by K Carr
“Sorry,” she mumbled. “I have a headache and I just don’t want to argue with you. I’ve made my mind up so, yeah.”
When she picked up another piece of clothing, Connor turned on his heels and walked out the bedroom. It was best to do what she asked and leave her alone. He couldn’t get the image of her face out his head as he made his way back downstairs to the kitchen. Raw, unfiltered hate. Their marriage/grief counselling had been going well, he had even begun to hope they would be past the need for it in a few more months. But the unexpected news today and Jen’s behaviour – Christ! She couldn’t be serious.
Yet she was, and he couldn’t get his head around it. He was just as surprised as she was when the sex of their baby had been confirmed. They were both 100% certain they were having a girl. Why couldn’t they have been right? Connor needed a drink. A stiff drink. Keeping an eye and ear out, he quickly rummage at the back of one particular cupboard and pulled out the bottle of whiskey. It was more than half full. Less so after his two full gulps. Connor gasped as the whiskey burned its way down his throat. He took another mouthful before screwing the top back on and shoving the bottle back in its place. What was he supposed to do? What could he say to her? Was he even allowed to have a say? Jesus Christ!
I’ve made my mind up. Her words bounced around inside his head. Connor rubbed the space between his eyebrows, picturing her expression again. “Fuck.” he hissed into the silence of their kitchen. Feeling a growing sense of anger, he went back into the cupboard and retrieved the bottle. One more sip, only one more. He needed it. As he cracked the bottle open that brief moment of anger was replaced with acute sadness. Why did it have to be a boy? Connor stared at the bottle of whiskey in his hand, disgusted with himself for automatically searching out alcohol instead of dealing with this problem in a healthier way.
She didn’t want another son, that was what she had said in the car. His jaw was clenched tight enough to start giving him some discomfort. The time between her taking those pregnancy tests, getting the pregnancy confirmed by her doctor, and today, had been filled with a shared sense of hope and excitement. They had been convinced, foolishly so, that the newest addition to their family would be a girl. And Jen had seemed content in that surety. She had been happy. She wasn’t now. All those months ago when they were estranged, he had made a pact with himself to keep her happy if they ever reconciled. Well, they were reconciled and he wasn’t going back on his word. He would do anything to keep her happy. Anything and all. His fingers hesitated over the bottle cap…why couldn’t it have been a girl? He wished the scan had confirmed what they erroneously believed. Holding the bottle of whiskey in his hands he wished it had been a girl.
* * *
I pulled the open edges of my cardigan closer together, chilled even though the house was toasty and warm. And quiet. The house was quiet without Megan’s presence. I wondered what she was getting up to with my mom. I knew my daughter would’ve seized the opportunity to stay over at my mom’s knowing she didn’t have school tomorrow. Get spoilt rotten by grandma? Yeah, she would never pass up the chance.
I was both surprised and confused that Connor had let me fall asleep on the sofa, but then again, after our day it was understandable he would prefer to spend as little time with me as possible. Was I a hateful person? A cruel, soulless being?
Holding my cardigan close, I slowly made my out the living room. When we had gotten home I had done a few things around the house, sorting laundry, tidying Meg’s room; then I had a nice long soak in the bathtub before coming downstairs to watch t.v. It was now past 10pm, going off the clock on the wall in the hallway. Had Connor fallen asleep already? I made my way upstairs to check, if he was sleeping I’d come back downstairs to lock up. The landing lights were on and I could see past the barely opened door to our bedroom, the light was on in there too. As I walked down the hallway, the nearer I got to our bedroom, the more apparent it became that Connor was chatting to someone. His voice was low, very low, and I wondered who would call him at this time. Was it a problem with work? It couldn’t be anything with Megan, his tone wouldn’t be so – why did it sound like he was whispering?
