I nod my head, a vague recollection of this conversation coming to mind. Since the miscarriage, Cassidy has obsessed over every potential reason for it. I recall the results being inconclusive, which of course devastated Cassidy but didn’t surprise me much.
“Turns out I have a rare autoimmune disorder.” She beams. By the way she says this, you’d think she’d just told me she’d won the lottery. “Three, actually.”
“Three what?”
“Disorders,” she clarifies, shaking her head at me, annoyed. Still trying to wrap my head around what seems like a disproportionate amount of excitement at such a diagnosis, I wait for the punch line. But she just stares at me, waiting for a response. Exactly what response, I’m unsure.
I ladle a few globs of pancake mix onto the griddle, and they bubble as they hit the hot iron. “Congratulations, I guess?” I venture, feigning a smile.
Her eyes sparkle across the bar, and she cocks her head to the side. If I were a different type of sister, this look would have resulted in a lot of hair pulling and scratching in our younger years. Always the peacekeeper and utterly devoted to my big sister, I never let that look get to me. If anything, I envied her ability to say I told you so without ever opening her mouth.
“I know you hate medical mumbo jumbo,” she says, causing a nerve to tic in the corner of my right eye. Again with the assumptions. “I’ll keep it simple. The tests show I have markers for a few disorders which have been positively linked to second-term miscarriage. So basically, my body had a hard time maintaining a pregnancy because it was busy fighting itself. Better yet, there’s medication I can take that should keep it under control if I get pregnant again.”
Turning from my sister, I flip the pancakes and take a deep breath. Usually I can control my irritation, but something about the flippant way she’s talking down to me snaps a fragment of my self-control.
“You know, women without medical degrees have been giving birth for thousands of years,” I say without looking at her.
“Um, sure. Why is that relevant?” she snorts.
“Just wanted to remind you that us ‘plebeians’ also get pregnant and have babies. A doctorate isn’t a prerequisite for reproduction.” Turning the oven to warm, I spin to face her, resting my hip against the stove. “I understand you’re happy to have your blessed reason for this happening. I am,” I say, not wanting to completely burst her bubble. For such a smart girl, my sister can be magnificently obtuse as to how she comes across to others. “That’s why you’re here today, right? To gloat? Prove I was wrong and you were right, like always?”
Cassidy looks down at her hands and shrugs. Moving the pancakes to the warming rack, I ladle a few more onto the griddle. The boys will be up soon and ravenous. No such thing as too many pancakes.
“Now you can control the situation, just like you wanted. I’m happy you’ve gotten an answer, especially if it makes it easier for you. But I still believe there’s an element to childbirth that’s out of our hands, and no amount of testing or ‘mumbo jumbo’ will change my mind. We’ll just have to agree to disagree.”
Cassidy sulks. I’m sure she envisioned this conversation going differently. Maybe I should have pretended to be thrilled and apologized for ever doubting science. Too late for that now. Setting a few pancakes on a warm plate, I slide them in her direction. She dribbles syrup over the stack, still eyeing me warily. Opening her mouth to speak, she snaps it shut, a thin veil of smugness masking her face once more as though she’s proud of herself for biting her tongue.
“What?” I ask, wishing I could slap her across the head with my spatula. Taking a bite of her breakfast, she gives me a thumbs-up but says nothing. “Just say it. We have like ten minutes, max, before this house turns into a zoo. Speak now or forever hold your peace.”
Cassidy sighs, placing her fork at the edge of her plate. “It’s nothing, really. I don’t expect you to understand this,” she starts. Noticing my raised brows, she backtracks, shaking her head. “Not the medical shit, the other stuff. This whole mothering thing has just been so … simple for you.”
I snort, but before I can argue she holds up a finger and I wait, eager to hear the load of shit she’s so eager to sell me.
“You’ve been playing with dolls since you were five years old. You always knew you wanted to me a mom,” she says, gesturing around my kitchen as if it’s the clearest representation of every dream I’ve ever held. A door slams somewhere upstairs. “Everything has always come so easy for you. School, boys, motherhood. You make it look so effortless. It’s hard for someone like me to compare, and it’s even harder when I’ve faced roadblocks at every turn. First, we can’t get pregnant. Then we lose the baby. If I believed in signs, I’d be convinced a big one is trying to keep me from having children.”
