by B. L. Berry
“All right. Then I’ll call Carmie first thing in the morning. She can help us map out our days, we’ll find tune the agenda and give her the green light to book our tickets, okay?”
Simon’s expression softens with his surrender and I pause to admire my handsome husband. “Thank you,” I say meekly, strangely feeling less hopeful about it all than I did ten minutes ago.
“I’m going to be in my office for a while tonight if you need anything. I have quite a few financial portfolios to review.”
I stand to clear the table, but first walk toward him, desperate to feel his arms around me. He stands to meet me.
“I love you, Simon.”
He holds me tightly in his arms and I hear him inhale the scent of my hair. I hear his heartbeat echoing through his chest and I can even hear him swallow.
But the loudest sound of all is that of his deafening silence.
Twenty-Two
Named
The room is dim and I look up at the ceiling. It’s just as stark and sterile as the rest of the examination room. There’s a soft glow from the TV monitor above me where black and white images of our unborn child keep flashing every few moments.
Simon couldn’t make the appointment today. Up until yesterday afternoon he was planning on coming, but one of his key clients moved their Friday morning meeting up to this afternoon and he couldn’t reschedule. He made me promise to bring him back a new sonogram photo so he can see how much this kid has grown the past month. I told him I would as long as he promised to call Carmie.
“I already did yesterday,” he said. Then he handed me his phone to show me part of their email exchange. I smiled as I read through their email conversation. She had already given us a long list of low key things to do and sight-seeing tours to ensure I take it easy on my feet.
But when the phone vibrated in my palm, my heart fell at the new text that flashed across the top of the screen.
E: Sure! What time were you thinking?
The message disappeared as quickly as it came and I bit my tongue, finishing the email chain. I handed his phone back to him.
“Someone named ‘E’ just sent you a message.” My tone is dry and laced with displeasure.
“E? That’s Elizabeth, my new executive assistant at the office. Surely I told you about her?” I shake my head no. “Oh, well you’ll have to come by the office some time and meet her. She’s really nice.”
“I’m sure she is,” I say suspiciously.
And just like that, all of my excitement over Paris and everything in between slips away.
“Everything appears to be measuring on track with your baby, Mrs. St. John.”
I exhale sharply, relieved that all of the additional stress in my life these days hasn’t negatively impacted the pregnancy.
“Would you like to know the sex of the baby?”
“You can tell already?”
The doctor smiles and nods down at me. “If you like, I could also write down the gender and seal it in an envelope. That way you can open it with the father and find out together, or with family and friends in a celebration.”
“Do people do that? Is that a thing?”
“Oh, yes. You’ll be surprised what people do these days. I’ve seen people revealing the gender of their baby at parties with cakes in either pink or blue or boxes with helium balloons. But it doesn’t always have to be a big deal. You can always just open the envelope together … just the two of you.”
Hmm … we’ve never had the conversation about whether or not we want to find out the gender of the baby. Then again, we haven’t had many conversations about the baby, period.
I close my eyes and try to imagine how Simon would react to learning he’s having a son or a daughter. I can only hope it would be received with smiles, maybe even tears of joy. In my perfect world he would sweep me up in his arms and kiss me passionately and in a wordless promise that life can only get better from here on.
But what if he doesn’t respond well? What if he secretly wants a girl and it ends up being a boy? Or vice versa? Or what if he wants to keep it a surprise? There’s got to be something magical about that final push and hearing the doctor proclaim It’s a …! It’s got to be one of the last true surprises in life.
Then again, what if knowing the gender makes it all the more real for him and in turn he freaks out even more than he already has.
I can’t make this kind of decision right now. But I can’t leave not knowing.
“Well, what do you think?” she asks.
I look back to the black and white monitor and watch her take a few final measurements of the baby before she flicks the the machine off. And just like that, my little one disappears from sight.
“Okay, let’s do that. The envelope thing.”
“Sounds like a plan. I always think it’s more fun to find out together.”
She passes me a towel to clean the gel off of my belly then I watch her cross the room and take out a notecard from the cabinet above the sink. She leans over and writes something down on the paper before folding it in half a few times and slipping it into an envelope, sealing the secret shut.
My stomach flutters in anticipation when she passes me the envelope. I know it doesn’t just contain the gender of my baby, but a lifetime of possibilities. Dance recitals or baseball games. Little pink ribbons or scraped knees covered in mud.
Both sound perfectly delightful to me.
I leave the doctor’s office with the envelope in one hand and the black and white photograph in the other and head out onto the sweltering city sidewalks on foot. The envelope burns my fingertips and I can’t stop smiling at the picture.
Secretly, I’ve thought a lot about names long before I learned I was pregnant. There’s a baby name book tucked into the bottom drawer of my nightstand underneath sleeping masks and soothing lavender lotions. I’ve combed through it dozens of times, highlighting standout names and dog-earring pages of my absolute favorites.
