by Abby Jimenez
“I didn’t want to drop this on you before the wedding, and I’m sorry if it messes with you.”
I rallied myself to just say it, to tell her what I’d been dealing with for the last six weeks on my own.
“I’m having a hysterectomy.”
Sloan’s face broke instantly. Her hand flew to her mouth. “What?”
I’d finally gone for the nuclear option. I was done hemorrhaging for weeks at a time, suffering needlessly, not living my life. Enough was enough.
“They don’t normally recommend one for women my age. It’s elective. But the fibroids are severe and affecting my quality of life. The chance I’ll ever be able to actually carry a baby is almost nonexistent.”
“How did it get so bad?” she asked, almost in a whisper.
“Sloan, it’s always been this bad.”
She looked away from me, her eyes searching the floor. “Oh my God, Kristen. Oh my God. Why didn’t you tell me? I…I would have gone with you to the doctor. I would have…” Then her mouth opened and her eyes came back up. “You’ll never have a baby,” she breathed.
I shrugged. “I’d never have one anyway.”
She looked stricken. “But there is a chance you could get pregnant someday, right? Even if it’s a small one, there’s still the chance. If you do this—”
“Sloan, my uterus is a wasteland. It always has been. It’s been one thing after another since my very first period, and now it’s a fibroid-riddled holocaust too. I have the womb of a fifty-year-old and I’ve tried everything—you know I have. I spent the better part of the last six months bleeding myself into anemia again. The IUD I got as a last resort hasn’t done a thing. I still have bleeding and cramps almost all the time. The birth control pills that were supposed to help made the tumors get bigger. That’s it. I’m out of options.”
The defeat moved across her face as the reality of what I was saying settled in. This wasn’t some spontaneous thing I’d decided to do on a whim, and she knew it. I’d weighed my options. I’d seen multiple specialists. I’d read the “grieving my uterus” brochures. I’d talked with other women who were having the same issues and had gone through it.
“I’m not going to get better, Sloan.”
I looked down at my stomach and smoothed my dress over the small, firm, distended mound that was my abdomen. I looked three months pregnant. That had been the final straw. The thing that tipped the scales. The tumors had begun to distend my uterus.
Google searches had shown me women with my condition with stomachs so full of growths they looked six months pregnant. That was it for me. The final insult to my injury. I couldn’t let this continue until it got that bad. I’d given up enough dignity already.
“The doctor said they could get so big they’d make it hard to breathe. Push my other organs around. Look. Look at my stomach, Sloan.”
She stared at the triangle between my fingers. “When?” Her brown eyes blinked back tears.
“April. I scheduled it for the Thursday after your wedding. I’ll still have my ovaries so I don’t go into menopause. I can do a surrogate pregnancy if I can ever afford it. So there’s that.”
She sniffled. “I’d carry a baby for you.”
“And you think Brandon would go for that?”
She pulled a paper towel from the dispenser and pressed it under her eyes. “I’m sure he’d be okay with it.”
I doubted that. Brandon was a good guy, but I didn’t picture him being cool with his wife carrying another man’s baby or loaning her body to something so serious for so long. It wasn’t entirely her choice to make.
I’d already looked into it. It was no small thing in gesture, cost, or practice.
A professional surrogate would run me around fifteen to twenty thousand dollars and the in vitro another twelve grand. The success rate for IVF was only 40 percent, and my insurance wouldn’t cover a dime. So basically, barring a lottery win and a lot of luck, my rust bucket of a womb was going to leave me barren and childless. I’d probably end up being that crazy aunt who wore veiled hats and smelled like mothballs with ten small dogs.
I smiled at Sloan, even though I knew it didn’t reach my eyes. “Well, let’s cross that bridge when we come to it. Tyler doesn’t even want kids. But I appreciate the offer.”
“Tyler doesn’t want kids?” she asked, furrowing her brow.
I shook my head.
She blinked at me. “Are you serious? Why are you with him, then? You want kids, Kristen.”
I looked away from her.
“Kristen!”
“Sloan, stop.”
“What the hell are you doing? Why are you settling?”
The bathroom door opened, and some lady came in. She smiled at us, and Sloan and I stood there awkwardly while she went into a stall.
“I’m not settling, Sloan,” I whispered. “The man is a ten. He’s driven and ambitious. He’s smart. He makes good money. We have things in common. And let’s be honest here—I have to choose a man that doesn’t want kids. That’s just the reality of my situation. Josh wants kids. He broke up with Celeste because she didn’t want them. And in the best possible case, if all the stars align, maybe I might have one. One baby, if I’m rich and lucky. Tyler and I are just more compatible.”
She stared at me. “Oh my God, you’re doing the thing. The spreadsheet thing that you always do. You don’t pick a boyfriend like you pick what car to buy, Kristen.” She crossed her arms. “You don’t love Tyler, do you?” she hissed quietly. “You’re not even remotely in love with that man. I knew it. I knew it when I saw you guys together the last time he came out.”
“I do love him,” I insisted.
