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We lapse into a silence, one tenser than any before. I realize how stupid it was to have brought it all up now, when James had just settled Emily today, and was undoubtedly feeling raw. Why couldn’t I have waited a few days, a few weeks, even? Or just kept silent? It wasn’t as if I actually had any news. I didn’t have to mention it at all.
I am kicking myself, wondering why I was so reckless, even as I know the answer. Because I wanted James to care. I wanted him to be as disappointed as I am, to hold my hand, to tell me we’ll make a double effort next month—maybe go to the Berkshires for the weekend, stay in a nice B&B with a king-sized bed and a bubble bath for two…
Foolishness, I know. He never would have done that. There’s Emily for one, every Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday. I don’t resent those days at all, but they make taking a vacation an impossibility. And in any case, he’s never been as on board with the baby idea as I am, even though he tries to be. His agreement was guarded, maybe even reluctant, and I pretended that it didn’t matter. That he would change, once I was pregnant. And perhaps he still will.
“Maybe next month,” I finally say, trying to turn it into a peace offering, but James frowns. He takes a sip of his wine as he looks away.
“Look, Eva, with everything that’s going on…”
“What do you mean, everything?”
“Emily. Rachel…”
That surprises me. “What does Rachel have to do with our family plan
ning?”
“I don’t mean like that, it’s just…” He blows out a breath. “I’m not sure this is the best time to do this.” He rakes a hand though his hair. “I mean, surely you can see that?”
“I know it’s difficult.” Words that are massive understatement, but what else can I say? I know it’s not difficult; it’s torturous, agonising, but it’s been that way for a long time, ever since I met him, and it’s going to be that way for the foreseeable future. Somehow amidst all that, we have to find a way forward, for us. “James, I know now doesn’t feel like a good time, but the reality is, Emily will always be…” I trail off, unsure what word to use. Around? Alive? Anything sounds horribly callous.
“No,” James says quietly. “She won’t.”
I bite my lip, accepting that chastisement, even though none of us knows what the future holds for Emily—not James, not Rachel, not me. “But people in… her condition… they can live for years and years,” I say, as reasonably, as kindly as I can. Inside I feel panicked. If James is saying we can’t even think about trying until Emily is… I don’t want to go there, not even in my own mind. I don’t want to will Emily away at all, and yet I’ve read the statistics. Most children in Emily’s state die within five years, but some live for much longer. Decades, and in any case, five years could be too late for me. “You agreed to start trying for a baby, James—”
“I know. I know.” He raises his voice, so unlike him, and I sit back, silent, appalled. We don’t do this. We don’t argue. But right now I wonder if that is only because I’ve made sure that we don’t. He sighs heavily. “I’m just not sure it was the right decision, considering everything. Emily, and also how quickly we… I love you, Eva, of course I do, but jumping into having a baby together when we’ve only known each other a year?”
“We jumped into getting married,” I point out, trying not to let my voice wobble. “How is this any different?”
“I just think we need some time. I don’t want to disappoint you, but…”
He makes it sound like he’s cancelling a dinner date. My chest feels tight, and I have to concentrate on taking each breath, in, then out, slow and even. “What are you saying?” I finally make myself ask. “That you might never want a child?”
“I have a child.” The words are sharp, and I close my eyes.
“I know that. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean…” I shake my head, unable to continue, afraid I might cry. I never should have pushed the issue tonight. I never seem to learn not to want more than someone is able to give.
“Eva.” James reaches over and touches my hand. I sniff, willing the tears back. “I’m sorry. I don’t want to fight with you. I’m feeling… all kinds of stuff right now.” A big admission, for him. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to take it out on you. It’s just… seeing Emily in there, knowing… knowing she won’t come out…” His voice cracks, and so does my heart. I can’t believe how insensitive I was, bringing up a baby now. When will I learn? “It affected me more than I expected it to,” James continues in a ragged voice. “I tell myself and you and everyone else that I’ve come to terms with my grief, but there are moments…”
“Oh, James.” I reach over and take his hand, blinking back tears that don’t feel like my right to shed. “I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have mentioned this all now.”
“Can we just… table this discussion for a bit? It’s not an issue till next month anyway, right?” I nod. “So let’s leave it for a few weeks.” He squeezes my hand, giving me a rather watery smile. “I’m sorry you’re disappointed, you know, that it didn’t happen this month.”
“Thanks,” I murmur. I may feel guilty for bringing it all up, but it still stings that I can tell he’s relieved. I know he’s been reluctant, but I’ve been so sure he’ll come around. Now I wonder if I’ve simply been wishing in a happily-ever-after that might never happen. Again.
I reach for the bottle and pour myself more wine, even though my head is already spinning a little. I need something to blunt this fear inside me, the terror opening up like a black hole, that I’m never going to get the chance to be a mother. That I’m never going to be able to make things right.
* * *
Two weeks later, James and still haven’t talked about babies or Emily or pretty much anything other than work, what’s on TV, or whether we want to get takeout. On the surface everything feels easy, the way it used to be—we meet friends for dinner downtown; we go biking along the river on a sunny Sunday afternoon. But underneath I sense something bubbling away, a corrosive acid attacking the foundation of our marriage. I tell myself I’m being fanciful, paranoid, but I know I’m not. There’s so much we don’t talk about it, and it’s getting harder and harder to ignore all the no-go zones.
And meanwhile, according to the chart I’ve been keeping of my cycle, I’m three days away from ovulating. I know it seems far too scientific and entirely unromantic, doing things according to a rigid timetable, and once I would have rolled my eyes at it, but right now it is necessary… if I can work up the courage to mention it to James.
When I first started trying, five months ago, I tried to make a game of it. One month I taped the ovulation test to the front door and waited for him on the bed, in nothing but a scrap of silk underwear.
“Both clinical and romantic,” he’d teased before he’d pulled off his tie and launched onto the bed, both of us laughing as our arms came around each other.
It had been fun then. It feels like a lifetime ago now, and it’s only been a few months.
