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“I will, but he’s been amazing, of course.”
“I have no doubt.”
She’s still standing outside the house to wave when I drive away. I wonder if she’s going to go back inside and tell the others I’m pregnant, but then I decide she won’t do that. After what she endured, she knows why this is a secret that needs to be kept until we’re sure. And if she does tell people? Oh well, it’s not like they won’t find out eventually.
I never told any of them about the miscarriage I suffered in August. I didn’t even know I was pregnant when I was already losing it. The whole thing was sad and traumatic. I made the choice to keep it between my husband and me because we were both too raw to have my entire family descend upon us, wanting to help.
There was nothing anyone could do, and as long as Jason and I had each other, we got through it. My doctor told me to expect it might take a while to conceive again, so we were surprised when it happened quickly. But I’m still superstitious and slightly worried that history might repeat itself. How did my mother go through that nine times? How and where did she find the wherewithal to keep trying after an ordeal like that?
After having it happen once to me, I have all-new respect for the fact that she stuck with it long enough to get to me. It’s interesting that, until it happened to me, the concept of nine miscarriages was just words to me. I had no earthly idea of how devastating an ordeal a miscarriage is.
I spent days sobbing in my husband’s arms, thinking the world had ended, which, with hindsight, I blame on the hormonal overload.
Jason was a freaking saint through the whole thing. He never left my side until he absolutely had to go to work, because, you know… brain surgeon. People needed him, so I had to let him go. But I took three days out of work, waiting until I was certain I could get through the day without hysterics before I went back to my job in the Miami-Dade General Hospital’s public relations department.
But I was sad for a long time afterward and shocked to find out I was pregnant again so soon. Now, I’m anxious—and nauseated—all the time. What my mother said about being nauseated only with me gives me comfort. Maybe feeling like shit is actually a good sign.
When I arrive at our place in Brickell, I take the elevator to the seventh floor and am about to put my key in the door when it opens to reveal my husband dressed in running clothes.
“Oh, hey,” he says, surprised to see me. “You’re home.” He takes a closer look. “What’s wrong?”
“Couldn’t handle the smell of the pig roasting.”
“Aw, poor baby.” He puts an arm around me and guides me into our gorgeous condo, which is even more so decorated for the holidays. I absolutely love our view of Biscayne Bay and never get tired of watching the activity on the water.
We sit together on the sofa, Jason with his arms around me and my head on his chest.
“What can I get you?”
“This is helping.”
“I got plenty of that anytime you need it.”
After being widowed so young, I’d gotten used to soldiering through life’s challenges on my own. Doing it with Jason is so much better. “Did you hear from your mom? Is her flight all set for the morning?”
“It is. She’ll be here by noon. She and my brother are going to my grandmother’s tonight. Speaking of my grandmother, I had a nice chat with Mimi on the way home. She says to say hi to you.”
“Glad you got to talk to her.” I stifle a yawn. My eyes are so heavy, you’d think I didn’t sleep for ten hours last night.
“Let’s put you down for a nap so you’ll feel up to going later. It’s not Christmas for you without Nochebuena, so we gotta get you there.”
I take the hand he offers me and let him help me up. “Not sure I can do it. The pig took me over the top, and that’s never happened before.”
“You’ve never been pregnant for Nochebuena before.”
“True. What if I don’t feel up to going back? People will know something’s up. I told my mom—”
His brows rise so high they nearly touch his hairline. He certainly knows by now the way news travels in my family—at the speed of light times a million. “You did? I thought you didn’t want to tell anyone yet.”
“She was worried, and I didn’t want her to be.”
“Will she keep a lid on it?”
“I think so. She understands better than anyone why we’d want to sit on it for a while.”
“I keep thinking about them going through what we did nine times.”
