“I don’t know,” he answers truthfully. “I think maybe yes. Only because I grew up with three siblings and I would want that for Sophia, but…”
I nod, a slow and sad up and down motion that feels as pathetic as it must look. “Okay.”
“But that doesn’t mean anything, Kendall.”
“Yeah,” I whisper.
Of course it means something. It means everything. It means he’s settling. He’s already decided that, regardless of what he wants, he’s going to give it all up just to keep the peace in our house. Because both he and I know it’ll break us. It’ll break us like it broke us before, and neither one of us knows if we’ll survive it. I don’t even know if we survived it the first time.Another round, and I don’t think there would be anything left of us to salvage.
He forces my eyes on him, stooping lower so he’s in my line of sight. “I mean it, Kendall. Since we aren’t seahorses and you’re my human wife, that scenario doesn’t apply to us. So, I want whatever you want.”
“Okay.” I know he means it. If I choose not to have another baby, he’d stand by that decision as if it were his own. I barely offer a smile and trudge into the bedroom, leaving James behind to muddle over our conversation alone. My mind swirls into a hurricane of what-ifs. I start to wonder how things would’ve been if we didn’t even bother with birth control after having Sophia. If any thought of family planning wasn’t even considered and I popped out another kid or two. Would James be happier? Would Sophia be better off? She’d have someone to grow up with. Siblings to fight with and play with. While I’m an only child, James has given me enough insight to what a full house would feel like. I’ve watched his relationship with his brothers and sister bleed into our own lives. I don’t think he could live without them, and now, he wants all of that for Sophia.
“I don’t want another baby.”
My body had moved on autopilot. I slipped into bed with no memory of getting there. I know I rubbed some lotion into my hands because of the greasy feel of them. And I somehow managed to plug my phone into the charger without knowing it. James’s voice brings me back, the plush comforter surrounding us with his hand cupped over my knee.
“I want this,” he stresses. “I want us. I want you and Sophia and this home we built together.”
Guilt trickles into the cracks of my heart, and I hate that I’ve brought James to this point. He’s reconciling with all the things he’s going to let go, giving in to my wants and needs as a desperate way to make this work.
“But—”
“I mean it. You and Sophia are all that matter to me.”
James has never pushed like this. Passive has been his game plan for a really long time. But it wasn’t always like that. He used to be passionate and sure until fear forced him to be otherwise. Into a person who barely scratched the surface. This James in front of me, the one who is willing to go to lengths for me to understand the gravity of his words, is the man I met. The man who used to be my boyfriend. Who used to court me with chai latte dates and risqué encounters on the living room couch. After years and years of pushing him away, he disappeared. And it took a moment of desperation for him to come back.
“I don’t want to have more kids,” I confess with a trembling voice. A tear slips past my cheek and falls off my chin. He wipes it with his thumb. The words, though they feel like a blade cut into my heart, tumble off me. I feel lighter, completely bare and vulnerable. I realize then that my fear is this could quite possibly be his deal breaker. He could excuse all the cold shoulders and the silent treatment, even all the arguments, but not wanting a bigger family is where he’ll draw the line. I’ve seen it before, where couples don’t discuss future topics when they absolutely should have before getting married. Like finances or where they’ll set roots or religious-based decisions, and kids align with those difficult to have conversations. And what if that’s James? What if this is where he’ll draw the line?
But he does nothing of the sort. Instead, he scoots forward, pulling me into his arms and whispers against my temple, “And that’s okay.”
“But I don’t want you to hate me for it, and I don’t want Sophia to resent me for having to grow up alone.” I lay my head on his shoulder, and my tears start to land in dark spots on his shirt.
“I’m not going to hate you for it, and Sophia…she’s going to be fine. She has us. And Sadie.”
I bury my face in my hands and continue to sob. All the times I cried alone, letting my tears fall onto my pillow or hiding behind a longer-than-usual shower among echoey tiles, I never realized how badly I needed to let those tears fall with James by my side. I feel so silly now, not wanting James to ever see me like this when it’s bringing me closer to him than ever.
“I’ll get a vasectomy,” he tells me. He brushes a lock of hair off my face, and he tells me the words as if he’s been considering it for quite some time now. And maybe he has. Maybe this was part of him deciding what he wants for us. He put our marriage first, and this is the conclusion he came up with.
“You will?”
“Yeah,” he answers. “Why not? Men get them all the time, and you had Sophia. I think it’s my turn to do…something.”
“You’re really okay with it?” My hand finds his, and I run my fingertips over his knuckles. He leans into my touch, linking our fingers together, and I know he’s doing it to assure me. He’s not going anywhere. And some silly procedure to prove to me how important our family is to him isn’t going to send him running for the hills. He’ll do it with a proud smile.
“Look, I know getting a vasectomy doesn’t solve our problems, but I want to do this. And we need to trust each other enough that we aren’t sugar coating things. I’m being completely honest with you when I say I want this. So let me do this for us.”
He’s right. We need to trust each other. We aren’t making decisions in an attempt to pacify the other or mollify our relationship. And while it took us a while to remember this, I’m flooded with relief knowing we’re back here.
“Okay,” I finally say. “Thank you.”
He shakes his head. “You don’t need to thank me.”
“I want to,” I respond. “And I’m not thanking you for getting a vasectomy or agreeing to not have any more kids. I’m thanking you for just…being you. You’re putting us and our family first, and I want you to know how much I appreciate that.”
I always thought thank you’s were offered out of courtesy and good manners. I never realized how sometimes, it can be an expression of honest gratitude. I don’t want James to think I’m saying thank you as a means to maintain civility or to exercise the manners my mom instilled in me. I want him to know how much I appreciate him. I’ll do more than words. I’ll express my gratitude through actions over the course of our marriage, but for now, when my appreciation is spilling out of me, my words will have to do.
“Thank you,” he says, “for being you. I love you so goddamn much, and I will do anything for you.”
