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He aims a knowing grin at me. “Let me guess. It was about abortion.”
I poke him. Twice. “It was aboutwomen’s healthcare.”
“Ow.” He shifts out of poking range before asking, “Was it about my job?”
“Nope.” I cross my arms over my chest, flexing and releasing fists in an attempt to contain my ire. “She somehow found out that I was an accident. First off, it creeps me out that people are still obsessed with my mom’s teenage soap opera career, like, thirty freaking years ago.”
“Don’t you think that’s athemproblem?”
“It would be if the woman kept it inside her head instead of confronting me at a kid’s birthday party. She just said right out, ‘I don’t know how you can be pro-choice. You wouldn’t exist if your mom had an abortion.’”
“Wow.”
“Yeah, wow. And then she looked around at the other women standing there like I’m the nut job. So I—very calmly, I swear—explained to her that it’s the ‘choice’ that’s important. That if my mom were still an addict, if she’d wanted to continue her career, if she hadn’t wanted me for any reason, then it would’ve been better for all of us if I’d stayed a collection of cells. Who wants to grow up with their parents regretting that they were born?”
“I can attest to that.”
This has me turning to face him. “Sam. Come on. You really think your parents didn’t want you? I mean, your mom is great with the kids.”
“She’s a lot different with them than she was with me. A lot different.” He drags a hand down his face. “In any case, I am glad we had the choice.”
“My point, exactly.”
We’ve now landed on the topic I need to broach sooner rather than later. Just as I’m wondering whether I should dive in or wait until tomorrow, Sam nudges me shoulder to shoulder. “I can hear you thinking.”
“Ugh.” I snake an arm underneath him and rest my head on his chest. “You know me too well.”
He kisses me lightly on the forehead. “So, what’s up? Started any other fights today? Did they talk you into running for PTA president?”
“God, no.” I shudder. “I do not have the patience. I can barely sit through a meeting. Run one? No way.”
“So…”
I take a deep breath and then dive in. “So, I think I want to go back to work.”
“Seriously? You just quit.”
“Well, it’s been over a year. It has been great to be with the kids—”
“And with me, I hope.”
“And with you,” I add. “I’m glad we’ve been able to have so much family time. With our parents too. But it’s just not enough for me.”
He pulls his arm away and sits up. After he runs a hand down his face this time, the expression revealed is not a happy one.
“Sam, this has nothing to do with us.”
He coughs out a half laugh. “You just said that I wasn’t enough for you.”
“Being awife and motherisn’t enough for me.” When his lips press together, which is Sam’s version of pissed, I add, “You knew I wasn’t giving up on law completely.”
“Yeah, but the kids are still so young. And I thought we were happy.”
“We are; of course we are.” He’s staring across the room, so I jog his elbow. “Hey, look at me. Please?”
When he does, his jaw is set, his expression having shifted from angry to guarded.
“This is not about me and you. I swear.”
