“So you can change my mind.”
“So we can talk about it. I’m not a sleazy politician trying to win your vote. I’m not a car salesman trying to sell you a lemon.”
“Careful. Our houseguest might be lurking in the hallway. He could hear you.”
“Harper.” He tosses his hat aside and drops into a chair at the kitchen table. “Please don’t make this into a joke.”
“Isn’t that what you did?”
“Wha— How . . .”
“By making this—by making a baby—the terms of a bet.”
“I didn’t. I’d never ask you to do something you didn’t want to do. I just asked if we could talk about it.” He reaches forward and takes my hands into his, gently pulling me forward so I’m standing in front of him. “I’m sorry if I offended you—”
“If?”
“I’m sorry I offended you,” he amends. “And I’m sorry if it seems like I’m making light of our prospective progeny.”
“There you go with your big teacher words.”
He squeezes my hands gently. “I seriously wouldn’t have written it down if I thought it would upset you. I guess I thought . . .”
“What?”
“We talked about the possibility of having kids often enough. I guess I figured you might think it was kind of cute.” He stares down at our linked hands, and my irritation eases. He seems awfully sincere and remorseful. How can I possibly stay mad at him when he’s being so honest? There’s still a heaviness on my chest that’s making it hard for me to breathe, but at least I no longer feel like punching someone. “I even thought you might find it a little romantic.”
I sink into the chair next to him. “Okay. Let’s talk about it.”
“Why do you think we should wait?”
“It . . . seems like too much. With everything else we have going on, it’s too much.”
“There’s always going to be a lot going on.”
I raise my eyebrows. “You said you weren’t going to try to change my mind.”
“I’m not. I’m just talking.”
I nod and take a breath. “We’ve been married less than a year. We haven’t even settled in here—we’re still building a network. We’ll need people to support us.”
Isn’t that what Whitney said scared her most about having a baby?
“We can make a network. I’m still not trying to change your mind,” he adds quickly. “We’re already making friends, like Sam and Whitney.”
“That’s true.”
“What else? There must be something else.”
I rack my brain for another explanation. “I’m trying to build a business. I’m hoping to sign a book deal, which would hopefully mean a tour and workshops. How am I supposed to do that with a baby? Plus, there’s my job at the university.”
“That’s fair. We’d definitely have to figure out what childcare would look like and how we’d balance a family with our careers. Yours and mine.”
His words soothe and annoy me at once. Sometimes, he’s just too damned understanding, too patient, too ready to find a solution, when I just need a little more time to figure everything out. Plus, it’s easy for him to say we’ll figure out childcare. That won’t do anything to help me out during a pregnancy or those first several months when moms and babies kind of have to be attached at the hip (or rather boob). I know there are plenty of women who balance motherhood with professional lives, but again, usually the bulk of that burden falls on them.
“That’s not all of it. I’m still getting used to this crazy lifestyle of ours. You’re putting in twelve hours at work every day. Even then, you usually come home with game tape to review and plays to consider. Is any of this really an ideal condition to bring a child into?”
Brook’s cheek twitches and he pulls back, like I’ve slapped him. Bringing up his hectic football schedule is probably a low blow. It’s always been a sore subject and there’s not much we can do about it. I support him and his career, but, we’re being totally honest here, and it’s honestly still a struggle for me.
But technically I didn’t have to bring it up. Not now when there’s another more palpable reason for my reservation. I’m scared. I wasn’t ready for this conversation. Even with Whitney and Sam nesting around us, I wasn’t expecting this sudden baby fever of his. I figured we had at least another year or two before one of us was afflicted. (Though, I admit, I did assume he’d be the first one to get it.) In a year or two, we’ll be more settled in our marriage and our new lives. We’ll be stable. Maybe I’ll be more ready then to lose myself so completely in another person.
I’m still trying to figure out who I am and what my life looks like. Granted, that changed some when I married Brook. It stopped being just about me. It became about us. Right now, I want it to lean a little more on the side of me and my wants and needs.
Wow, I really need to get over myself. Life is so hard for so many people. Just flip on the TV and you’ll see it. I’m not talking about long-suffering fans whose teams will probably never win a Super Bowl. I’m talking about real, honest-to-God suffering. People living in terror, because their lives are threatened every time they walk out the door. Diseases festering inside mosquitoes waiting to bite you. Children going hungry. There are people with legitimate problems and here I am freaking out because a very nice man, who’s crazy about me, wants me to be the mother of his children. Talk about privilege.
How can someone so selfish (and melodramatic) like me seriously consider starting another life? A life that would be completely dependent on her. How can I explain all of that to Brook without making him see me for the selfish being I am?
I have to tell him something—maybe only a partial truth—because the hurt on his face, the hurt I put there, is even more unbearable than him seeing me for who I am.
“I’m scared,” I say at last.
A flicker of understanding dawns in his eyes, the pain slipping away as his expression softens. “I get it. Starting a family, creating a person, it’s a big deal. It’s scary.”
“You don’t seem scared.”
“Maybe not at the moment, but I’m sure I will be down the road.” He lifts a shoulder. “We don’t have to make any decisions right now. I asked if we could talk about having a baby, and we have. That’s enough for now.”
