“It feels like it’s all you think about,” he said under his breath.
“What else am I supposed to think about? You’ve got me locked up here in this house all day. No job, no friends.”
“Well that’s a little dramatic,” he said. “I’ve never told you you couldn’t leave the house. Go see your friends, go take a yoga class. I don’t care what you do. And as far as the job, plenty of women would love to not have to work. I would think you’d be a little more appreciative toward me for that.”
I let out a breath. “I do appreciate you.”
“Then maybe stop treating me like I’m such a shit husband just because I can’t stay home and obsess over drinking beet juice to thicken your whatever lining and taking my temperature every morning just to make sure we have every chance of getting pregnant like you do. It’s not my thing, Hannah. It’ll happen when it happens, and I’m okay with that. I’ve got too much on my plate to worry about anything else.”
I shook my head, taking a step back from him. “This is not how this is supposed to be.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing. I’m just going to go to bed,” I said, turning away from him. I waited for him to try and stop me, to reach out for my arm or call my name, but he never did. Instead, I heard the refrigerator door open and the familiar clinking of glass bottles as he wrestled the wine free from the door.
The next morning when I woke up, there was a box of red raspberry leaf tea on my nightstand with a note.
I’m sorry for fighting. It had been a long day, but I shouldn’t have taken it out on you. I love you.
PS. This tea is supposed to help your whatever lining. ;)
It’s going to happen this month, I can feel it.
Chapter Twelve
Her
“Hey, girl,” my mom said, pulling me into a quick hug. “You’re losing weight.” She stepped back, her hands still wrapped tightly around my biceps. “What’s wrong?” She knew me too well.
“Nothing’s wrong,” I assured her.
“You don’t eat when you’re stressed, Hannah. Are you stressed? You look like you’ve dropped twenty pounds.”
Thirty, actually, but I wasn’t going to correct her. “Lots of free time. I’ve been working out.”
“Well, don’t lose any more. You’re turning into skin and bones. I always envied your curves.”
I changed the subject quickly, sitting down at the wrought iron table outside the café. “How are you and Dad? How’s Henry?”
“Henry’s spoiled rotten, as usual. If your dad doesn’t stop loading him up with treats, the vet says he’s going to end up with diabetes. Can you imagine? A cat with diabetes? Your father, though, he couldn’t stand the idea of depriving him of anything.” She smiled. “God love him.”
The waiter approached us and took our drink orders, disappearing quickly after so the conversation could resume.
“You didn’t order wine? My God, are you pregnant?” my mother asked, one brow raised. I couldn’t fault her. Not a lunch between the two of us had gone by that I hadn’t drank alcohol. And, to be fair, she had no idea that Mark and I had been trying, let alone struggling, to conceive. I felt my cheeks flush before I could answer and her eyes grew wide. “Oh my God, you are!”
“No,” I corrected her, my hands thrown up to calm her down. “No, I’m not. I just…I wasn’t planning to drink today.”
She let out a sigh. “Suit yourself. So, what’s new? How’s my son-in-law?”
“He’s well,” I said. “Working hard. He’s really loving his new firm.”
“You don’t look like you’re loving it.” God, she knew me too well.
“Well, he spends a lot of time there, you know? I just hope it won’t always be that way.”
She reached across the table and patted my hand. “You need to find yourself a hobby. Have you looked into a job here in Atlanta? Maybe I could get you on at the hospital. They found a place for me right away when I called about a transfer; I’m sure there’ll be something.”
Most people would hate the fact that their parents followed them across the country when they moved, but I wouldn’t have had it any other way. My parents and I were close, and my mom had always been my best friend, so when Mark had proposed, the only thing preventing me was the fear of being halfway across the country from my parents. My mother is a surgeon and my father a writer, so it wasn’t difficult for them to transfer to be near me, and nothing could’ve made me happier. Except maybe Mark being more on board with the whole arrangement.
My husband was charming when he wanted to be—he could win over anyone given just a few moments of their time—so I never understood his resistance toward my family. In the beginning, my parents were open and accepting of him, choosing to believe he was just taking a while to warm up to them, but eventually it became obvious that was not the case. Mark was civil when they were around, but it never went beyond that. He tolerated them, but he couldn’t understand my need to be close to them. He thought it was odd that they’d traipse across the country to be near me and even more odd that I wouldn’t protest it.
“Thanks, but no. Mark doesn’t want me working right now, and—”
“Mark isn’t the boss of you, Hannah. Don’t let him control what you do. I could understand him asking you not to travel so much, that was a lot, but to ask you not to work all together—”
“I don’t hate not working,” I said. Then when she gave me a dubious look, I added, “Honestly, I don’t. It’s nice to have me-time. Taking care of the house, reading a novel every once in a while. Plus, I’ve been thinking of starting up yoga again. I haven’t been able to do it since college, and I would love to get back into it. There are all these things I’ve never had the time to do before now, or that I haven’t had the time to do in years. My life has been so busy since I started working, and I loved it—don’t get me wrong—Mark just wants me to enjoy it more. He wants to take care of me, and I can’t say I mind that.” I was making that part up as I went on, but I at least hoped it was true of his intentions.
