by Dina Silver
“How has this whole thing been on your husband?” I asked her, cutting right to the chase. “I’m always eager to know how other couples are dealing with the stress.”
She shrugged and then tilted her head. “It’s been hard, but mostly because I feel so incompetent. We both do. He’s been really supportive and reassuring, so much so that sometimes it actually makes me feel worse. Weird, right?”
I sipped my coffee and furrowed my brow. “Not weird at all. I completely know where you’re coming from. It’s like, sometimes you want him to be pissed off so that you don’t feel like you’re the only person who’s angry at everyone and everything.”
“I get tired of the guilt. Which is entirely self-imposed, but I can’t help feeling like this is all my fault. He comes from a family of six, and we really want a big family. I feel like I’m the one thing getting in the way,” she admitted.
“Hard as it may be, you need to get over that. The worst thing you can do is dwell on why it’s not happening or whose fault it is or isn’t. You need to think positively…at least that’s what everyone’s always telling me. Easier said than done, I know.” I smiled.
She sighed. “You’re so right. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t apologize to me! I know where you’re coming from, and I know how hard it is to talk to people who don’t get it. I have literally forbidden some of my girlfriends from asking me about it. If you are my friend and you got pregnant by having sex…do not try and make me feel better with your kind, understanding looks and concerned questions. Just keep your trap shut and send a gift when you receive my birth announcement,” I said, laughing.
“How about your husband?” she asked.
I took another sip and thought about Tyler. “He’s been handling it about as well as I’d expected. It’s hard for him…he doesn’t deal well with any sort of controversy. He sort of shuts down and goes into denial when his pride is tested. I think that’s the hardest thing for men; it’s like this whole process is mocking their manhood. It’s a real hit to their egos when they can’t easily procreate all over the place like they thought they could.”
We sat for two hours and shared personal stories and details I hadn’t even shared with some of my closest friends. I told her about my family and my strained relationship with Tyler’s mom. I confided in her about my fears that I would never get pregnant and that Tyler would leave me, causing his mother to rejoice.
“It must be hard having a strained relationship with your mother-in-law,” Alexa said.
I shrugged. “Oh, I’m sure she thinks we get along just fine. Honestly, I’ve gotten used to it, and Tyler’s mother is no threat to my marriage. That’s all I really care about. He and I both share in the task of tolerating her.”
“Good to know,” she said.
I pushed my chair back from the table. “Well, I really enjoyed this, thank you. If nothing else, I’m shameless enough to admit that hearing your problems actually make me feel much less alone with my own,” I said. “Now if you could please put on twenty extra pounds like I have, then I’ll like you even more.”
“I’m sure that won’t be a problem. Please keep me posted on your progress.”
“I will, and you do the same,” I said.
When I got back to the office, Rachel told me there were three messages for Robert to call Kimberly James. I crumpled them up and headed to my desk. Around six o’clock, there was a knock at my office door.
“Come in,” I said.
The door swung open, and Cameron Sparks was standing there with a coconut cake.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Cam!” I squealed, running over to give him a hug. “You’re a sight for sore eyes. Come in and take a load off.”
Cam took a few of his signature, slow cool-guy steps over to the nearest chair, and I sat down in the one beside him.
He handed me the cake box. “It’s not from Fresh Factory.”
“Fresh Market,” I corrected him. “And you’re forgiven, but I need a coconut cake like I need another neurotic pill-popping client.”
“Is she single?”
“Almost!”
“That’s my girl,” he said.
I placed the box on my desk and then sat back and crossed my legs. “What on earth are you doing here?”
Cam had moved to Los Angeles to be closer to his business partner and to get his MBA from UCLA.
“I’m in town visiting a friend.”
“Who?”
“You.”
I shook my head and laughed. “A text would have been nice.”
“I’m kidding. I’m in town with my buddy Rick. He’s our accountant, and we’re here to meet with some investors about a casino project.”
“Sounds fancy.”
“If you like casinos.”
“And I know you do,” I said.
Cam lifted his feet and rested the heels of his shoes on my desktop. “Talk about fancy: look at you with your own office and everything.”
I looked around at my office. It wasn’t big, but it was mine. The firm I worked for looked more like an advertising agency than a law office. There were glass walls and furniture from Design Within Reach and Room & Board. Books and law journals were housed in white laminate cabinets instead of dark oak shelves and dusty bookcases. Marble floors and brightly lit corridors replaced Berber carpet and green desktop bankers’ lamps. Some clients didn’t trust a lawyer without a three-piece suit and a cigar, but most of mine appreciated our contemporary look.
“Can I take you to dinner tonight?” he asked.
“As long as you don’t mind eating dinner at nine o’clock. I have a few things to wrap up before I can get out of here.”
“Nine o’clock is good. Steaks or sushi?”
“Sushi sounds great. There’s a spot a few blocks from here.”
He pulled his feet off the desk and reached over to pat me on the knee. “I’ll be back at nine to pick you up.”
“I’ll meet you down in the lobby. The building locks the elevators to guests at seven o’clock.”
“The lobby it is.”