My first thought, irrational I’m sure, jumped to the nefarious region of extra-marital affairs. Whispering on the phone at this time of night? Definitely one of the characteristics of arranging a clandestine meeting with a lover. I closed the distance to the bedroom door on tiptoes and carefully leaned towards the space between the door and its frame. Telling myself he was probably speaking in such a low tone because he didn’t want to wake me was quickly discredited. He was upstairs, I had been downstairs – all the way in the living room to boot…and asleep! There was no reason for him to fear waking me with his conversation. I took soft, shallow breaths and strained my ears to make out his words.
My husband was not cheating on me. He was praying. I would’ve left him to it, Connor’s faith was something very personal to him and he never tried to drag me into the fold. I would’ve left him to it, except I was the topic being discussed with this figure of God he was praying to. I frowned and leaned my ear closer.
“And I know it’s a lot to ask,” I heard him say. “But, and I hope you forgive me for this, Lord; but you owe me. You owe me and I want you to give me a fucking pass on this. Ok?”
Shit. This was serious. He was swearing while praying? I mean, I rarely dealt with any of it – well, I didn’t kick up a stink when he would try to teach the children about God and whatnot. He just knew how to temper it so they weren’t being indoctrinated. He knew exactly where I stood on the subject of ‘organized religion’.
“She’s hurting, Lord, and I don’t know what I can do to help her. So I’m asking you,” his voice broke.
I covered my mouth with one hand, instantly feeling sick to the stomach. I could suddenly hazard a guess as to what he was praying for. He was pleading to God to change my mind, to make me want this baby, to help me see the light. Of course, he would. Connor’s face when I had told him I wasn’t going through with the pregnancy should’ve been warning enough. I had accepted his silence as his way of processing my decision, I had expected us to have further discussions about it. I should’ve known he would go straight to his faith to gain strength and clarity.
He should have known I had made my mind up.
“You owe me,” Connor repeated in a heartbreakingly hoarse tone. “And I want to collect. So, I’m asking you to give us a pass this time. I appreciate and I’m eternally grateful you graced us with this pregnancy, but she doesn’t want it and I want you to forgive her for what she has to do because I am going to stand by her decision even if it goes against what I believe. This isn’t her fault, it’s mine. I got her pregnant so whatever punishment you want to dole out, give it to me. And I expect your forgiveness, you hear me? I demand your forgiveness because I took it, I took what was meted out to me, I took Cory’s death and I am living with that pain, now and forever. But I want your forgiveness for her and me,” His voice cracked again. “Because she deserves to be happy after everything we’ve been through, and if not having this baby makes her happy, then I’m all for it. I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry but you gave her to me to love and protect, and that’s what I’m going to do. I have to do what’s right for my family, the family you entrusted to me, Lord. Jenny can’t go through it and I won’t make her, give us a fucking pass, please.”
That plea, the rawness in that one word, the desperation, the sadness; the tears spilled from my eyes hearing the pain in Connor’s voice as he said that word. Please. He wasn’t praying for divine intercession from God to miraculously change my mind about the pregnancy. He wasn’t praying for that and it made the tears stream down my face faster. He wanted this baby so much, I knew he did; yet here he was asking his God for understanding and forgiveness because I planned to terminate the pregnancy.
“And I want you to tell my baby I’m sorry, that I can’t be his Dad this time, that he’s got a big brother up there who will look after him. T
ell him that we love him, that me and his mommy love him, but it’s just not-” his voice cracked and it seemed his words had failed him because all I now heard was the harsh breathing sound of a man desperately trying not to cry. Then, “Please, God. Please, please, please.”
I tiptoed backwards, fighting the urge to scream. Making sure I made as little noise as possible I retreated, leaving him to his tormented prayers. When I was halfway down the hallway, I spun around, ready to flee in earnest; but my gaze landed on that fucking wooden choo-choo train on Cory’s bedroom door. And my stomach lurched. In the maelstrom of my thoughts I knew with certainty I couldn’t have this baby, I didn’t want this baby. Averting my tired eyes, my feet took me away from that hated wooden door and down the stairs. I went straight back to the sofa and laid down again. My tears hadn’t stopped since overhearing my husband’s desperate prayers. If I shared his beliefs – his faith – would my way of dealing with this been any different? Probably not. Definitely not. I cried, maybe for him, maybe for me…
It was Connor’s gentle shaking which woke me up. I twisted around to see him bent over me. He smiled and brushed a hand over my cheek. “Come on, come to bed, darling.”