“So, what are you doing to enjoy it, then?” she challenged. “You said you wanted to start yoga back up. What’s stopping you?”
I thought for a moment. What was I doing? Why wasn’t I doing more? Truth be told, my days were spent obsessively cleaning our already clean home and reading passionate romance novels that only made me resent my husband more.
“Well, right now, I’m thinking of repainting the office…for a nursery.”
My mother’s eyes lit up. I wasn’t sure why I’d said it, why I’d admitted it when it was the source of so much of my pain lately, but there it was. “I knew it.”
I felt my face burn red and instinctively touched my cheeks. “I’m not pregnant. Not yet. But we’ve started trying.”
“Oh, Hannah. I’m so happy for you, sweetheart.” She reached across the table and stroked my cheek. “No wonder you’ve been distant lately…you must have so much on your mind.”
“I do, actually,” I told her. “We’re…having trouble, Mom.” She froze, dropping her hand as she waited for me to go on. “It’s been four months and…nothing.”
“You aren’t overdoing it, are you? You know that can be as bad as not doing it at all. They say once or twice a week is plenty.”
If my face wasn’t red before, I knew it was then. “No, we aren’t overdoing it.” Hell, lately if I could get Mark in bed with me once a week I was lucky.
She pulled her purse from the chair next to her and placed it in her lap, pulling out her phone. “Would you like for me to get you an appointment with a fertility specialist at the hospital? At least you had the good sense to settle down in a city with decent healthcare.”
“Do you think we should be worried?” I asked.
“I don’t think it would hurt to make sure everything’s working like it should. Four months isn’t absurd, but at your age, it’s long enough to get a second opinion.”
I nodded
. It was what I expected, but Mark’s nonchalance had made me feel dramatic. “I’d like that,” I said finally. “Thank you, Momma.”
“Of course, sweetheart,” she told me, running a thumb across her phone screen. “Think nothing of it. How’s next week?”
“The sooner the better.”
She placed her phone to her ear with a wink. “Consider it done.”
Chapter Thirteen
Her
When Mark arrived home from work that day, I was waiting with dinner ready. He walked through the door with his head down, nose in his phone like usual, though the aroma of his favorite food seemed to catch his attention.
“Fajitas?” he asked, one brow raised.
“Mhm,” I told him, stepping away from the table to take his jacket. “Here, let me help you.”
He did so hesitantly, staring around the room as if he were expecting a booby trap. “What’s going on?” he asked.
“What do you mean?”
“What’s all this about? Are you wearing makeup?” He paused. “Are we celebrating?”
“Well, not exactly.”
“What’s going on, Hannah?” he asked. For some reason, whenever he called me by my full name, rather than the usual Han, I felt like I was being scolded. I walked his jacket across the room and hung it up on the rack before turning back around.
“I went to visit my mom today.”
“And?” he asked. It irritated me, his lack of caring. No oh, how is she? Just one word.
“And I was telling her about us trying to conceive—”
He scowled and groaned, cutting me off. “Why would you do that? I hate the way you say that.”
“Say what?”
“Trying to conceive.”
“That’s what we’re doing, isn’t it?”
He half-rolled his eyes, turning away from me and heading for the kitchen. “Yeah, it is, it just…I don’t know. It sounds pretentious.”
I scoffed. “Pretentious? Seriously? Are you just trying to pick a fight with me right now?”
He shook his head, sitting down at the table and beginning to load up his plate. To my surprise, he wasn’t searching for anything to drink. “No, I’m not. Just forget it. What did your mother say?”
I sat down in front of him, taking in his expression. Try as I might, I couldn’t read it. “She thinks it might be time for us to see a doctor.”
He stood from his chair in one quick motion, the wooden legs roaring as they scraped against the tile. “No,” he said, walking away from me as he began to pace. “You always do this.”
“Do what?”
“You overanalyze and obsess over everything. It’s been years since you lost weight, and you still count your calories to the single digit. When we went on vacation last summer, you spent two weeks checking destinations before we could choose. Sometimes it’s like you get so focused on one thing, it’s all you can see or think about. I’m sorry, I’m not going to go and see a doctor and get poked and prodded just because things aren’t happening as fast as you’d like. Four months isn’t that long. And, you know, if it’s not happening right now, is that really the worst thing? You don’t need to bring your mother into a decision that’s entirely our own. It’s none of her business.”
“She wasn’t making it her business, Mark. She was just trying to help.” Fresh tears were in my eyes, but I couldn’t bother to bat them away. “Why don’t you just admit it?”
“Admit what?” he asked, his hand rubbing his forehead in frustration.
“Admit that you don’t want a baby with me. You’re only doing this because it’s what I want.”
He froze and dropped his hand. His eyes danced between mine. Finally, his shoulders fell. “Have I ever told you any different?”
I closed my eyes, covering my mouth with shaking fingers. “Your note did.”
“It was what you needed to hear, Han. I wish I could be that guy. I do. I wish I could give you all that you want, but I can’t. I’m not him. I’m not sure I’ll ever be him.”
“What are you saying, Mark? Do you not want to be with me anymore?”
