Mother's Day

by Lynne Constantine

  To every woman with a mother’s heart

  Copyright 2013 by Lynne Constantine

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic means, including storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Cover Image: Copyright Wavebreakmedia 2013 - Shutterstock

  Mother’s Day

  A Short Story

  Miranda hadn’t always been unhappy. In fact, she used to consider herself quite an optimistic person. Perky even. She groaned and rolled over, pulling the rumpled sheet over her head. She couldn’t face them – not today when they would display their misshapen jewelry and handmade cards full of love and bad spelling like gold medals of motherhood. Then there would be the sympathetic looks and arched eyebrows – the ever-present question on everyone’s minds. Any news yet?

  “Hey, sleepyhead. You ever getting up?” Daniel pulled the sheet off of her and kissed the top of her head.

  She rolled over again.

  Opening her eyes, she studied him as he walked away and into the hallway. He’d been up and dressed hours ago. Already taken his five-mile run, showered, eaten his egg white omelet and was now, no doubt, scouring the house for some chore that needed doing. His efficiency exhausted her. She sighed and swung her legs to the side of the bed. She scratched a mosquito bite and felt the stubble on her leg. Better shave.

  She pulled up the shades while waiting for the shower to warm up. A beautiful sunny day. And why wouldn’t it be? Even the weather was paying homage to those deserving mothers being showered with adoration today. Stop being a bitch. It wasn’t their fault that she was still childless and on a collision course with forty. She took her nightgown off and ran a light hand over the bruises from her last I.V.F. cycle. She pursed her lips. Her belly was as empty as their bank account. Or was it? Stop it! I can’t do this again. It is what it is - whatever the hell that stupid cliché was supposed to mean. She wouldn’t know for another two weeks. The routine was automatic now - she’d been through it five times. In the beginning she was optimistic. She had the best fertility doctor in town – he was amazing, and his nurses, well, they were angels. She felt at ease with him as soon as she met him. For the first time in months, she could take a breath. He came as close to understanding what she was going through as any man could. Leaving his office the first day, she was confident that if anyone could help her, he could, and she was ready to do whatever he instructed. After a comprehensive workup he had concluded that her endometriosis was a contributing factor to the infertility. Her husband’s sperm count was fine but not penetrating her eggs. They needed to inject the sperm directly into her eggs rather than wait for them to get there on their own. He recommended a procedure called Intracytoplasmic Sperm Injection (how was that for space-age sounding) or ICSI for short. Just like ICKY which was what the whole process was. Demeaning, painful, and all-consuming. When he first explained the daunting in vitro fertilization process she thought she had heard him wrong.

  “I have to inject my stomach every day with three needles?”

  “Yes, my dear.”

  “And blood tests how often?”

  She didn’t realize she was signing up to be a pincushion.

  “No alcohol, no smoking, no heavy exercise or over-exertion,” he reminded her. “The drugs will make you moody. Your hormones will be all over the place. Take care of yourself. Don’t take on too much. Try to relax.” He handed her a sheet with the detailed instructions.

  Relax? No alcohol? No running? This must be a joke.

  “But my job requires some traveling,” she said.

  He shook his head. “Sorry, Miranda. You need to put your traveling on hold for now.”

  As it turned out, she had to put everything on hold. For the next five years, her life became a merry-go-round of doctor’s appointments, ultrasounds, blood tests, egg retrievals, embryo transfers, and the worst part – waiting for the phone call that would announce if it had been worth it or not. Daniel had soon learned to leave her alone on those days. The first negative result was bearable. After all, it rarely worked on the first try. They had curled up on the sofa, eaten Chinese take-out, and then watched old movies in bed until she fell asleep with her head on his shoulder. It got worse with each failed cycle. Why wasn’t it working? She was doing everything right – taking all her shots, avoiding toxins, obeying every rule – yet still nothing. Then came the fourth cycle. She felt different this time. Her breasts were sore, the sensation in her body slightly off. Despite the little voice telling her not to get excited, she allowed herself to hope.

  The morning the call was to come she saw the blood first. Her stomach plummeted and she put her head in her hands and cried. And cried. And cried. She hadn’t known it possible to feel this empty – her arms ached to hold a child of her own. Daniel knew it was bad when she wouldn’t answer her phone all day. He came home to a dark house – her sitting in the living room, staring at nothing.

  “I’m so sorry, honey.”

  “Me too.”

  He turned the light on and she flinched from the brightness.

  “Turn it off.”

  “Miranda. Come on, you can’t just sit here in the dark.”

  She didn’t look up. “Turn it off. It hurts my eyes.”

  He sighed, flipped the switch, and left.

  She stayed that way until midnight. He was still awake when she came to bed.

  “Maybe we should take a break.”

  “What?” She glared at him.

  “It’s really getting you down and you’re exhausted. Just take a little time off.”

