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“When Kyle and I have a son, that’s what he’ll look like.”
Sharon squeezed her eyes shut and pinched the bridge of her nose. “You have to stop this. Really.”
The light in the restaurant seemed too bright and the conversations around us too loud. “Stop what?”
“This obsession with having a baby. It’s making you insane.”
I looked at the kid again. “He looks like a young version of Kyle, but his eyes are sort of like mine. A similar color anyway.”
The kid turned his head and caught me staring. He nodded as if saying hello. “That lady’s totally checking me out,” he said to his friends. They all turned to look at Sharon and me. Her cheeks reddened, and she muttered under her breath.
“You look like a younger version of my husband,” I shouted over, causing the table of teens to break out in a fit of laughter.
“I’m really worried about you,” Sharon said.
“Why?” We hadn’t been greeted by a server yet. I searched the room for one. I needed a drink. Fast. A few tables away a waiter leaningagainst a wall gabbed with customers. I waved him over. “Two blueberry beers.”
Sharon fiddled with her silverware. “Bring a water for me. With a lime.”
“Two waters,” I said.
Sharon started to say something else, but the waiter was already walking away.
“What did Kyle say about the withdrawal?” she asked.
I wasn’t about to confess to her that I had lied to him about where the money came from. Even thinking about that fib now made my stomach cramp. “He refuses to try again.”
“And you used the last of the embryos?”
I nodded. There had been seven in all. We used two in the first round, three in the second, and the remaining two the third time. “How am I going to convince him? Any ideas?”
Sharon reached across the table and squeezed my hand. “Maybe just give the baby thing a rest for a few months. Until things are better with him.”
The waiter dropped off our drinks and took our food order. Despite studying the menu earlier, Sharon ordered the pulled pork. She waited until the waiter left and continued. “Have some fun trying to conceive the old-fashioned way.” She winked, and I was reminded of sophomore year in college, when I’d planned to lose my virginity with my then boyfriend, Anthony. Sharon had given me advice. “The first time is awkward and kind of painful, so don’t expect fireworks or anything, but it gets better. Much better.” She’d grinned. “Make sure you don’t just lie there like a statue. Be an active participant, and speak up. Let him know what feels good and what doesn’t.”
God, I was so worried about getting pregnant when I was with Anthony, despite being on the pill. I would stress so much about it that I threw off my cycle and would be in panic mode when my period was late. I actually cried in relief every month when it finally arrived.
“I can’t wait. I’m running out of time.”
“Women our age get pregnant all the time,” Sharon said.
“They don’t.”
“Believe me, they do.” Something about the way she said it caused me to study her. Her cheeks reddened, and she looked away. I continued to watch her as she picked up a glass—the water glass. She hadn’t touched her beer. Every muscle in my body tensed. This couldn’t be happening. It wasn’t fair. “You’re pregnant.” It came out as an accusation.
She flinched. “Fourteen weeks.”
When she was pregnant with Cameron and Noah, she told me the day she took the home pregnancy test.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
She pressed her lips together.
“You don’t think I can be happy for you?”
“Are you?”
My throat burned the way it sometimes did before I started to cry. I hated myself. She was right. I wasn’t happy for her. I was pissed. I should have been the one who was pregnant. “You don’t even want another kid. You call Noah the little beast.”
