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“How many eggs did they get? Do you know yet?”
“Eleven.”
“That’s good.”
“They won’t all make it, though. I’m trying to keep my expectations low.”
“Right. Good idea. It takes about five days from here, doesn’t it? Is that what you told me?”
“Yeah. I know it’s only five days, but it feels forever.” The doctor advised some transfers take place sooner, but I’m working on five days.
“You’re still taking some time off work, right? And, B, the correct answer here is yes, just FYI.”
“Do you seriously think Winter will allow me to go straight back to work? I’m taking tomorrow off and having a massage. I’ll also take the day of the embryo transfer off.”
“Good.”
“Okay, it’s your turn now. Tell me what’s going on in Cleoland.”
We chat for another half hour. She catches me up on Mark and Rocky, and how the two of them are having a standoff over Rocky’s love of peeing on their bedroom carpet. She also shares that they’re in discussions over when to start their family. I can tell she’s holding back from me a little, and for now, I let her, but once I’m done with this cycle and my headspace is back to normal, I’m going to be all over her about this. I never want her to feel like she has to tiptoe around her desire to have a baby with me.
After we finish talking, I take a shower and then insert the pessary. The nurse advised me to lie down for thirty minutes when I do it as that can help minimise the leakage, so I get into bed and watch TV. I’m almost through one episode of Queen of the South when Winter comes home.
I hear him in the kitchen, banging around in there for a bit before he appears in the doorway of our bedroom. Peeling his shirt off, he throws it in the laundry hamper and eyes me. “How are you feeling?”
I pause the TV. “Better than you by the looks of it.” Thankfully he hasn’t come back with more bruises or other injuries, but exhaustion clothes him.
Walking towards the en suite, his hands go to his belt. “I’m gonna take a shower.”
“Do you need anything, baby?”
His eyes meet mine, and I take in his mood. Detached. Dark. On edge. “No.” The bathroom door closes behind him and I’m left wondering what happened tonight for my man to come home like this.
My natural instinct is to go to him. To comfort him. But I’ve learned that trying to comfort him when he’s like this isn’t what he needs. Time alone is, and good God, that’s the hardest thing for me to give him. My nurturing side wants to give so much more than time alone.
I finish the episode I’m watching and switch the television off. Winter takes longer than usual in the shower, and when he finally comes out, a towel wrapped around his waist, he exits the bedroom without a word.
Let him go, Birdie.
He needs time alone.
What if he doesn’t?
What if he needs me?
He doesn’t.
Stop thinking of what you need.
Think of Winter.
Ugh, shut up.
I hate you.
Winter reappears and goes into the walk-in robe. When he comes back out, he’s wearing boxer briefs. After taking his towel into the bathroom, he walks around the bed and sits on his side, his back to me.
I track his every move and keep my eyes firmly on his back, waiting for what he’ll do or say next. I’m worried that something bad has happened, and unable to leave him alone a second longer, I say, “Is everything okay?”
