[ WP ] Mankind switch to birth by selection . Women can apply to carry out children like a regular job .

`` N-no.'' Of all the times for me to stutter, this has to be the worst. I do n't want to prove their point. `` If - *if* - I were - were interested, in b-being a mother, I would n't, would n't do it that way.'' 
 
 `` Thank god you're not then,'' someone quips. The room laughs. My face gets redder. 
 
 `` Oh, be kind. The poor girl does n't need any more trouble. I would hate to be in her place.'' Thomas is doing this again. Making me a curiosity. I do n't know why I come to anything he hosts. I hate him so much. `` She's strong to have done so much.'' 
 
 `` Come on.'' Another voice I do n't recognize. Female. `` She would honestly risk passing on any of her own traits to a child? That stutter, or that height, or that nose, or that bust? *That* is unkind.'' Why does it always go there? It always goes to looks. And how pretty I'm *not*. And how big my nose is, and my chest is n't, and on and on. Ca n't they think of something else to disparage? 
 
 `` Depression? Anxiety? *Homosexuality? * God, cutting my dating pool in half - I ca n't imagine. You would do that to a child?'' They can. And it's worse. Condescending pricks. 
 
 `` Yes!'' I snap. `` Yes, I wo-would, and mine would be - be happier than - than any of yours!'' 
 
 `` Oh, *do* tell how a sickly child like *you* would be happier than a healthy baby.'' This voice laughs. It's a perfect laugh. I hate it so much. I wish I had n't said anything. 
 
 `` Because it w-would n't be a *job*! It'd be l-loved, and it'd g-get to have *real parents*, n-not just some paid caretakers, like... like...'' I stammer to a stop. 
 
 `` Like you? Your loving parents did you so much good in the ground.'' The room laughs again. They do n't know what it's like. It's funny to them. But they're right. I never knew them. I wish I had. I want to cry, but it'd just prove them all the more correct. Instead I go for the back porch. At least there I'll probably be alone. 
 
 It's quiet and cool out here. Crickets chirp in the woods beyond Thomas' manor. I can relax a little, but the ball of anxiety in my stomach reminds me that my car is just over there. I can just go home now. It's terribly tempting. I'm never happy here. 
 
 A hand touches my shoulder. I glance over. *She* is there. I'm suddenly reminded of why I come to these things. She's overdressed, as always. It's a beautiful dress she's wearing, and it shines in a world of jeans and t-shirts. I'm suddenly very self-conscious about what I'm wearing, and I turn back to the woods. She never stays long with anyone, but tonight she stays there, hand on my shoulder. I'm not sure if it's making me more anxious or less. 
 
 I wonder what she's thinking. She has to be thinking. It's so easy to see the depth of her eyes, but she never says anything, so she *must* be thinking. I wonder who designed her face. If they knew they were making perfection. If they even meant to do it. I wonder why she's out here. Why she's standing with me. She always smiles at me, but she never speaks a word to me. I do n't even know her name. 
 
 `` I think your child would be beautiful.'' My heart leaps into my throat just at the silvery sound of her voice; when I realize what she's said, it lodges there. 
 
 `` I - I - th-tha-thank - you, I'd - if I c-could -'' I ca n't form a sentence to save my life. Still, I have to try. `` If - if - if I c-could, could, b-buy, a - a child, I w-would - choose - I would m-make her...'' I do n't have the strength to finish, to tell her I would make my daughter like her. I have to catch my breath, try to find easier words to say. 
 
 `` Do n't,'' she whispers in my ear. `` Do n't make her. Let her make herself. Maybe she'd grow up as good as you.'' She kisses me on the cheek, then lets go, leaving me still trying to remember when she got so close. By the time I turn to look, she's already gone, disappeared into the mass of the party. I linger outside, hand on my cheek, wondering if this is the highlight of my entire life, the one moment I feel like maybe I lived up to the rest of the world. 
 
 And then I realize I can do one better. She's still in there. A spot of hope descends. I turn to pursue her, tread light and heart overjoyed. I'm not too low for perfection.
