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Jude takes a deep breath and sighs. “I’m fine. A little lower back pain, that’s all.”
“I’ll give you a massage when we get home.”
“Sounds perfect.” Jude tries to flit off again in Gram’s wake, but I pull her back to me. “Chase, seriously!”
I touch her face. “You’re nervous.”
She narrows her eyes.
“I can read you like a book.” I’ve gotten very good at reading Jude. In fact, I never realized that my ability to read people through my work as a lawyer could translate so well to a relationship, but here we are. After two years together, Jude and I can nearly read each other’s minds.
Nearly.
“Well, I can read you like a book too. I’m not the only nervous one, now am I?” Jude says with a smirk.
I roll my eyes. “Guilty as charged.”
Jude tilts her head toward my hand and gives my palm a soft kiss. “Can we just drop it for now? I don’t want my mind to be on the test results when we should be celebrating Gram.”
The dreaded test results. They’ve been hanging over us since Jude’s appointment yesterday.
We decided to try and have a child as quickly as possible. Jude didn’t want to waste time hemming and hawing if it would turn out to be too difficult to get pregnant. She wanted to rip the news off like a Band-Aid. So, once we returned home from the honeymoon, we completed our first round of IVF which ended up with no implantation.
I use the technical terms because, for as romantic and loving as the first half year of marriage has been, it has also been devastating. No amount of warning or knowledge that something is hard actually can prepare you for it actuallybeinghard.
Jude and I agreed to three rounds. We have one down and this is our second. If this doesn’t take, then the third round will be our last attempt.
I don’t blame her. It’s too hard on her body on top of her PCOS.
Today, though, we aren’t thinking about it. We aren’t waiting for tests to come back. We’re just Jude and Chase Gladstone, celebrating Gram’s eightieth birthday.
“Yeah, of course,” I say. I take her hand, giving it a big squeeze. “Come on. Let’s go celebrate.”
The party began in the morning and has gone on and on and on, approaching sundown. This is how Gladstone affairs are. They don’t end until the last person says goodbye and, so far, no one has. The food keeps coming, the alcohol keeps flowing, and the laughs keep getting louder.
“Here, Jude, have a shot,” Caroline announces, holding a shot glass out to Jude. Before she hands it over, she leans over, whispering with a slur, “Don’t worry. It’ssweet tea.”
Jude grins and takes it. “Mm. Bourbon.”
“You too, Chase. You gotta be an ally.” Caroline hands me a shot’s worth of sweet tea too.
“Thanks, sis,” I say, cheersing my shot with a grin.
Caroline’s one of the only people who knows that we’re trying although, in a Southern family, everyone expects it. However, it’s Caroline who came to pick up the pieces when we found our first round of IVF was a failure and it’s been Caroline all along. Our biggest champion.
“Careful, don’t let the sweet tea go to your head,” Jude whispers in my ear.
“Too late. Now give me some sugar,” I snag a kiss before she settles back into her chair.
“Alright, everyone, shots up!” Gram shouts from the head of the long dining table.
Everyone holds up their shot glasses, even those who are too many shots in to remember this one.
“I’ve lived eighty years and I hate to disappoint you, but I’m gonna live eighty more!”
Everyone hoots and hollers in response.
“So drink up! This party is going all day and all –“