Names are important. They ultimately define a person and they are the greatest—or subsequently the worst—gift a parent can give their child.
Mine, for instance, means great fertile plain. The irony is not lost on me. I was practically destined to have babies — it was written in my name.
And while I may give my baby the gift of his or her name, this child is going to give me so much more. The gift of motherhood. Lifelong stability. Never-ending love. The gift of laughter and comfort. The gift of being connected to Simon eternally.
And some gifts simply need to be given early.
I stop dead in my tracks and stuff the sonogram photo into my purse, then rip open the envelope. My heart thunders in my chest and I swallow hard.
This is my child. And I deserve to know who he or she will become. It’ll be my secret and Simon will be none the wiser.
With a steeling breath I look down at the card in my hands and flip it over. In black ink, written in perfect cursive, it says Congratulations! It’s a boy!
Excitement and fear flood my body. I can hardly believe that I’m having a son!
This child is my rock.
My strong, deliberate decision.
My Pierce Renaud St. John.
Twenty-Three
Defining Intimacy
“Tell me, Simon, how would you rate your sex life, being intimate together? Are you satisfied?”
Dr. Bob mentioned we’d eventually talk about more personal, uncomfortable things. That day has come sooner than I thought. I wish we could do this part in separate sessions. I have no problem telling it like it is. I just don’t completely trust my other half to do the same. And sitting here listening to him lie or sugar coat the truth is as agonizing as the last few years of marriage.
“I mean, I feel closer to her than ever before because of the baby.”
And there it is. I have no idea what he’s playing at. We have been anything but close lately. We try to be intimate and we’re pushed further apart. Even with this baby threading us
together, we have practically been living on two different planets.
And then it happens. He presses his lips together and the corners of his mouth turn up ever so slightly. In the same, shy, boyish smile he gave me when he first took my hand and asked me out. When he told me he loved me. When he asked me to marry him.
My hard exterior softens just enough and I can’t help think that maybe … just maybe … there is hope for us still.
“And why is that?”
Simon cocks an eyebrow at Dr. Bob as if his response should be obvious. “Because we created something. Together.”
I watch as he scribbles something down on his notepad and don’t miss the fact Simon didn’t actually answer the question at hand.
“And are you satisfied with your sex life?”
“Yes.” His voice is confident and my face goes red. Simon has a small, smug smile written on his face and I fight the urge to slap it right off of him. How can he possibly be satisfied with our sex life? To be satisfied with it you actually have to be having sex. It’s been so long I’m fairly certain my virginity is coming back. Or, at the very least, cobwebs are being spun down there.
Just as Dr. Bob opens his mouth to say something, I cut him off. “I can’t remember the last time we actually made love. We tried but — ” I can’t complete the sentence, so I throw my hands into the air where the words should be. I’m pretty sure that the last time we actually had sex was the night I got pregnant. I take a calming breath and say the next words fast. “I can’t shake the feeling that he’s not in love with me anymore.”
Simon guffaws in horror. “If I didn’t love you, I wouldn’t still be here, Sharna.”
“That’s not what I said.”
Dr. Bob studies us closely with his fingers templed in front of his mouth and suddenly the second hand on the clock is screaming at us with each passing moment. I want to rip it off the damn wall.
“I’ve always believed that the best marriages are situations where best friends have passion. You need to have that passion because otherwise you’re just friends.” He pauses and looks at us inquisitively. “But intimacy is far more than a physical thing. For women, it’s emotional. They need to feel close on every possible level. But sex for men is more of an external act. It’s part of the reason why men sometimes come off as being noncommittal or only wanting sex rather than a relationship. However, the majority of women need to feel that emotional intimacy before they can really achieve the most out of physical intimacy with any given partner, be it their husband or otherwise.”
I nod, understanding every word coming from his mouth. We’ve been missing that emotional connection for far too long and I desperately want it back. Simon carelessly looks out the window, seemingly bored with the conversation.
“There are a lot of ways you can improve your intimacy together. Some couples like to try something called ‘sex challenges’ where they have sex every day for a predetermined number of days no matter the circumstances. It could be for a week straight and some even try for a month of physical intimacy every day. And it doesn’t matter if one of them is having a bad day, they still force themselves to have sex. Even if one is traveling, they’ll engage in phone sex. Both the man and woman make the physical component a priority. Often times you’ll find physical and emotional intimacy will evolve organically.
“Also, you want to try being more open and honest with each other. I always find it funny how these days we are quick to turn to social media and share our inner most thoughts and dreams with complete strangers. That’s great and all, but emoticons and screen names don’t hug you back. So stop talking with others and start really talking more.
“For starters, what I’d like to see you both do is simply start talking more with one another. Share those mundane little details about your day that you keep to yourself because you don’t think your partner is interested. And from there, when you feel you’re both ready, set a date. Go out. Have fun. And actually plan to have sex that night. Make it a priority for one evening. Start small and go from there.”
