by Abby Jimenez
And now I had diabetes or cancer or some rare heart condition, and Josh was going to have to take care of my dying ass.
This was just my luck. Not only was I going to have to keep my stupid, bleeding, bulging uterus, but now I’d have to deal with whatever else was wrong with me.
I seriously didn’t have time for this. Sloan was a full-time job. My job was a full-time job.
And poor Josh. I just wanted to be a good wife to him. I wanted to be normal and healthy. And if I couldn’t have a hysterectomy, could my eggs be harvested for in vitro? I mean, how far-reaching was this? And if I couldn’t do in vitro, would my health keep us from being able to adopt? They had rules about that, didn’t they? If you were dying, you couldn’t bring a kid into it?
My velociraptor scratched at some inner door. But Josh put a hand on my shoulder and gave me a reassuring squeeze, and the monster went back into hibernation.
I knew my husband wouldn’t leave me, no matter what bomb was about to be dropped. And the thing that sucked was I’d let him put a ring on this, and now I couldn’t leave him to spare him a lifetime of my health issues. Well played, Josh. He was stuck with me.
I sighed and braced for the news.
Dr. Angelo pulled his stool up and sat, his clipboard balancing on his thigh. He twined his fingers in his lap. “You’re pregnant, Mrs. Copeland.”
Everything stopped.
Josh’s hand went slack on my shoulder.
I stared at the doctor. “I’m what?”
“A little over four months along.” Dr. Angelo gave us a grin.
“What? ” Josh breathed.
Dr. Angelo swiveled his stool in front of the ultrasound machine. He typed into the keyboard, and a black-and-white image came up on the monitor.
He tapped a pen to a spot on the screen. “There’s Baby.” He tilted his head. “There’s a foot. We have Baby’s head here. There’s a hand…”
Josh and I gawked at the screen. I don’t think either of us breathed. My ears started to ring.
A black-and-white paper printed out under the monitor, and Dr. Angelo handed it to us. “Your first baby picture.”
Josh and I looked down on the thin paper in shock, each of us holding a corner.
Dr. Angelo pushed his glasses up his nose. “Your glucose tests did come back a little off. Gestational diabetes. You’ll need to be vigilant with your diet from now on, and you’ll have to test your blood sugar.” He talked to his clipboard. “That’s what caused that bout with hypoglycemia that you mentioned.” He nodded at Josh. “I’ll give you a dietary printout. Your ultrasounds look good. Your baby appears to be healthy. Everything looks fine.”
“How? ” I breathed. “I have an IUD. And the fibroids! I’ve been bleeding this whole time!”
Dr. Angelo shook his head. “You mentioned spotting when we spoke earlier. Spotting and cramping are not unusual during pregnancy, especially after intercourse. And from what I can see, your IUD is, well—” He laughed a little. “It’s not there. I didn’t see it. My radiologist didn’t see it either. It was likely expelled during a heavy menstrual flow. If your period is heavy enough, the IUD could have dislodged and passed completely undetected.”
Josh was shaking. I could feel the tremor in his hand. I looked up at him and his eyes were wide. I started to laugh manically, and as soon as I lost it, he did too. The doctor waited patiently for us to get ourselves together.
“How is this happening? Things like this just don’t happen.” I looked up, wiping at my cheeks. “Why don’t I feel it moving? Is it okay?”
I was processing all this at a rate of a thousand what-the-fucks per second. I couldn’t believe it. I literally couldn’t believe it.
The doctor smiled reassuringly at me. “You’re still a little early yet. And if you’re not anticipating being pregnant, it’s not unusual to disregard the fetal movement and symptoms as something else.”
“I just thought this was…the fibroids. I was so used to feeling like crap…” I put a hand on the small, rounded bulge that was my stomach for the first time in months.
A baby.
My swollen stomach was a baby. Not a belly full of tumors, but a baby.
I was pregnant.
“Your fibroids don’t seem to be causing any problems for the pregnancy. The tumors actually appear to have shrunk quite a bit since your last visit,” Dr. Angelo said, flipping through my chart. “It’s not uncommon for the pregnancy hormones to have this effect.”