Sympathy is the appropriate response right now, but my patience with Cassidy has run out. I’m happy to mediate between her and Mom to keep the peace, but I refuse to coddle this self-pitying, woe-is-me attitude she’s been holding on to for so long now. Especially when it’s utter bullshit.
“You have got to be kidding me, right?” She looks up, surprised at my tone. “You think things have always come easy to me?” As I say the words out loud, my irritation quickly turns to anger. Maybe it’s because I’m a Scorpio, but my mood swings tend to be swift and violent, even though they’re few and far between. “Cass, you’ve completely reimagined things to paint yourself the victim in this story. You’ve never gotten less than an A in school and were the teacher’s pet since kindergarten. I was fine in school, but nothing close to perfect, so I’m not sure where you come off saying school was easier for me. It wasn’t, I promise. Being in your shadow made it even harder. Maybe I would’ve been extraordinary if I wasn’t following in your perfect footsteps.” I take a deep breath, just getting started. Another door slams upstairs. Two of the three are up. Pitter-pattering little feet roam the hallways as they use the bathroom and torment each other. I hope they find their way into my bedroom and wake up their father. That might buy us a few more minutes.
“And boys? You bat your eyelashes and guys fall over themselves to help you. For fuck’s sake, your freaking hair color costs women hundreds of dollars to mimic.” I only half joke, touching my own honey-blond highlights. “You were born with that shit. Can’t get it in a bottle.”
Cassidy shakes her head, her cheeks inflamed. “Never mind. I didn’t explain myself correctly.” Sidestepping the appropriate apology, she has the nerve to look wounded.
I grimace and raise a brow at her. “And that,” I say, wagging my finger in her direction like she was one of my children. “Right there. Your aloof who, me? act has gotten a little old over the years,” I say, trying my best to imitate her doe-eyed expression.
Biting her lip, she looks away, and I soften my tone. “I don’t mean to be harsh on you. But you sit there and only see what I show you. You never ask what’s really going on.” My anger fades with every word. “You don’t know what it’s like for me, and I don’t presume to know what you’re going through. The difference is, I ask.” Her cheeks burn pink, and I know I’ve hit home for her. I know what she thinks. Because I’m a stay-at-home mom, I must be just like our own mother. Even though Cassidy’s done everything in her power to be the opposite of Mom, you can’t fight genetics. She could run away to school and look down on domestic life, but she couldn’t run away from her true nature. She is more like Mom than she’d ever admit.
“So cut the shit, Cass,” I say, trying to lighten the mood. “It’s time to move on. You went through something absolutely terrible. There’s no denying that. I’m here for you whenever you need to talk about it. But you can’t keep dwelling on it and using it as an excuse for poor behavior.” Shane stumbles into the room, rubbing his eyes and missing a sock. “You might hate hearing all this, but it doesn’t make it less true. You can get pregnant. You can have another baby when you’re ready. You need to be thankful for what you have and all the good in your life.”
Derek races into the kitchen and heads straight for the orange juice, nearly knocking the pitcher to the floor. I grab it before it can slide off the counter and help him pour a glass for himself and his brother. They take them and head toward the TV room without saying a word.
“For fuck’s sake, you’re not a failure. This isn’t some competition. Motherhood is lonely enough as it is. You can’t isolate yourself by comparing your struggle with everyone else’s. Lonely can make a heart desperate, and I’m afraid that’s where you’re headed.” For all the love and happiness my life brings me, there have been plenty of times I’ve been overwhelmed. Times I’ve contemplated walking out the door and never coming back. Times I’ve locked myself in the bathroom to cry for ten minutes, just for some peace and quiet. Cassidy hasn’t seen all that, but she’ll know it someday. She needs to know we all go through it. Not just her. “We’re in this together.”
To my surprise, my normally stoic sister looks chastised. She turns her sad eyes on me and shrugs, her face contorting as she tries to hold back tears.
“I’m scared all the time,” she confesses.
