I got on the phone and made some calls, looking for a Labor Day celebration. After an hour, the closest thing I’d found was a Norwegian party at the Rotary Club on Sunday and a keg toss Monday at a horse stable. Then Dave came and sat next to me in the living room—he said he couldn’t think. I showed him the address of the Rotary Club. He said you had to be Norwegian to get in.

Finally, we talked about their fertility problem. “It’s in the doctor’s best interest to scare us, but Denise probably just has some minuscule infection that they can clear up in a week,” he said.

“Of course.”

“Denise is a physical specimen. She comes from a healthy family.”

I agreed. I thought he was right.

But what if they were unlucky and there was damage, Dave said, and she couldn’t have a child? I asked if he’d leave her. “No,” he said, “and if she ever left me I think I’d die.” Then he went on to name the options. Adopt a baby—he figured they’d qualify as pretty fit parents. Or find a host mother and give her some money. Or—he didn’t know—no kids and more hobbies.

“Sure,” I said.

“I’ll buy a moped.”

“I don’t think they make mopeds anymore.”

“I mean, this is the whole reason we got married and rushed and bought the house—for the kids.” I nodded. He bit his finger. “Maybe it’s my fault. We’ve been trying for a while.” I didn’t say anything. “A long time.”

“How long?”

“I’m getting worried.”

“Don’t worry. There’s nothing wrong with you.”

“How can I be sure? Nobody ever got pregnant from me.” I was nodding, trying to be understanding. “Maybe I’m shooting blanks. Maybe I took too many drugs in college.”

“What drugs?”

“I smoked pot.”

“Pot doesn’t do anything.”

“Think about all those gay guys out there with good sperm who don’t even use it.”

“They use it.”

“How do you know?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It wouldn’t surprise me. It’s the only thing with two legs left for you to conquer. Anyway, Denise and I were talking—if there’s something wrong with me and we need a donor, would you do it?”

“Do what?”

“Be the donor, shithead. In the event that mine’s defective.”

That thought hadn’t occurred to me. We do have two sisters, but that’s useless in this situation. Dave didn’t say anything. He had a sad look in his eyes.

“Whatever you need,” I said.

“We’d have to test you for everything. No offense.”

“Yeah,” I said.

“Good,” he said.

“No problem,” I said.

“That’s settled,” he said. “I don’t want to talk about it anymore.”