Was it some head-over-heels, sappy Sloan-and-Brandon thing? No. Was it what I felt brewing for Josh? Definitely not. But it was love. It felt a little faded at the moment, sure. But that’s because he’d been gone so long. It would come back into focus. It always did. I was mostly sure.
She shook her head. “Love is not a checklist of pros versus cons. It’s a feeling. What are you doing, Kristen?”
What I was doing was being smart. Tyler made sense for me. He was the path of least resistance. He was exactly the kind of man I needed.
“And what if I am being a little rational about Tyler? More people should be rational about their relationships. If they were, we wouldn’t have so many single moms with deadbeat baby daddies and cheating spouses who destroy their families. What the hell is wrong with being practical and looking at things logically?”
“Break up with him.” She pressed her mouth into a line. “Break up with him before he moves in.”
The woman came out of the stall, washed her hands, and Sloan and I stood glaring at each other in silence. The lady tore off a towel, dried her hands, and left.
“Why?” I asked once the door was closed. “What is the point in breaking off a perfectly good relationship with a decent man I care about whose lifestyle fits my own?”
“Uh, happiness? So you can maybe have a shot with Josh? Or someone like him who wants kids? How can you act like this isn’t something you want?”
“Who cares if it’s something I want?” I threw up my hands. “It’s completely irrelevant. I can’t have it.”
She glared at me.
“So I move on Josh. And then what? We fall in love? Why? So he can maybe decide to settle? So he can date me for a few years until he feels resentful enough to leave me? After wasting a few good years when he could be with someone who can give him a family? Or worse, he stays and always wonders what if? Gives up on what he wants? That’s assuming he’d even look at me twice after he finds out I don’t have a fucking uterus.”
She shook her head. “At least give him the chance to make the decision himself. What if he’s okay with adopting?”
I blew out a slow breath. “He did make the decision, with the last one, who he loved and was already living with. And that man doesn’t want to adopt—he wants his own kids. I asked.”
“Okay, wel
l maybe you can get pregnant. You’ve never tried. You can’t know if you don’t try, and you can’t try if you don’t have a uterus,” she snapped.
I cocked my head. “I never used protection with Tyler. Not once. Not with any of my serious boyfriends going back to junior year. I’ve been playing baby Russian roulette for eight years, and I don’t see any kids running around.” I threw my arms out and looked around the bathroom. “And it’s worse than it’s ever been.”
The puff of air she let out told me she knew she was losing the argument. “Just…have an honest conversation with Josh. Maybe—”
“No.” For the first time since we’d started talking about it, anger bubbled inside of me. “Do you think discussing my deficiencies as a woman with a man that I’m half in love with is something I want to put myself through?”
My voice cracked at my admission, and I needed a moment to regain my composure. I bit my lips together until the tightness in my throat went away.
“Why would I tell him, Sloan? To humiliate myself? To have him look at me with pity? Or worse, to get rejected? There’s not going to be any rejection, because I won’t be making an offer. There’s no point. I’d like to spare myself this one indignity, if that’s okay with you.”
We stood in silence—her looking wounded and me trying to understand why something so rational felt so shitty.
I let out a long breath. “Do I have feelings for Josh? Yeah. I do, okay? He’s fucking wonderful and I fucking hate that I can’t pursue it. But I can’t. I can never guarantee that I can give him kids. In fact, I can almost guarantee that I can’t. I know how this goes and I’m not going there.”
My pause let the words settle. When I continued speaking, my voice had gone so weary I didn’t even recognize it as my own. “This isn’t a man who wants one or two kids, Sloan. He came from a huge family. You know what he told me the other day?” Bitterness rose in my chest. “He said he wants a whole baseball team of kids. It’s all he wants. And it’s the one thing I can’t give him. Not really. Not in any way that’s close to what he has planned for himself.”
I bit the inside of my cheek until it hurt and I looked away from her. “He couldn’t sit with me in the bathroom and watch the little pink line show up on the stick or put his hand to my belly and feel his baby kicking. He wouldn’t be able to come with me to ultrasounds or hold my hand while I push. This is a man who wants to be a daddy, Sloan. And I’m never going to be a mommy. It just is what it is.”
Her bottom lip trembled and she looked like she might start sobbing.
Sloan was always the emotional one. This was why I didn’t want to tell her about it. Now it was going to cast a shadow on what should have been a carefree time for her before her wedding. I should have never said anything. It was selfish of me.
I sighed. “Sloan, you’re a romantic. You have some vision in your head of us being pregnant together and the four of us going on vacations and pushing jogging strollers around the block. You’ll just have to adjust.”
She swiped at her eyes with her thumb. “I hate this. I hate that you have to give up so much.”
“I’m not. Don’t think about what I’m giving up. Think about what I’m getting back. The thought of never having to have another period for the rest of my life makes me want to fucking cry from happiness. I’m so ready to be done.”
She looked so miserable you’d think she was having the hysterectomy. I hated it and I loved her for it.
I put my hands on her arms. “You know what I really need? I just need you to listen and support me. That’s it. Tell me you can do that.”
Please. Be my friend. I need you.
She nodded, closed the space between us, and hugged me. The familiar smell of her honeysuckle perfume—of my best friend—grounded me, and I realized how hard it had been not being able to talk to her about it, or tell her how Josh made me feel.