A loud bang, followed by Derek yelling, “Mom!” comes from the other room.
I close my eyes and let out a deep breath. “You will be scared forever,” I say, smiling and resting my hand on her shoulder before heading toward the sound of destruction. “You’re a mother. That’s our job.”
♦ 26 ♦
CASSIDY
After
August 25
It’s your fault.
Your body betrayed you.
How can you even think of having another child this soon?
You don’t deserve joy. Your baby is dead.
What makes you think you can even get pregnant again?
What makes you think this one will live?
“Cass,” Owen murmurs from someplace far away. “Cass,” he says again, his voice getting louder, like he’s approaching from the other end of a tunnel.
Blinking my eyes open, I’m relieved to be lying in bed, the ceiling fan whirling overhead and Owen’s warm hand on my bare shoulder.
“You’re having a bad dream,” he whispers.
I lie back against the cool pillow, hair spilling to either side of my face and a few strands sticking to my sweaty forehead. He strokes my cheek with his knuckle, wiping away a tear I didn’t know fell.
“Want to talk about it?” He rests his chin against the crown of my head, and I lean against him. Since our doctor’s visit I’ve been frosty, irritated he didn’t take my side. But for now, I forget my anger and allow myself the small comfort of his strong body holding mine. I’ll resume being pissed later.
Turning to face him, I’m thankful only his silhouette is visible in the unlit room. Much easier to talk when I can’t see the pain etched on his features. “Same dream,” I sigh. “If you can even call it a dream.” I shudder against the image flashing to mind, the same one that plagues my dreams each night and creeps into my thoughts on the worst days.
“Tell me,” he begs, not the first time he’s asked me to share the reason I wake up at dawn crying and shaking. Usually I claim I can’t remember, but I’m tired of carrying this alone.
Closing my eyes, I let it out. “I dream about my water breaking.” My voice breaks, just like my body once did. “It’s when I knew it was all over.” The warmth of the liquid flowing down my legs haunts me. In my dreams, it sometimes trickles. Other times it gushes, threatening to fill the room and drown everyone. It keeps flowing and won’t stop until I wake up in a pool of my own sweat and tears. “I’ve had it more often lately. Ever since I started thinking about another baby,” I admit. Lately the shame and fear of this desire has been all consuming. “It doesn’t help that both you and Dr. Julian think I’m a crazy person for wanting to try again so soon.” The words spill out, more accusatory than intended.
“We don’t think you’re crazy,” he says, pulling me toward him. I stiffen slightly but let him hold me, resting my wet cheek against his chest. The soothing swoosh of his heart steadies my breathing. “I just can’t imagine something happening to you again,” he says. “To both of us,” he adds, quickly. “I want another baby too. But I don’t know if I could handle watching you get your heart broken again if something went wrong.”
The dam inside breaks, and it all comes rushing out. Loud, ugly cries erupt from deep inside my belly, racking my whole body. Owen rubs my back as I moan and heave against him. Squeezing me tight, he absorbs some of my grief. How could I have thought he didn’t want a baby? Where I was worried about our son, he was worried about me. Again, I’m so wrapped up in my own pain I can’t see what’s right in front of me.
The sun filters in through the blinds by the time I exhaust my well of tears. “I’m like a bottomless pit,” I hiccup. “Just when I think I’ve cried all the tears, a fresh wave comes. It’s like all the tears I never cried saved up somewhere inside of me, and now the floodgates are open and I can’t close it,” I whimper. Maybe everyone is allotted a certain number of tears in their lifetime and after thirty years of dry eyes, I’m just catching up now.
“What can I do?” he whispers. Hesitantly, I lift onto my side to face him, his blue eyes wide and full of hope.
“I want to try again,” I answer, letting our gaze meet and holding it firmly. I need him to understand this isn’t like before, when I so desperately wanted a baby for all the wrong reasons. “Maybe not today, or even tomorrow, but sometime soon.”
He doesn’t look away, only nods. “Okay,” he says, one corner of his mouth curling up in a smile, the dimple in his right cheek deepening. One of my favorite sights.
“Really?” I’m afraid he might take it back.