I nodded and let him help me up. We made our way upstairs to our bedroom. Connor helped ease my clothes off and pulled back the sheets for me to get into bed, before quickly undressing himself and climbing in behind me.
“Jen,”
“Mmm,” I was already halfway back to slumber land, exhausted from my secret crying episode earlier and wanting nothing more than to sleep my problems away. At least until the sun rose and I had to face another day.
“I love you,” he whispered and wrapped his arm around me while pressing a kiss onto my shoulder.
“I love you too,” I murmured.
“I promise it’ll be alright.” he said.
I didn’t respond to that. Firstly, I couldn’t see exactly how it was going to ever be alright again; and secondly, I had given up my tenuous grip on consciousness. I drifted off to sleep once more and dreamt of my son.
* * *
“Wakey wakey, sleepy head.” Connor had jumped on the bed, on me really, and was pulling the sheets off my head. “Come on,” He started kissing the back of my exposed neck. “I’ve made breakfast.”
“Ngh,” I wasn’t sure I wanted to be awake just yet.
“Come on,” He was kissing my cheek now while still squishing me. “It’s after ten.” Connor rolled off me and started rubbing my bare back under the sheet.
“I thought,” A yawn interrupted my first words of the morning. “You were going into work.”
“The job we had scheduled for today got cancelled,” Connor leaned over to begin kissing my bare skin. “And the guys are on emergency call out today anyway, so,” His lips were moving down to the small of my back. “I took the day off. Perks of being your own boss. Oh, I’m going to need you to speak to the client’s maintenance team for the upcoming pharmacy job at some point today. They haven’t sent over the information we requested.” I wriggled, a vague movement which could either be interpreted as ‘oh that’s ticklish’ to ‘please stop’. Connor raised himself up and pulled the sheet back up. “I made blueberry pancakes and whipped some fresh cream,”
My eyes opened and I started rising off the bed. Connor chuckled as he slid off the bed and kindly nabbed my dressing gown for me.
“Thanks,” I murmured with another yawn as I pulled the fluffy dressing gown on. I rubbed my eyes then stared at him. He appeared to be in a good mood this morning, until I observed his eyes. They were sad, oddly out of place amidst the overall cheeriness of his expression; but he had become an expert at this sort of thing. Ever since Cory’s death, Connor had mastered the ‘keep smiling’ look. I think he had become good at it for me and Megan. I matched his expression, I had my own ‘keep smiling’ face. “How long have you been up?”
“Since six,” He stepped back. “See you downstairs in five minutes. Ok? Don’t go back to sleep or your breakfast will get cold.”
I nodded and watched him lumber out our bedroom. I hadn’t been awake long enough to gauge how awkward things were between us. A quick trip to the en-suite to relieve my bladder and brush my teeth meant I was two minutes over his five minute timeframe.
“Finally,” he teased, pulling out one of the breakfast stools for me as I walked into the bright kitchen. “Coffee?”
I nodded, then belatedly thought about it. Damn. Coffee in small amounts wasn’t a bad thing…look, I wasn’t keeping the baby anyway. What the fuck did it matter?
“You ok?” Connor paused in his pouring of the coffee, squinting worriedly at me.
“Yeah,” I nodded and climbed onto the stool. “Yeah, just tired.”
He leaned over to drop a kiss atop my satin head scarf. “I’ll let you go back to bed after breakfast then.” He resumed fixing my cup of coffee. “Might even join you.” There was a cheeky wink with that.
“Did you make all of this for the two of us?” I asked rubbing my neck. The space in front of me was filled with a plate of thick pancakes, a plate with delicious smelling bacon, a small bowl of sliced fruits. “This is a lot, Connor.”
“You didn’t eat much yesterday,” He ran a hand through his messy hair before scratching his stomach. “I figured you’d be hungry this morning.”