When Cam left, I was just reaching for my phone to call Tyler and let him know I wouldn’t be home for dinner, when it occurred to me that he hadn’t called to ask about the doctor’s appointment. I held my cell phone in my hand and slid back down into the chair. He should have called.
By seven o’clock I’d answered over one hundred e-mails and listened to forty-three voice mails. Although Rachel left every day at six, the office was still filled with people, and most of the attorneys stayed well past nine each night. Just before I was about to head down to the lobby, Robert stuck his head into my office to say good night.
“You heading out soon?” he asked.
“I am, actually. A friend from law school is in town, and we’re going to grab dinner.”
“Nice,” he said, adjusting the strap of his computer case on his shoulder. “I filed the Anderson papers, and I can call Kimberly James tomorrow if you’d like, so she’ll back off.”
“Pfft,” I said as I threw my phone, lip gloss, and wallet into my purse. “I don’t think anything will make her back off.”
Robert stood in the doorway, watching me gather my stuff. He looked as though he had something else to tell me.
“Was there something else?” I asked.
“Well, it’s just that…yeah, I do have some news to share.”
I stopped what I was doing and put my hands on my hips. “So help me God, if you are leaving me…”
He let out a small awkward laugh indicating this was hard for him. “I’m not leaving you or the firm. In fact, I need my job now more than ever.” He paused. “Madison is pregnant.”
The look on his face killed me. Not because he and Madison had what I wanted, but because he was so hesitant to tell me. That he knew how much I was struggling and how hard it was for me to hear the good news and be happy for them. For Robert and Madison and for everyone else who was able to procreate without inje
ctions and blood work and ultrasounds and condescending physicians. The thing was, I was happy for them, just also sad for me.
I dropped my hands from my hips and clasped them in front of my chest. “Robert, I couldn’t be happier for you. I can tell by that look on your face that you didn’t want to tell me, and I hate myself for that.”
He smiled. “No, I knew you’d be excited for us. I just didn’t want to break the news this morning as you were on your way out the door to the fertility clinic.”
I stepped out from behind my desk and gave him a professionally acceptable congratulatory hug.
“When is she due?” I asked, pulling away.
“Around Thanksgiving.”
“Lots to be thankful for, Rob. Please give her a big hug for me.”
“Consider it done.”
As I was waiting for the elevator to head downstairs, I got a call from Tyler.
“Hi, honey,” I answered.
“How’d the appointment go?”
I gently shook my head. “It was hours ago, Ty.”
“I know, I’m so sorry. I knew you were going to be mad.”
“I’m not mad, I’m disappointed. This is a huge deal, and my work isn’t any less demanding than yours. I just need to know you’re going to be with me on this from here on out. I’m going to have to give myself injections and be at the clinic every other day once we get started. It’s going to be very taxing on both of us.”
“I know, and I love you. I’m so sorry about today. You know I am.”
I sighed. “I know,” I assured him. “Robert and Madison are expecting.”
“That’s great news…you okay?”
Tyler more than anyone knew how I grappled with people’s baby news. One day we’d received two invitations to different one-year-olds’ birthday parties in the mail. I cried when I saw them sitting on our hall table. One invitation was jungle-themed with the sweetest picture of a baby lion cub, and the other was bright pink and glittery. My stomach sank before I was overcome with guilt. Why couldn’t I be happy for people anymore? Why was my immediate reaction to recoil and drink a self-loathing smoothie? Ever since then, I’d put Tyler in charge of opening the mail and had him RSVP no to anything that arrived in a pastel envelope.
“I’m fine. I felt like such a jerk, though, because I could tell Robert was reticent to give me the good news. I’ve turned into this horrible bitch who hates pregnant women.”
“Come home,” he said.
“I can’t. Cameron is in town, and I’m meeting him for dinner,” I said.
“What’s he doing here?”
“Some work thing.”
“I’m not invited?”
It hadn’t occurred to me to invite Tyler. “Come meet us,” I suggested. “We’re grabbing sushi, which I know isn’t your favorite…”
“I’m teasing, Chloe; go have fun and say hello for me.”
“Okay, see you later, love you.”
“Love you.”
I met Cam in the lobby, and we jumped in a cab and went to Naniwa on North Wells Street. As soon as we sat down, he ordered a large hot sake and a scallop appetizer.
“So you’re doing IVF,” he said, pouring the sake into tiny ceramic glasses that looked like they belonged to a child’s tea set.
“We are,” I said.
“You are.”
“Tyler and I are doing IVF.”
He crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair. “I hate when people say, ‘we’re expecting’ when it’s really just her that’s expecting. Please, do me a favor: when you get pregnant, just tell people that you’re expecting.”
I raised a brow and held it there. “When and if I get pregnant, I’m going to tell everyone that Tyler and I are expecting, and every time I do, I’m going to smile and think of how annoyed you’d be.”
He shrugged. “So what are you hoping for, boy or girl? And don’t just say a healthy baby.”
“Let me guess, you hate when people do that too?” I asked. “At this point, I’m just hoping to get pregnant. Aside from work, it’s all I talk about, think about, read about, and dream about. I thought a person could simply have sex with their husband to make a baby, but apparently my middle school P.E. teacher was a big fat liar.”