Simon looks from Dr. Bob to me and then back again. He seems uncomfortable with the suggestion, but I want to gauge his reaction before I say anything. Ever since things unraveled the last time we tried to sleep together, I’ve been reluctant to even imply doing anything more than our standard morning, evening and good night kiss. I’m not sure my heart could take it if things got worse than they already are in the bedroom.
“I can do that,” Simon says softly, his gaze shifted to the floor.
“Yes, we can.” I want to emphasize the we in my statement, to make him realize how one-sided his comments are. I’m tired of being the only one trying these days, and if he agrees that he can do this one thing, maybe we will be better for it.
“Good,” Dr. Bob clips. “I look forward to hearing about this date during our next session.”
“Thank you,” I mutter in uncertainty.
We stand to leave, and I’m feeling just as frustrated, if not more so, than the moment we arrived. We pause at the elevator, neither of us reaching out to hit the button. And something unusual happens.
Simon closes the gap between us and wraps his arm around my shoulders.
He sighs. I sigh. And strangely it feels like a weight has lifted from my shoulders.
“About what he said in there … I want to give it a shot.”
I turn to face him and he drapes his arm around my neck, bringing me in for a genuinely warm embrace. It’s nothing like the superficial ones we’ve exchanged out of obligation as of late.
“Really?”
“Really.” He plants his lips to my temple and breathes the word against my skin. It sends a familiar shiver down my spine, one that I’ve been missing for quite some time. It feels good. Right.
It feels a bit like love.
“Thank you,” I whisper into his shirt, certain he can’t hear me. But truer words have never passed my lips. I am thankful that it’s me he wants and that he’s willing to try.
Simon releases me from his hold and reaches out to hit the button to call the elevator. “Do you, uh, want to grab some lunch before I head back to the office? We could check out the new Graham Elliot bistro and catch up.” Simon reaches out and takes my hand, threading my fingers between his, just like he did the night we met. The gesture doesn’t feel nearly as awkward as I expected. Nice, even. So nice that my heart skips a beat.
But I know I’m about to disappoint him yet again.
“Umm …” I want to, really. I do. “I have lunch plans with Logan. The past few times I was supposed to meet up with him, I bailed. He’d kill me if I ditched him again. Would you like to join us?”
He groans at the mention of my brother’s name. The pair of them have never truly gotten along, although they’ve always had the common courtesy to play nice for me. Back when we were dating, we actually broke up for a short period of time. I was devastated. When Logan discovered how heartbroken I was, all hell broke loose. Logan not only put his fist through the drywall in his apartment but also Simon’s face. The bridge of his nose never did heal quite right. It just goes to show you can hide from the truth as easily as you can hide from a brand new day.
It’d serve me well to remember that myself.
While my offer still stands, I silently will him to decline. I don’t have it in me for an afternoon of passive aggressive comments and snide jabs when they think I’m not listening. That kind of tension and anxiety can’t be good for the baby.
“How about we just meet up for dinner tonight instead?” I breathe a sigh of relief at Simon’s suggestion and the elevator chimes as the doors slide open. We slip inside and he takes my tiny hand in his and says, “I’d hate to be the third wheel.”
I close my eyes and count to three, biting back the idea of defending my brother. He just couldn’t resist, could he?
“Dinner would be great. Let’s say seven thirty at La Sardine in the West Loop? It’s been a while since we’ve been there.”
“West Loop?” He shifts his weight uncomfortably between his feet. “I really don’t want to fight traffic that direction after work. Why don’t we go to Xoco?”
He knows I hate Mexican food.
“That’s fine,” I whisper, doing everything I can to keep the lid on the persnickety tone I so desperately want to give him.
The doors slide open and with a quick peck of our lips, we go our separate ways.
“I’m so sorry I’m late, Logan.”
My baby brother stands to give me a quick hug, then holds me out at arms- length to examine my ever-growing stomach. “No worries, Shar. And you look great! How is Baby St. John cooking?”
I smile as he pulls the metal bistro chair out for me. “He is baking to perfection.” I can’t control the smile that lights up my face
“It’s a boy? Congratulations, sis! I was hoping you’d give me a nephew.” He pulls me in for another hug before pulling the chair out for me. I’m glad to see chivalry isn’t dead. “I’ve got a few ideas for names. Logan, I hear, is a great one. Perfect for a strong young man.” Of course he’d push for Logan. He’s the third Logan in three generations. I roll my eyes at the suggestion.
“I promise to think about it,” I lie, knowing I’ve already picked out the name.
“So how are things going?”
I take a sip of the lemon water on the table and put the menu aside. We’ve been here so many times before I don’t need to look at it to know what I want. “Things are going, I guess.”
“That sounds a little ominous. Is everything okay?”
I shrug and butter a piece of warm bread from the basket on the table, trying to push the negative thoughts of Simon from my head.
“I’m your brother. You’ve always been able to tell me everything.”