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He laughed. It sounded bitter. “Ky, go sit down. It’s OK. I’ll bring the pancakes over. They’re almost done now anyway.”
I nodded my head and went to the dining room table, taking my seat. The good china was set out. A white rose from our front garden sat in a vase between two tea light candles. I ran my hand over a crease in the table cloth I must have missed when I’d ironed it. Sean walked over with the plate of pancakes and placed them down between us.
“Happy anniversary,” he said.
“You too,” I replied.
“One year. Been the best,” he said, clinking my glass of pineapple juice with his own.
He dug into his plate; I picked at mine.
“What’s wrong?” he demanded a few seconds later.
“Nothing.” Then I corrected myself, knowing how he usually reacted to me sayingnothing was wrong. “I’ve got my period. That’s all.”
“Cramps?”
“Yeah.”
“You’re lucky you don’t get the kind of cramps like endometriosis sufferers do. They can be laid up for days on end every month.”
“Hmmm.”
“Take some meds; you’ll be all right.”
“Yeah.”
“You can’t take any more sick leave. You’ve already taken too many days as it is.”
“I know.”
“So, suck it up, Buttercup. It’s not like it’s serious.”
I struggled to stop the tears.
“Kylee?”
“I’ve got my period,” I said again and sniffed.
“Oh,” he said. “Hon,” he added, then reached out and squeezed my hand. “Next month, OK? You’ll get pregnant next month for sure.”
I nodded — more than one tear trailing down my cheek now. I rubbed my stomach, knowing nothing grew inside. Knowing it was empty and needing to fill it up. I eyed the pancakes. Then cut off a piece and shoved it in my mouth. It tasted like cardboard, but I didn’t stop. I shovelled the entire plateful inside, desperately trying to fill the void with something.
“Jeez, slow down, tiger! You’re not eating for two yet.”
I glared at him.
“Too soon?” he said grimacing.
I pushed the empty plate away and got up, wanting nothing more than to leave the room.
“Kylee,” he said on a sigh. “Honey, wait!”
He came up behind me and wrapped his arms around my body. I leaned into his touch, wanting him to take the pain away. He kissed the side of my head and held me. For a long time, neither of us spoke.
“You know I want kids with you, don’t you?” he eventually said. “Very much. But if it doesn’t happen, it’s OK, Ky. I’m happy with just you — just us. You need to relax and let it happen. The moment you stop trying so hard, you’ll get pregnant. It’s funny how things like that work out.”
“I think we should stop trying,” I said.