The last four months began to come at me in flashes. “But I drank. And I didn’t take vitamins and…and…”
“The occasional drink won’t harm the pregnancy. Even getting a little tipsy once or twice won’t hurt the baby. And while prenatals are ideal, you can get most of what you need in your normal diet.”
I gasped for air. I was getting dizzy. I covered my mouth with my hands, and then I broke down. Body-wrenching sobs. I clutched Josh again, and he buried me in his chest.
Neither of us could contain our emotions. You could probably hear us through the whole clinic, laughing and wailing like lunatics.
The doctor handed Josh and me tissues. “I’m recommending you take it easy, and we’d like to see you gain a little weight. You’re about ten pounds from where you should be. A pregnancy requires an extra three hundred calories a day. It’ll take everything you have if you don’t eat properly, and we want you nice and strong for the delivery, Mrs. Copeland.”
The room whirled around me. I couldn’t catch up to it.
Pregnant. Me. Me and Josh.
When the doctor finally left the room after I’d asked all my questions and I got to see the baby again on the ultrasound and hear the heartbeat, Josh and I sat hugging.
“It was that night,” I said. “The night of Sloan’s party.”
He laughed and wiped a wet strand of hair off my cheek. “The first time. It was the only time we didn’t use condoms back then. One shot and I knocked you up.”
I snorted. “It was your super sperm. Thank God you made an honest woman out of me. Dragged me right down for a civil ceremony, befitting my scandalous condition.”
He laughed. Then he hovered a hand over my stomach and looked at me for permission.
He’d touched every inch of my body but there. I nodded, and he set his warm palm over my belly button, and it was the most intimate moment of my life. He leaned over and kissed me, holding our baby under his hand.
And then the terror took over. I jerked back, suddenly frightened. “Josh, what if I miscarry? My mom lost my brother. What if it comes too early? What if it’s a girl and she has the same issues I do? What if I’m a shitty mom like my mom and I don’t know how to raise her or tell her how much I love her or…or…” Hysterics bubbled out of me.
I was now a woman who got hysterical.
“Hey, hey. You’re not going to be a shitty mom,” he said, holding my face in his hands. “You’re nothing like Evelyn. Don’t think about the what-ifs, because there’s nothing you can do to stop any of it. Let’s just enjoy this. And if things don’t go the way we planned, we’ll deal with it. Always and no matter what. Together.”
I nodded, the shaking in my hands slowing the tighter he held me.
I closed my eyes and calmed my breathing, focusing on my husband’s hands on my face and his familiar presence. My rock. The calm in my storm. The whisper to my scream.
Then I looked up at him, the final reality coming into focus. “Josh. You’re going to be a daddy.”
He gave me a sideways grin, tears and joy twinkling in his eyes. “Kristen…you are going to be a mommy.”
Epilogue
Josh
2 years later
I leaned into the back of the SUV and unbuckled Oliver Brandon from his car seat. Kristen stood next to me, a diaper bag slung over her shoulder. “You’re sure you want to do this? What if she eats him?”
I smiled, lifting the baby into my arms and grabbing his sippy cup. “Evelyn’s trying. She deserves a c
hance.” I closed the door and turned to her.
My wife eyed me. “She called you a rapscallion.”
I laughed. “Yes—yes she did.”
Kristen and I had good fun with that one. It was Kristen’s favorite nickname for me.
I gave Oliver his sippy cup. “But in all fairness, you told her you were married and pregnant via Potatogram. She had a right to be upset. Give me this.” I took the diaper bag from her. “You shouldn’t be lifting more than you need to.”
She scowled at me. “It’s been four months since my surgery. I can carry a five-pound diaper bag.”
I kissed the side of her stubborn head.
After Oliver was born, we’d tried for over a year to get pregnant again. But lightning didn’t strike twice.
We’d gone to a fertility specialist and done three unsuccessful rounds of in vitro, but her fibroids kept the embryos from implanting.
