Diane nods. “We had a little fridge emergency, but he should be here in an hour or so.”
“Kite, Daddy!” Sophia cries, giving his arm tug after tug.
“I think there are a few over there,” Diane informs us, pointing to a small stand with drinks and other snacks.
“I’m going to go check it out,” James informs me. “You good?”
I nod.
“Okay.” James stoops down to get to eye level with Sophia and Diane’s daughter. She’s shy, half of her hidden behind Diane’s hip, but she looks at James and Sophia with curiosity, nonetheless. “What’s your name?”
“Maddie.”
James smiles. “Maddie, would you like to come with us to get a kite?”
Maddie looks up at her mom for approval. “Are you sure?” Diane asks James. “You really don’t have to.”
“It’s fine,” James answers, brushing off her concern. “I can give you a little break, and Sophia’s a pro at making new friends. Unfortunately, those stranger danger tactics don’t work with her.”
Diane nods. “Thank you,” she says with a breath of relief.
James leaves behind our large tote bag, the contents almost spilling over with the extra towels and snacks we stuffed it with, and takes off with the girls. Diane and I watch as Sophia and Maddie link hands, skipping away while James talks to the attendant manning the kites. He keeps a watchful eye on the girls when they start giggling and twirling in circles.
“He’s a good dad.” She moves her baby from one hip to the other and smiles at me.
I nod. “He is.”
“Have you thought about having another? I’m sure your little one would love a sibling.”
The question hits me like a train, and I’m sitting on the tracks, thinking the whole railway system is out of commission. Only to learn it’s alive and well. I should expect these questions. Sophia’s getting to the age where a second child would be in order, if not well past it. I’m still of child-bearing age, thoughanother year or two, I’d be pushing it. And, though I know it’s bulldozing past social etiquette norms, these questions are commonly asked among young couples. So why do I feel like I’ve been derailed from my vulnerable and inconsistently happy life?
And what about what James wants? We never talked about having another baby. With our marriage having been in the peril stage for the last few years—maybe even still—that wasn’t ever a topic either one of us dared bring up. But what if he wants another baby? A playmate for Sophia or just an urge to watch our family grow bigger? And I’m the one deterring him from his dreams.
Dread fills my body like it’s this slimy liquid running through my veins. It grows cold beneath my skin, making me shiver under the warm July heat. Diane looks at me with a kind smile, completely unaware of the panic riddling my body.
I plaster a fake smile in her direction and say, “We haven’t really talked about it.”
“Do you want more kids?”
I catch James’s reflection through the mirror in our bathroom. He’s on his side of the double sink, his toothbrush hanging from his mouth with a ring of white foam around it. He takes a moment to rinse and wipe his mouth, and he faces me.
“Doyouwant more kids?” He asks the question with caution. And it may be a diversion tactic, deflecting the same question in my direction, and I can tell he’s scared, worrying this subject may be too sensitive to glaze over. But it’s been eating away at me since we got home. I thought I could shove it aside, bring it back out when I feel more ready to talk about it, but I can’t seemto ignore it. I managed to get through the day with it gnawing at my insides, but now, it’s sitting front and center between us, screaming at us for some attention.
I look directly at him, the mirror and our reflection no longer acting as a buffer. Those walls are down, demolished with the hopes of them never coming back up.
“I asked you first,” I quip.
He slides closer, one hand on the hard counter, the other at his side. “It’s really not up to me.”
“Of course it is.”
He squeezes my arm. “You’re the one who would be having a baby if we decided to…have another. It’s your body that’ll be going through the pregnancy and labor and recovery, so no, it’s not up to me.”
“Okay then,” I counter. “Let’s say for argument’s sake, you’re the one to have the baby?—”
“Like a seahorse?”
I roll my eyes. “Sure, like a seahorse. Would you have another baby?”