He says it so easily and with so much care I almost believe him. Heck, he probably even believes what he said. Brook might be okay with tabling any final decisions about having a baby tonight, but it’s going to come up again. I won’t be blindsided by it next time, but I’ll have to do a lot of thinking. In the meantime, I’ll be constantly looking over my shoulder, waiting for the conversation to come up again.
Week Six Recap: Team MacLaughlin Builds Its Lead
It was another impressive week for Team MacLaughlin as the boys brought home a 130-111 victory. Veteran Quarterback Todd Northwood once again proved he was worth every penny of his extension deal by connecting with his receivers for four passing touchdowns.
Her running back core played its personal best. Deangelo Darling ran for 89 yards and scored a touchdown. Jackson Sterling was equally impressive with 75 rushing yards and two touchdowns. Even tight end Phoenix Mathers strutted his stuff by racking up the yards and scoring a touchdown.
Though we question Team MacLaughlin for her recent trade of stud receiver Ben Bell, by all appearances, she knows what she’s doing.
Real Coaches’ Wives Record: 4-2
Chapter Fourteen
I ACTUALLY HAVE A WINNING record in one of my leagues. Somehow or another, the team I never wanted has pulled itself together and given me a four-game winning streak.
Never mind that my other league keeps laying turd after turd each week, giving me absolutely no wins and quite possibly a baby in about ten months if Brook manages to wear me down. It’s been a few days and I’m still fuming about that, but only on the inside. I promised Brook I wouldn’t hold a grudge, and on the outside, I’m living up to my vow. Meanwhile, on t
he inside, I’m imaging how I’m going to tell our future child he or she was conceived because I lost a bet. I hope it’s a she. I’ve been surrounded and tormented by hes most of my life. A she will feel some kind of sympathy for me, while a he would find the whole thing hilarious, then high-five his father for a game well played.
Still, I’m not going to let any of that ruin the one really lovely thing in my life right now: my winning record in the Real Coaches’ Wives. It was no easy feat. Aside from my week five failure to set a lineup, I’ve had to keep my wits about me. If I thought the guys were ruthless, they’re bunny rabbits compared to the vultures I’m playing with now. They fought fair. Just look at what Lisa Griggs is doing to me. She’s about to destroy my winning streak and all because I care more about building Team Stitches than a fantasy football dynasty.
At least I put business over fantasy before I started winning. Now, I’m not so sure. Even though Lisa followed through with her promise and introduced me to Kristen, it’s not like she offered me a book deal. No, she told me she’d accept a book proposal. I don’t even know what that means entirely, and Amelia isn’t answering my calls. Maybe the book isn’t meant to be.
It’s too late, though. If I went against my word and set any lineup other than the one Lisa emailed me Thursday afternoon, there’s no telling how she’d punish me.
J.J. poses the question as I set my lineup later that evening. “What will she actually do if you set a real lineup instead of this joke?”
“She could blacklist me with the other wives.”
“What would that involve?”
“She probably wouldn’t invite us to anymore of the watch parties. She’d tell the other wives I’m a bitch. She could start some other rumors.”
“I thought you didn’t like the other wives.”
“I like Whitney.”
“Who won’t care about the rumors. Screw the rest of them.”
“If only it was that easy.” I review the list one more time to make sure everything matches the email and hit “set.” I flip my laptop shut and head to the kitchen to grab a couple of beers before the Thursday night game begins.
When I return, he eyes the bottles in my hand. “Are you sure you’re supposed to be drinking?”
I shove one of the bottles at him. “Why wouldn’t I?”
“Aren’t you . . . you know . . .” He scratches the back of his neck with his free hand. “Aren’t you . . .”
“Aren’t I . . .”
“Having a baby?”
I sink onto the couch and take a deep gulp of my bottle, never tearing my eyes away from him. Did Brook tell him about our talk? If he did, so help me God, I’ll make damn sure he’s never able to father a child with me, or the woman he marries after I divorce him. “No,” I say at last. “I’m not having a baby.”
“Yeah, maybe not yet, but aren’t you—”
“I’m not trying for one either.” I set my almost empty beer aside. I may not be in the family way, but I don’t need to get smashed. “Whatever Brook said—”
“He didn’t tell me anything. I overheard you guys the other night.” Under my death stare, his cheeks flush with embarrassment. “I wasn’t trying to eavesdrop. I was halfway to the bar and realized I forgot my I.D. here. I could hear you guys from outside.”
I suppose our volume had been pretty high at certain points. “You didn’t come back in.”
“No. I went for a walk instead.”
“At night? By yourself?”
“Yes, mom, but I didn’t talk to strangers.” He lifts a shoulder. “It seemed like a safer plan than interrupting you guys.”
I can’t blame him there. I wouldn’t have wanted to walk into the middle of that conversation. I should tell him to forget what he heard. Change the subject, flip on the game, and pretend we never talked about any of this. Instead, I curl up against my corner of the couch and face him. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”
“There’s nothing—”
“I think there might be.” I reach for my beer, no longer caring if I wake up with a headache. “I should want to have a baby, right? I’m almost twenty-nine. I’m married to a great guy, who I love. I have a job I . . .” I shake my head. “I have a job. I’m in a good place to have one. Why don’t I?”