Kristen had been miserable. Her periods were a nightmare. She was in pain and borderline anemic. That, coupled with the fertility treatments and caring for an infant, had been really hard on us both.
I’d hated to see her suffering.
She was reluctant to pull the trigger on the hysterectomy this time because we’d gotten lucky once. But after over a year of it, we saw Oliver for what he was—a miracle. And one that wouldn’t repeat itself.
So with lots of reassurance from me that it was okay and that I just wanted her to be healthy, she’d had the hysterectomy at twenty-six.
And she was a new person.
I don’t think I truly realized how strong my wife was. Kristen didn’t like to tell me when she wasn’t feeling well. She did a good job hiding it and putting on a happy face. But when the cramps and bleeding were no longer a daily part of her life, she bloomed. She slept better, she had more energy. It transformed her. Even her hangry was less terrifying.
Seeing her like this was a gift.
“You know, Mom will probably have him potty trained by tomorrow,” she said.
“Good.” I peered up at the front of Evelyn’s 1940s-era Simi Valley mansion. “I’m liking this better and better by the minute.”
We made our way up the steps, and Evelyn opened the door before we knocked.
I still couldn’t get used to seeing this lady smiling. But she did. Not at Kristen and me, of course, but she loved her grandson.
“There’s my grandbaby!” she said with a flourish.
She leaned in and gave Kristen and me an air-kiss and then took Oliver from me in a flurry of Chanel No. 5.
Maria, the night nurse Evelyn had on staff to get us to agree to a sleepover, took the diaper bag.
Oliver knew Maria. Evelyn had hired her for us to help out for the first few weeks after he was born and again when Kristen was recovering from her hysterectomy.
Evelyn had become very helpful as of late. She’d gone to being all carrot and no stick now that the stick had stopped working.
Sloan was doing as well as could be expected. I wouldn’t say she was thriving, but she was functional again. And some of that was Evelyn’s doing. In addition to helping us with our son, Evelyn had also stepped in to represent Sloan in probate court to help her keep her house. Not that it was much to hang on to. I was over there weekly trying to keep it standing. But the gesture had meant the world to all three of us. And after that, I found it very hard to rebuff her attempts at being in her grandson’s life.
Kristen was still leery. But I didn’t worry about it. Oliver was the first thing Evelyn ever acknowledged that Kristen had done right.
Kristen bit her lip nervously, and I put a hand on her shoulder.
“Are you sure you can handle this, Mom?” she asked.
Oliver had always been with at least one of us at any given time. It was his first sleepover. But today was a special occasion, and we needed the house empty.
Evelyn waved her off, a diamond tennis bracelet flashing on her wrist. “Yes, yes. You two go. Happy birthday. Enjoy your night, dear.”
Evelyn turned back into the house, whispering to Oliver that they were going to see his mommy’s piano. The plinking sound of baby hands on keys followed as we closed the door behind us.
We stood on the porch. “Free at last,” I said, slipping my hands around her waist.
She wrapped her arms around my neck and kissed me. “We’re gonna do that thing we like, all night, right?”
I cupped my hands under her ass and nipped at her lip, smiling. “It’s been so long…”
“I know—can’t wait to get you in bed,” she whispered.
I grinned. “We’re talking about sleeping, aren’t we?”
We laughed against each other’s lips, and I kissed her deeply, right there on Evelyn’s porch.
Fuck, I never got enough of my wife. She was the sexiest woman alive. I loved every inch of her. I loved her stretch marks and her scars, the specks in her eyes and the birthmark on her neck. All her flawless imperfections.
I was grateful every moment of every single day that Brandon brought me to her. She was my everlasting gift from a man I’d never forget for the rest of my life.
I broke away and put my forehead to hers. “So you want In-N-Out for lunch and steaks for dinner, right?”
She nodded and put her hand over my heart where the tattoo of her name was. “Josh? I think I could be ready again to keep trying. Should we start talking about surrogacy? Carmen is still down for it, right?”
I knew why she was asking. She still wanted to give me my baseball team. But my dreams had changed.
