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Just spit it out, Winnie. There’s nothing to be ashamed of.
I kissed the tip of his nose. “No can do, cowboy. Aunt Flow’s in town, and she brought her distant cousins, Sore Boobs and Pimply Chin.”
“You got your period?” His smile vanished. His hands turned stiff and cold around me. I told myself I shouldn’t be offended or even mad. He was just as disappointed as I was. That was a good thing. How would I like it if Paul was like Lizzy’s husband, Brian? Before they had Kennedy, my niece, they’d tried for three years. Brian had always been so apathetic whenever Lizzy got her period. He’d just pat her head and tell her it’d be okay.
“Yes.” I scraped the pimple on my chin. “On the flight here. I didn’t want to—”
Tell you.
Disappoint you.
Have you look at me the way you are right now, like I failed some kind of test.
The frustration was unspoken. Paul was too dignified to say something insensitive. Still, I could feel it in the way he touched me on the days and weeks after I told him I got my period. The miles he put between us. Between our hearts.
“You know.” He walked over to a small table on the balcony, unscrewing a bottle of sparkling water. “If you really can’t get pregnant naturally, you should bring your doctor up to speed. I don’t mind jerking off into a cup. You know I’m a modern kind of guy.” He shot me a charming smile from over his shoulder. “But we need to get things moving, baby doll. Mom’s not subtle about wanting to become a grandma, and God knows Robert is not gonna make her one.”
Robert was his brother, and he was a self-proclaimed eternal bachelor. There was a lump in my throat the size of Mississippi. I tried to swallow it down, to blink away the sting in my eyes.
“My doctor says I’m still young, that I should try naturally for at least four more months before we discuss the next steps.”
“Well, then, maybe it’s time to change doctors?” Paul smiled encouragingly, taking a sip of his drink. It wasn’t what he said, and not even the way he said it. But something was off whenever we broached the subject of reproducing. After all, I was the one who had told Paul on our third date that I didn’t want to waste any time. That I wanted a big family and would like to start working on one right away. He seemed enthralled by the idea. Our courting period was quick and intense. He asked me to marry him before we’d even officially moved in together and seemed delighted when I’d asked if the wedding could be in Mulberry Creek.
He was perfect. The opposite of the relationship-phobes I’d found myself dating since first landing in New York. Paul wasn’t a boy—he was a man. He knew exactly what he wanted: Four, maybe five kids. White picket fence. A house in Westchester. A big one, with white columns and black shutters and a rose garden. He wanted boys. Hopefully athletic ones. I still remembered how he fell all over himself the firsttime he heard Da got a full ride in college for baseball and Lizzy was a nationally acclaimed gymnast.
“Gotta love your genes, Winnie. We’re gonna make gifted children together.”
Paul and I had started working on having children the first night of our honeymoon. And every single week thereafter. It’d been months, but still, no luck.
“I’ll think about it.” I turned my back to him, staring at the Mediterranean Sea. Truth be told, I wasn’t going to think about it. I liked Dr.Nam. I trusted him too. I didn’t want to take medicine and start going through IVF before I absolutely had to. And I hated the suffocating pressure of falling into bed with my husband, knowing what he had in mind was impregnating me alone.
Then again, I’d always had irregular periods. Heavy, sometimes painful ordeals. I always chalked it up to the stress of school, work, and auditions. Maybe Paul was right. Maybe therewassomething more to it.
“You do that.” Paul’s voice was decisive behind my back. “Oh, and remember what my friend Chuck said.”
His friend Chuck, whom he played golf with, and was an MFM doctor. Apparently, over lunch at our local country club, Paul saw fit to tell him about our issues conceiving.
After all, I hadn’t delivered the goods. We had an unspoken deal. Marriage. Babies. I hadn’t fulfilled my side of the bargain thus far.
“He said”—I heard Paul speaking over the piano tune from one of the balconies—“and I quote, you ‘should stay away from alcohol, energy drinks, smoking, and caffeine.’ Now that I think about it, you do drink a lot of coffee, don’t you think?”
I swallowed hard. “Two cups a day are fine. You drink four Ventis. On a mild day.”
“Winnie, please. You know I can’t stand it when you’re mad at me.” Paul dropped a kiss on the back of my shoulder. “I’m just worried forus. For the future of our family.” He clasped his arms around me from behind, his fingers splayed over my flat stomach. I wanted to throw up.
“I love you, okay?” His lips brushed against my ear.
“Love you too. I just need a minute.”
“All right. I’ll wait inside and jerk off. Seeing you in this dress was too much.”
The minute I heard the glass door close behind me, I let my head drop and started crying. My tears were hot and furious. Unstoppable. It felt like the weight of the entire world rested on my shoulders. I wanted to stop struggling to carry it. I wanted to sink, let it bury me underground. Suddenly, I was tired. Too tired for this dinner, for the mingling, for everything else that I signed up for by marrying him.
Angling my face up to the sun, for it to dry my tears, I looked upward. A few floors up, I noticed another person sitting at his hotel balcony. A man. Tall and tan and maybe older.
My hands twitched. I was tempted to wipe my face clean so he wouldn’t see me cry.
But then I realized he was staring at me so openly, with such intense interest, there was no point. I was busted.