I forced a grin. “I am,”
“Good,” He pulled the stool next to mine and sat down. “How many pancakes?”
I held two fingers up and he chuckled under his breath. From lowered eyelids I observed him as he plated up my breakfast. He was still such a handsome man. “Thank you,” I murmured when he placed the plate in front of me. I picked up my utensils and started eating while he sorted his own plate out. “This is really good, hon.” I said in-between bites. “You make the best pancakes.”
“Better than your mom’s?” he queried with raised eyebrows.
I made a pointed action of popping a forkful of pancake into my mouth, choosing to chew instead of answering his loaded question.
Connor laughed and poured himself some coffee. The thing about his laugh…it failed to reach his eyes. The sadness I saw in their depths hadn’t shifted since he had woken me up this morning.
“Are you ok?” I asked quietly. I was brave enough to meet his eyes, but I secretly dreaded his response.
He nodded his head and smiled at me. We fell silent after that, both focused on eating. I was almost finished with my second pancake when Connor loudly cleared his throat and put his utensils down.
“So,” His tone was extremely gentle, as was the look he was giving me. “I’m going to make an appointment to get a vasectomy-”
The half-chewed portion of pancake unattractively fell out my mouth as I spluttered in shock. “W-what?”
Connor pulled a piece of kitchen towel for me and handed it over. “I think it’s the best thing for us,” He swallowed hard. “To avoid any future,” Connor cleared his throat again, it sounded painful. “Mishaps.”
I wiped my mouth and crumpled the paper towel in my hand. “Connor, I-”
“It’s fine,” He raised his hand and curved it around my nape. “Look at me. This is what I want to do. I thought long and hard about it last night, and I believe this is the right option for us. I mean, yeah, you can start taking contraception but why should you have to put something in your body for the rest of your reproductive life when I can get a few snips and we won’t have to ever worry about,” He cleared his throat again. “Any mishaps.”
“Connor,”
He stroked the back of my neck. “It’s fine. Honestly. It will make things much easier in the long run for us.”
“But,”
“Hey,” he cut me off for the third time. “This way you won’t have to face,” Connor took a shaky breath, holding my gaze. “You won’t have to do this ever again. I don’t want you to have to go through this again, Jen.”
I jerked my head away from his loose grip and jumped off the stool. “I-I don
’t know what you want me to say, to do-”
Connor rose off his stool and grabbed my hands. “You don’t have to say anything, sweetheart. You already have to do something,” his voice cracked. “Look. I’m not risking this situation again. Ok? We’re not going to be in this situation ever again. We’ll take care of it this time around, but we’re not doing this again.” He dropped my hands and rubbed his face with both hands before continuing, “I’ve made my decision, Jennifer. We’ll deal with this first,” The small gesture towards my stomach made him wince. “Then I’ll get a vasectomy.”
“But I know you want this baby,” I couldn’t process everything he was saying. We hadn’t really discussed my decision to terminate this pregnancy and we were already on a vasectomy! I knew from overhearing him pray last night that he was more or less resigned to accepting my decision, but this was just – it was moving too fast.
“And you don’t.” he said with a stark emptiness which chilled my core. “So you’ll get an abortion and I’ll get a vasectomy.”
Hearing him say the word, the actual word, was a cold dose of reality; which was ridiculous because I had already decided to terminate the pregnancy. But hearing him say the word was painful, as if his acknowledgement of what I fully intended to do made it more real. The flinching around his eyes made it more real. The sudden drawn pallor of his face made it more real. The rapid flicker of pulse at the base of his throat made it more real. Watching him accept and face this decision I had made for us, made it more real.
“It’s ok, Jen,” Connor shrugged and his mouth pulled up at the corners. It was barely an attempt, but it counted. He tried to give me a reassuring smile. “We’ll be ok.”
I swallowed the rising bile at the back of my throat. “I, um, I think I’m gonna go lie down.” I didn’t wait for his response. I fled the kitchen like an escaped convict with an army behind them.