Novel Excerpt by Danielle Lazarin
Editorial note: We are thrilled to publish a novel excerpt on the timely and pressing topic of reproductive rights. For more of Danielle’s work, please visit her website at https://www.daniellelazarin.com/.
JULIA, APPROACHED AT PLAYGROUND
It was a weekday morning when Julia was approached at the playground. She’d just put the baby in the swing, facing him away from the sun. Ben was eight months old. The woman who came up beside her on that day wore a baby on her chest who was younger than Ben by a good number of months, “a fresh one” they’d have called it at work. This time yesterday, Julia had been in the middle of a delivery, a healthy baby girl.
The baby in the carrier fussed, and Julia instinctively turned towards its mewl. The woman bounced on her toes to calm it. Though Julia usually kept to herself at the playground, she smiled.
“Julia,” the woman said.
Julia squinted. She didn’t recognize this person. Had she delivered this baby? No, her memory was strong, especially for patients. The woman continued, in a voice low enough that Julia had to lean in just a bit. “I’m here to talk to you about a job, about changing your life.”
Two thoughts shot through Julia’s mind: that, even though there hadn’t been more death threats since the two while she was pregnant, this was a trap, or that this was a rep from a private healthcare firm. These firms catered to women who could afford non-insured procedures—not abortions or any of the reproductive services that had drawn Julia into the field to begin with, but otherwise the best care money could buy. Julia felt these organizations had turned their backs on women just as strongly as the government had. She’d gotten calls before at the hospital, but never an in-person solicitation. The salary was five times what she made now.
“Are you with Women First?” She could barely get the name of the private network out of her mouth without snorting. She and Lily called it Rich White Women First.
“No, no. Nothing like that. We’re part of a coalition that serves all women, forgotten women, all over the country. We’re looking for someone with your training and discretion.”
The woman handed Julia a piece of paper, a three-inch white square, one which she didn’t have to turn over to know was blank. She’d heard about this, activists signaling one another with a blank piece of paper, a reference to the laws they’d wanted: unrestricted. Some women carried empty signs to the protests. Of course she’d heard her share of rumors since undergraduate anatomy: that there were groups begun by med school dropouts disgusted by the lack of support for the true spectrum of care, groups secretly funded by the governments of certain states. Julia had thought it rather silly then; she didn’t know what to think now.
The only other people at the playground were a small girl, about two years old, building in the sand pit three yards away, and the girl’s mother on a bench, eyes trained on her phone. Julia slipped the piece of paper into her jacket pocket quickly.
“I’ve never done one.”
“We know you’ve been trained.”
The woman’s baby—and later, Julia would learn it was not hers after all, but a loan, so she could be in the playground with Julia without suspicion—was quiet now, but the woman was still swaying from side to side. Julia kept up her rhythm with pushing the swing, watched the way Ben’s single lock of hair, dark like Marcus’s, was lifted by the motion of it. His eyes fluttered closed. She needed to get him home before he fell asleep, or the afternoon nap would be impossible.