“I don’t know . . .” J.J. shifts uncomfortably in his seat. “I’m really not the best person to talk to about these things, but . . .”
“But?”
“Maybe you’re just not ready. Two years ago, you were starting a new job in a place where you barely knew anyone. You’re doing that again now, only this time you’re married. To a good guy,” he adds quickly. “But you’ve been married a year, and you’ve only known him for two.”
It’s strange how clearly he understands my reservations. “That’s it. Exactly. It’s all so . . .”
“Scary?”
“Yes.” I sit up straighter and grab his arm. “I can’t believe you get me—get all of this—so completely.”
He stares down at his arm, and I withdraw, suddenly embarrassed by my contact with him. His eyes lift to mine, then turn serious. “You get me, too.”
I tear my gaze away from him and stare at a spot over the blank TV. “I don’t know about—”
“Yeah, you do. You get me in a way no one else does. Because you’ve been where I’ve been, and I’ve been where you’ve been.”
I can’t help but gape at him. I’m not sure how J.J. has come to believe I’ve ever been coming down from a cocktail of pain killers and alcohol—a combination that, honestly, still has me shaking to imagine he’s consumed. “Where exactly have we been?”
“You’ve been the person with a lot of God-given talent and the expectation of greatness. The person who failed to reach that level, then didn’t know what to do. Like me, when faced with options, you’ve taken the easy route.” When I start at the comment, he holds up his hands. “Admit it. When it comes to jobs, you’ve taken the easy route.”
He has me there. When I worked myself up the ranks at the dealership, it was the easiest route to go. It didn’t involve me applying for another job or testing unknown waters. Even when I moved to other locations, it was motivated by wanting to work with my then-boyfriend and later to leave him behind. Now, I’m working at a job that I got through my husband. Even Team Stitches came to be because of Amelia.
While I’m struggling to process what he’s saying, the implications, J.J. continues. “Even when it seems like we have it all worked out—when we have everything we could ever want—we’re still messes. It’s like we can’t be happy with what we have, because we still don’t know what we want. Someone like MacLaughlin can’t understand what that’s like. That’s why you get me. It’s why I get you.”
I want him to be wrong about me, but he isn’t. My default mode does seem to be disaster, at least emotionally speaking. On some level, he’s right.
On another . . . he might get that part of me, but he doesn’t understand the other. The part of me who knows she has untapped potential. The one who can see a bright future—even if the picture isn’t clear. The one who’s willing to work hard to get it. The one who has faith and hope that it will all work out. That’s the side Brook knows and understands best. It’s the side I want to be.
J.J. is still watching me closely, waiting for me to speak. “I don’t know what to say.”
“Do you ever wonder . . .”
“Wonder what?”
“No.” He shakes his head, turning to stare at the TV. “It’s nothing.”
“What do I wonder?”
“I shouldn’t . . .”
“Just ask.” I soften my tone. “Come on, J. We’re all friends here in the truth circle.”
“That’s the problem,” he mutters to himself. He clears his throat. “Let me start by saying I’m not asking this for any purpose. It’s just curiosity.”
“Okay . . .”
“Do you ever wonder what would have happened if we’d gone home together th
at one night?”
“What night?”
For the life of me, I can’t recall a night when the option would’ve presented itself.
His ears turn red again, but he doesn’t back down. “That night we went to dinner a couple of years ago. We were celebrating your big weekend with North. We had a few drinks. I asked if you wanted to come back to my place, and . . .”
The night comes back to me now. The night I hung out with J.J. and heeded Gio’s and Wade’s advice to just say no to J.J. In truth, it wasn’t hard to say no at the time. I was still nursing the wounds from my breakup, and as attractive as I found J.J., I wasn’t ready to go there with a co-worker. Plus, there was the Brook factor. We were still just friends, but I had feelings for him. I might not have been ready to admit it, but they were there.
J.J. was my jerk of a co-worker, who—aside from filling out a suit nicely—I mostly looked at and wanted to punch in the face. I’m not sure I even liked him until well after that first season was over. So, I suppose my answer is no. I’ve never wondered what it would be like if I’d gone home with J.J. that night.
“I don’t know what to say,” I tell him for the second time.
“Fair enough.” He gives a curt nod, and his jaw ticks a few times before he speaks again. “Could you do me a favor?”
“What?”
“Could you pretend I didn’t ask you about that?”
“Yeah. Sure.”
That should be easy enough to do. The last thing either of us needs is to make anything more tense around the apartment. We don’t need to go asking what-ifs that are better left unexplored. I want to say something to ease the tension but an alarm sounds on his phone. J.J. looks down at it then holds it up for me to read. “The game is about to start.”
“I suppose we should watch it.”
“I suppose we should.”
I grab the remote and flip the channel. We wordlessly turn our attention to the players lining up on screen, but I don’t see them. Not really. Instead, I replay his words in my mind, over and over, no matter how hard I try to keep up with the action on screen. The game hardly seems to matter. Not in the grand scheme of things.
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