“Mine was a big, fat retired army sergeant who hated skinny, smart kids.”
“Sounds like we’re even then,” I said. “Are you going to order for us?” Cam always liked to order for the table. Whether there were two or twelve people out to dinner, he reveled in that responsibility.
We sat for two hours reliving old stories about our grueling law school days and swapping new stories about our respective careers. Cam could work from anywhere and was itching to move again.
“Do you think you’ll ever come back here to Chicago?”
He shrugged. “It gets too cold here, but we’ll see. Maybe when you have a kid. Someone’s going to have to teach it how to play Minecraft.”
Once we were through, he ordered another large sake and the check.
“I can’t tell you how great it is to see you, Cam. Have you got your sights set on any lucky girls out west?”
“A few.”
“No one worth mentioning?”
“Not really,” he said. “I’m still sorry I missed your wedding by the way. Did you get my gift?”
Cam had sent Tyler and me our most original gift. A blown-out ostrich egg, said to bring good luck and prosperity into the home. “Of course I did. Didn’t you get my thank-you note?”
“I may have. How’s the egg working for you?”
“Pretty well, actually.”
Cam and I walked out to the street, and he hailed two cabs. One to take me to the train, and one to take him back to his hotel. We embraced, and the smell of him instantly took me back to a time I remembered fondly—when I’d felt so much more relaxed and like my real self.
“Thanks, Cam.”
“Anytime.”
A week later a package arrived for me at the office with a card attached that read Try these. —Love, Cam.
Rachel helped me open the large box, and we discovered a pair of heavy iron candlesticks with an image of a flutist just beneath the candle plate.
“What is it?” I asked.
“Kokopelli,” she said, reading a small pamphlet that she’d pulled out of the box. “Says here that he’s the God of Fertility. Who’s Cam?”
I lifted one of them out of the box, tilted my head, and smiled. “Just a really great friend.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
I was scheduled to begin my IVF shots the second week of July, so Tyler and I decided to take his parents up on their invitation to spend the Fourth of July weekend with them in Lake Geneva beforehand. We arrived at the house around six o’clock that Friday, with dessert and wine in hand. Tyler and I had wanted to get a room at the Grand Geneva for the weekend, but his mother insisted we stay at the house with them. Sammy and Sarah, who had just turned sixteen, had each brought a friend, so that made for eight people in a four-bedroom house.
Time spent at the Reeds’ home in Lake Geneva was always a respite for me. I’d fallen in love and gotten married there, and I breathed easily and slept soundly in that house for the most part. Tyler’s mom made dinner that first night and served it out on the patio. The table was laden with a feast of oven-fried chicken (she’d given up panfrying it in grease after reading an article about Paula Deen being diagnosed with type 2 diabetes), mashed potatoes, summer squash, and macaroni and cheese.
“How is work going, Tylah?” his mother asked after everyone had sat down and filled their plates.
“It’s going good; we got two new clients last week. Some record label and a division of Kellogg’s that’s introducing a new zombie cereal for kids called Brain Berry. Their tagline is ‘Bringing breakfast back to life.’”
“Zombie cereal. Well, I nevah. Did you hear that dear?” she asked Dr. Reed, who looked up from his iPad.
“What’s that?” he asked.
“Tylah has two new clients.”
Dr. Reed nodded in approval and grabbed a roll.
“Did I tell you that Mitch and Hollis just got engaged?” he asked his mother.
“I did not know that. How lovely. She’s seems like such an interesting girl.”
“She’s really great,” I chimed in.
“When’s the weddin’?”
“He mentioned something about getting married in Vegas. I think they’re going to do a small ceremony out there in a few months,” Tyler said. “Work’s been crazy though, so I’m not sure when he’s going to be able to get away.”
Tyler’s mom gently slapped the tabletop. “I’m so tickled to hear how busy you are; that’s just wonderful news. Isn’t it, Chloe?”
I looked up from the chicken leg I was gnawing on and wiped my chin. “Yes, it’s fantastic,” I said and leaned in to give Tyler a greasy kiss. “I’m so proud of him. He’s worked really hard for this.”
“And how is work going for you, dear? You poor thing, you hardleh have time to cook a proper meal for your husband with those long hours.”
A foot-long sub and a bag of Baked Lay’s seemed proper enough to me. I cleared my throat and heard Grace’s voice in my head. Just ignore her. So I tried, and changed the subject.
“We’re starting our IVF treatments next month,” I said excitedly.
Dixie Reed tilted her head and studied me. She raised a finger to her lips and narrowed her eyes. I glanced at Tyler when she failed to comment, but he was on his fourth piece of chicken, texting someone.
“What’s that?” Sarah asked me, and I nearly reached out and hugged her for breaking the silence. But before I could answer, her mom finally spoke.
“I’m sure Chloe doesn’t want to discuss that type of thing at the dinnah table.”
“Oh, I don’t mind,” I said and turned to Sarah. “It’s a fertility treatment we’re doing to help us have a baby.”