Seeing the strain of the in vitro process and how much it took out of her emotionally and physically—I just wanted her to be happy. I wanted her to enjoy our son. She never complained, but I knew she was tired of the doctor’s visits and the hormone injections and the disappointment. If she was up for it in a few years, maybe we’d try again or look into the other options. We were young—we had time. But I didn’t want her to do it for me because she thought she owed it to me. She’d done enough.
I put my hands on her face. “Let’s take a break, Kristen. I’m happy where we are. And if this is our family, I’m good with that.”
The relief was visible in her eyes. “Are you sure?”
My mouth curved up into a smile. “I’m very sure. I have everything I need.”
A Note from the Author
When I sat down to pen this novel, I knew I wanted to write a story that felt real—a story that could include hangry, neurotic women who actually get periods, and the men who love them (lol).
With infertility being a serious and prevalent issue, I felt like I had a responsibility to tell this not only compassionately, but also authentically. So for this I went to someone who lived it.
While Kristen’s love story with Josh is fiction, her infertility journey is inspired by real events.
Kristen’s character is based on my best friend, Lindsay, and her struggle with infertility. I talk about it now with her full permission, the same way I wrote about it.
Lindsay had a full hysterectomy at the age of just twenty-nine after dealing with debilitating reproductive issues for years. While she was able to conceive her two children naturally (and much like Kristen, without medical intervention and to her complete surprise), she dealt with secondary infertility due to severe uterine fibroids. She had all—if not more—of the physical and emotional challenges Kristen experiences in my novel. Much of what I wrote was verbatim, as Lindsay described it to me.
You may or may not have seen your own infertility journey in these pages. The thing I realized doing research for this book—and the truth you might already know if you’re going through this yourself—is that there is no universal story to tell. No two experiences are the same, and any measure of this challenging diagnosis is heartbreaking to endure.
What does unify these stories are the feelings of hopelessness, worthlessness, guilt, and despair that come with this very common, but often not discussed, health issue. And so that is what I strove to
tell in The Friend Zone.
Just one final note.
Kristen’s happy ending was never about getting pregnant. It was about her allowing herself to be loved, despite what she felt were shortcomings. It was about her recognizing that she wasn’t defined by her ability to have children, and that her worth went beyond the state of her uterus. That was her happily ever after.
Acknowledgments
There are so many people to thank for this book becoming a published reality.
First and foremost I have to acknowledge my crit buddies and beta readers. These people trudged through some seriously awful shit before it became the book you just read. A special shout-out to my very first beta reader, Kristen McBride, who was reading my stuff before it was cool. And yes, my main character is named after her in thanks. You took one for the team, gurl. You’ve earned it.
Thank you to Joey Ringer, Hijo, Tia Greene, Shauna Lawless, Debby Wallace, J. C. Nelson, Jill Storm, Liz Smith-Gehris, G. W. Pickle, Dawn Cooper, Andrea Day, Lisa Stremmel, Lisa Sushko, Michele Alborg, Amanda Wulff, Summer Heacock, Stacey Sargent, George, Jhawk, Abby Luther, Patt Pandolfi, Bessy Chavez, Mandy Geisler, Teressa Sadowski, Stephanie Trimble, and Kristyn May.
To Naomi, my oldest daughter, who loved to hear my story ideas and encouraged me to write them down and then in typical teenager fashion rolled her eyes and said I’d probably not even mention her in the acknowledgments—I showed you, you salty bitch.
Thank you to the people who lent their expertise so that this story could be authentic: Valerie Hales Summerfield (ICU nurse), Terry Saenz (emergency room nurse), Suzanna and TJ Keeran (California firefighter paramedics), and my OB-GYN who answered some really random reproductive health questions without any explanation on my part.
To my best friend, Lindsay Van Horn, who seriously didn’t read shit because she only does audiobooks but who was the inspiration for Kristen and the cheerleader I needed along the way. Also, she sent me a congratulatory Potatogram upon the news of my book deal, with zero knowledge that I’d written that into the novel. Damn if I don’t know her.