of teaching is the critical one. You don’t have time for relationships this year. It’s the easiest thing in the world for a woman to fall off that track, and this is exactly how it happens. We’ve talked about this, about how few women make it, and this is why.”
    “I know,” she said. “Never mind. I’m probably just lonely. Don’t listen to me.”
    “I was reading an article the other day,” her dad said, surprising her, because she’d figured they were done, “about some of the tech companies who are paying for their female employees to have their eggs frozen. And I thought, that’s brilliant. You can put it off until you’re established, but still know you’ve got healthy eggs, without the increased risk of having an imperfect child.”
    An imperfect child. “Sounds . . . practical,” she managed.
    “And if you want that, that’s one thing I would be willing to pay for, because it would be an investment in your career. We can look into it when you’re down here at Christmas, schedule it for next summer when you’ll have the time. I understand it’s quite a procedure, and you’d want to have it done at the best facility, of course.”
    “Whoa. I mean . . . thanks.” I think. “The future Mr. Santangelo or whoever might not be willing to go along, though.”
    “Well, the beauty of this is,” her dad said, “even if there isn’t a Mr. Santangelo, you can still choose motherhood down the road. Use a sperm bank, get a med student donor so you know you’ve got the right genetic background, and delay it until you can afford to give your child the best, like I gave you.”
    “Well, I had a mom, too. This all sounds kind of Future World, doesn’t it?”
    “No,” her father said, “it sounds like a solution that would set your mind at ease and help you keep that focus where it belongs But we’d both better get back to work. I’ll put the three hundred in, just to cover you. Until the first of the month.”
    “I promise, it’ll be back in your account on the first. Thanks.”
    It wasn’t until she hung up that she realized he hadn’t asked her if she’d been hurt when she’d gone off the road. But then, he’d have figured that she’d have told him if she had been. That was her dad. Focused on the practical details. Eyes on the prize.
    Freezing her eggs. Wow. It was practical, she could see that. It just sounded so cold. So bleak. But maybe that was the answer. Maybe so.
    She glanced over at the cowboy boots that had cost half of that $300. She’d known they were a bad idea. Why was it that everything that felt good was a bad idea?
    She thought