“Sloan?” I said after a moment, my chin over her shoulder.
“Yeah?”
“I TP’d your house with Josh.”
She sniffled. “I know.”
I laughed a little and squeezed my eyes shut.
“The Josh thing would have been so cool,” she whispered into my ear.
It would have been cool. But men like Josh weren’t for me anymore. They’d never be for me again. Men who wanted pregnant wives and big families, sons that looked like their dads—these men weren’t the ones I could choose from. I could have Tylers. I could have more dogs. A bigger career without kids to distract me. I could have more disposable income and a clean house without crayon on the walls and dirty diapers to change. I could be the cool aunt.
But I couldn’t have children.
And I could never, ever, have Josh.
THIRTEEN
Josh
Sloan and Brandon had said goodbye to their guests. Just Kristen and I stayed behind fulfilling our maid-of-honor and best-man duties helping them load the finished wedding favors and invitations into Brandon’s truck. Kristen, Sloan, and I stood on the patio watching the busboys blow out candles and clear the table while Brandon signed the charge draft.
“Good party,” Kristen said to Sloan. “We got it all done.”
Brandon handed the check to the server and came up behind his fiancée, wrapping his arms around her shoulders. Sloan smiled, leaning into the kiss he put on her cheek.
Kristen got out her phone, and I watched her pull up the Uber app.
“Want to go get something to eat before we go home?” I asked her, hoping she’d go for it.
We’d been working on our projects for the last three hours, so it had been a while since we ate dinner, but my invite was just an excuse to stay out with her because I wasn’t staying the night tonight.
Or any other, probably ever again.
The backyard intruder had been apprehended. Some kid from the neighborhood, fucking around in people’s yards. I hadn’t told her. I needed to, but I just couldn’t bring myself to say it yet. The second she knew they caught the guy, I wouldn’t have any reason to sleep over tonight. I had work the next two days and when I came back, it would all be over. Tyler would be home.
This was my last night with her.
I tried not to let the disappointment darken my mood and ruin the little time I had left.
“Sure. But I can’t find an Uber,” she said, looking at her screen. “The nearest one is twenty-three minutes away. The bars must be getting out.”
“You can take my car,” Sloan said, hugging Brandon’s arms to her chest. “We took two cars over since I had to get here early. I’ll just ride home with Brandon.”
Kristen shook her head. “I’m not driving that thing.”
“I can handle it,” I said. “I can drive anything.”
“Can you?” Kristen eyed me.
“Ha ha. Give me the keys. I have work tomorrow. I haven’t had anything to drink besides the champagne toast.”
Sloan handed them over and we said our good-nights. Something was off with Sloan. She gave Kristen a hug that was a little too long to be casual, but Kristen’s face was unreadable.
“So where do you want to eat?” I asked as we walked out into the parking lot to the click of Kristen’s red heels.
“Tacos. I know a late-night place.”
This made me smile to myself. She always knew exactly where she wanted to eat. She wasn’t one of those women who gave you the “I don’t care” speech and then rejected every suggestion you made. When I pointed this out to her last week, she said she’s already thinking about what she wants for dinner while she’s eating breakfast. I loved that about her.
I loved a lot of things about her.
When I opened her door for her, it creaked miserably. Sloan drove an old Corolla. It looked like a car you’d find in a junkyard. It was a serious piece of shit.
The door on the driver’s side stuck, and I had to muscle it open. I got it started, but just barely, and I pulled out of the lot to the squeal of belts. Kristen pointed for me to
turn left.
I looked at her. She was so beautiful tonight. The subtle hints of gold in her hair, the depth of her eyes, the fit of her dress. I had to drag my gaze back to the road. “Everything okay with you and Sloan? You guys spent a long time in the bathroom earlier.”
“Fine.” She looked out the window.
She wasn’t going to tell me. I dropped it.
“Hey. I forgot to tell you something,” I said reluctantly.
She turned back to me, and I thought I saw the flicker of something sad or tired in her eyes. “Tell me what?”
“I’ll be out of your hair tonight. Today, when you were out, your neighbor across the street brought his son over. Apparently he and his little friend were stealing beers from his dad’s fridge and drinking them in your backyard. They tried to get into your house to steal liquor. The good news is you’ve got a kid whose dad is making him mow your lawn for the next month.”
I looked over at her, and the expression on her face looked like disappointment.
Disappointment.
Could she feel the same way about this that I did? Was it possible she didn’t want me to leave either?
“Oh. Well, I’m glad the mystery is solved and you’re off the hook,” she said.
“Can I be honest?” I paused, debating what to say. “I liked hanging out with you.” It was the closest thing that I could bring myself to say to her without feeling like I was crossing a line.
“I liked hanging out with you too,” she said quietly.
The silence between us was heavy.
Why did I feel like we were breaking up? I guess in a way, we were. The two of us as we knew it was about to be over.
On Monday when I got to her house, I’d have to meet this guy. Shake his hand. See them together. I didn’t think I could do it. I really didn’t. I was going to give her my notice. I’d help out until she found someone, but I couldn’t stick around after this.