“Really,” he says.
Taking his cheeks between my hands, I drop my mouth to his, covering his smile with a kiss.
“I love you,” I whisper against his lips. He doesn’t say it back, just kisses me harder.
♦ 27 ♦
CASSIDY
After
September 5
ONLY RECENTLY HAS THE irony of my choice to specialize in equine reproduction hit me. As a fourth-year vet student, we were encouraged to pick a specialty before graduation. I knew for certain I would only work with horses. Nothing against cows and llamas, but other large animals didn’t interest me. At first, I considered sports medicine, but seeing lame horse after lame horse quickly became depressing and the clients were über-demanding. It was no fun telling the owner of a five-hundred-thousand-dollar show jumper that their horse would never compete again no matter how much money they invested in the sprained tendon.
When I delivered my first foal, I felt a spark and knew that was something I could look forward to each day. The advancements in reproductive technology and procedures such as cloning fascinated me, sealing my decision to focus my studies in this area. My time interning with a renowned specialist confirmed I’d made the right decision. All of this occurred well before I started on my own journey toward motherhood. I might have stuck with injured athletes had I known what was in store for me.
After months of artificial insemination and one risky attempt at live cover, the Lombardos had almost given up hope of impregnating their beloved Kitty. Our last-ditch effort involved another round of artificial insemination and hormone therapy, all of us aware that this was the last time and if it didn’t take, Kitty would be turned out to pasture. The two-week wait dragged by slowly, and I related to the apprehension and impatience the owners felt. For months I had tortured myself waiting for my own positive pregnancy test, fourteen days dragging out to what felt like months. When we finally ultrasounded Kitty at the end of June, we were thrilled to see a fetus with a strong heartbeat, so strong it almost echoed. To our dismay, the effect was not a glitch on the machine and the echo was actually the faint trace of a second heartbeat. Kitty was finally pregnant. With twins.
“We knew this was a potential outcome,” Dr. Ford says, carefully wi
ping the ultrasound wand before wrapping it in foam. Costing over two hundred thousand dollars, the machine is precious to our practice, and Doc is meticulous with its care. God help the horse owner or tech who lets a horse step near the cord. “Twins are always high risk,” he reminds me, but his voice is gentle.
For two months we’ve monitored the mare closely and each time heard the double heartbeat. Today there’s just one.
I pull the blue latex gloves from my hands and toss them in the garbage can wedged between the window and the custom drawers built into my SUV containing all the equipment essential to an ambulatory veterinarian. Dr. Ford drove with me to the farm, and I’m already dreading the lengthy trip back to the clinic. Most days I travel alone, but Doc insisted on tagging along today. On the one hand, I’m glad for his support. On the other, I won’t be able to cry alone in the truck after breaking the terrible news.
“You going to be okay over there?” he asks, his thick brows furrowed together beneath the brim of his worn cowboy hat. Glancing at my longtime boss and friend, I nod. The creases on either side of his startingly blue eyes deepen as he strokes his well-kept beard, now more gray than black. I once joked he was looking more like Sean Connery every day, eliciting a hearty laugh and bashful smile. He claimed his wife had started likening him to Santa Claus, patting the little belly stretching against the khaki work shirt tucked above the silver belt buckle he wears every day.
“I’m okay,” I assure him, squaring my shoulders and lifting my chin slightly to compose myself on the outside, even though I’m falling apart on the inside. “It’s my case. I’ll tell them.” He nods once and gestures for me to lead the way.
Kitty stands in her stall, her belly just starting to show signs of swelling. She munches some alfalfa, one ear pricking forward in my direction as I pass her stall as though she’s awaiting the news too.
“Joe, Cindy.” They sit next to each other on a tack trunk with a large L monogrammed on the front next to their unique racing logo. No good way to deliver bad news. No use sugarcoating anything, especially to horse people. Farmers are no strangers to death and disappointment, their livelihoods dependent on fickle animals and weather. “At the last few ultrasounds we heard two heartbeats, one slightly stronger than the other, but both healthy and normal. Today’s ultrasound confirms that one fetus hasn’t survived.”
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