“No, of course not. That’s not what I’m saying at all. I love you, Hannah. I’ve…I’ve loved you from the first time I saw you. That night you walked into my bar, I’m pretty sure I loved you right then.” He took a step toward me, his voice softer then, all of the anger gone. “But we never talked about kids. I guess I assumed because we didn’t, we were on the same page. I see now that we aren’t, and if kids are going to be a deal breaker for you, then I guess you have a decision to make. I want to be with you for the rest of my life, but I just don’t see kids being part of that. I’m sorry. I should’ve been honest with you from the first time you brought it up, but letting you down is not something I enjoy doing. I wanted to get on board with it, I wanted to convince myself it was something I could learn to love, but I can’t and it’s not. Nothing has changed for me, and I never meant to mislead you, but I know you feel like I did.”
“You were just so quick to want to marry me…I thought we wanted the same things.”
“I know,” he said.
“So, you’re saying if we stay together…kids are off the table.”
He gave a stiff nod. “I need to focus on my career. And our marriage. I just don’t have time for anything else.” His forehead wrinkled with concern as he stared at me, his eyes begging for an answer I couldn’t give. An entire chunk of my future was being ripped from me before my very eyes, and the decision was ultimately mine. Mark or kids? Which meant more to me—my very real husband or my potential children?
“I just…I need some time,” I said finally.
“I understand.” He nodded, picking up my hand from the table. He placed his lips against my knuckle. “I love you.”
“I love you, too,” I said, more out of habit than anything. With that, he picked up his plate and left the room, leaving me alone with my thoughts. As soon as he was out of earshot, I let my sobs consume me. It felt like a loss, and I needed to grieve the babies that had become very real to me.
Chapter Fourteen
Her
This is the part where you’re going to judge me. Hate me. Up until now, Mark has been the obvious bad guy, but I’m not faultless in this and I’m willing to admit it. I was wrong. I was so very wrong.
Over the next few days, Mark and I spoke very little. He’d taken to working even later and sleeping on the couch, and we basically only saw each other in passing. I knew I had to make a decision about our marriage and my future, with or without him. It wasn’t fair to keep either of us in limbo any longer than we had to be, but I couldn’t make up my mind. Part of me wanted to admit that I’d never feel whole without children, that they were a part of my plan from the time I’d been old enough to hold a baby doll. That part wanted to leave. The other part of me loved Mark. That was the larger part, if I’m being honest. I guess I thought that eventually, once he felt more sure about his career, he’d change his mind, but I forced myself to think differently. I couldn’t stay with the hope that he’d change his mind. He’d made himself clear. A life with my husband meant a life without kids. Was that something I could commit to? I wanted someone to tell me what to do, to tell me the right choice, but it was impossible. No matter what I did, someone was going to get hurt. In both scenarios, it was going to be me.
After a full two weeks of grieving and feeling numb, I walked into a yoga studio, clad in workout gear that had been packed in the back of my closet for years. I was trying to accept my new life, honestly I was. Yoga had once been a source of great peace for me, and I desperately needed peace.
“Hello.” A woman behind a desk stood up, her hair tucked back in a tight bun. “First time here?”
I nodded.
“Welcome. I’m Shawna, the manager. What sort of yoga are you interested in? We have hot yoga in Studio B or beginners yoga in Studio D. A is empty right now, but there’ll be a more advanced class in about an hour. There’s also rage yo
ga in the back.” She winked. “We have to keep that class separate from the rest. Also, we offer goat yoga twice a month on Saturdays. It’s a ton of fun. So, what interests you?”
“Oh, um, well…probably just basic—”
“Beginners?” she offered, her voice too cheery.
“Yes, beginners. I’ve done yoga before, but it’s been years.”
“Beginners would be perfect, then. And if you get in there and decide it’s too easy, you can just let us know. It’s super easy to get you swapped. There are no fees or anything for that. Now, let’s just go over some enrollment things quickly before the class starts.” She led me to her desk and pulled out a packet, going over rates and hours before telling me the disclaimers and getting me to sign. I handed over the debit card as she pulled the money for a month’s worth of classes and assured me I would love it there. I had no doubts about that. In what felt like another life, I had loved yoga more than just about anything.
I walked into the studio she directed me toward, pulling the yoga mat from my bag and finding a place near the back in the already crowded room. My gaze danced around the room, taking in the other women clad in their neon spandex. They were the kind of women I’d once been. Up before the sun comes up, workout in, fresh highlights, nails perfectly done. It was like looking into a mirror that took me back in time. As I stared in the actual mirror on the wall, I saw how my dark roots had grown out, quickly replacing the warm hazelnut color of my choosing. I saw the way the bags under my eyes weighed down my face and the way my cheeks, without a hint of blush, looked sallow and sickly. My nails hadn’t been done in months and my yoga clothes were ill-fitting and faded. A younger version of myself would’ve been appalled at the way I’d let myself go in such a short time, but I couldn’t bring this new version to care. I’d grown tired—of what, I wasn’t exactly sure—exhaustion overcame me at the strangest times, and I found myself unable to care about anything anymore, myself included.
I Said Yes Page 5