  She could feel herself getting hot and rage enveloping her.

  “Take a break? Take a break?” Her voice became shrill. “Are you kidding me? We don’t have time to take a break. Every month that passes, I’m another month older, my eggs are a little less viable. I will never give up.”

  He sighed. “Miranda, I’m not suggesting we give up. I’m only talking about a month or two. Just a breather from the constant doctor’s appointments, the drugs.” He hesitated. “The disappointment.”

  “I don’t need a break. I need a supportive husband.”

  His face turned red. “I’ve been nothing but supportive. This whole thing has taken over our lives and I’ve done everything you’ve asked. What if I need to take a break?”

  “What do you need a break from? All you have to do is go into a room with some magazines and a plastic cup.” She snorted. “You’re not the one with the needles and the blood tests and the bloating and the mood swings.”

  Even when she saw the look of shock and dismay on his face it didn’t slow her down. Her fury had the force of a runaway train.

  “You have the easy part. You should appreciate how hard I’m working to make us a family.”

  “All I have to do is go into a room? Are you kidding me? I feel like nothing more than a sperm donor. We haven’t made love in months. I’m afraid to come anywhere near you. I never know who I’m coming home to – depressed Miranda, angry Miranda, or maybe bitter Miranda.” His voice rose. “But never the Miranda I married. What happened to her? The Miranda who cared about me? This obsession with a baby has turned our lives upside down. Not to mention our finances. There are two of us here, remember? It’s not just all about you. Don’t you think it hurts me too? Magazines and a plastic cup? Maybe I’ll just refuse to produce next time.”

  “Don’t you dare threaten me. It does
n’t sound to me like you care if we have a baby or not. Do you know how hard this is for me? Everyone in your family looking at me like I’ve ruined your life. It’s not your fault. It’s mine.”

  “What are you talking about? No one thinks you’ve ruined my life. That’s all in your head.”

  “Oh, so now I’m crazy too? Why not? Blame everything on me. Everything’s my fault anyway.” She began to cry. “Defective eggs. It even sounds ridiculous. You should have married someone else - someone with a normal body - a working body. Someone who could give you the live you deserve.”

  She collapsed on the bed, gasping, her shoulders shaking with each sob.

  “I don’t want someone else. Miranda, please. It will be okay.”

  He wrapped her in his arms and kissed her head, her eyes, and her cheeks. He held her until she was calm and didn’t let go all night. After that he never commented on the treatments, other to ask what she needed from him, when he needed to be home, and what the next steps were.

  It wasn’t long before she had to stop working. She didn’t feel right asking her boss to keep making accommodations to her crazy schedule. She put away her camera and getting pregnant became her job. Daniel said he understood, but she didn’t miss the look of concern in his eyes each month when the medical bills arrived. Now they were out of time. This was their last cycle. He had told her last month. The money was gone and they had no more credit to exhaust. Savings depleted, marriage strained, emotions destroyed: how to ruin a life in ten easy steps. She didn’t blame Daniel, at least not too much.

  She pulled a pair of white pants down from the hanger and stepped into them. Seriously? They used to be loose. She couldn’t even button them.

  “Shit.” She threw them on the floor. She tried another pair. Then another. The pile was growing. She pressed down on her stomach and suppressed a scream. Another perk of infertility treatments – you got to look pregnant even when you weren’t. Why had she even agreed to go today? She jerked the black Chico’s traveler’s pants from the rod. The hanger made a loud bang on the wooden floor. She rolled her eyes and shut the closet door. Time for the masquerade. A little make up, a dash of lipstick, and a plastic smile. She was ready.

  “Can you grab the deviled eggs?” she asked Daniel when she walked into the kitchen.

  “Sure.”

  He handed her a card.

  “What’s this?”

  “Open it.”

  She slit the envelope with her thumbnail and pulled out a card. A wide-eyed black lab stared back at her. “Happy Mother’s Day and lots of licks too.”

  She looked at him, a confused expression on her face. They didn’t have a dog.

  He grinned and took her hand. She followed him into the garage and stood, speechless, while he opened the gate of his SUV. As soon as she saw the small kennel her eyes grew wide. Was he kidding? Daniel opened the kennel and pulled out the wriggling black ball of fur.

  She ran past her perplexed husband and back into the house. You just don’t get it. She didn’t want her first Mother’s Day card to be from a dog. Was this supposed to be her consolation prize? A puppy for Mother’s Day?

  “Miranda.” He was behind her. “What’s wrong? I was just trying to help.” He still held the puppy.

  Finally she spoke. “Don’t you think getting a puppy should be a joint decision?” She wasn’t going to get into the rest of it right now.

  His face fell.

  “I just wanted to do something to cheer you up. Besides, this way he’ll be trained and ready to be the best dog a kid could ever want.”

  “I thought you got him for me as a substitute for a baby,” she whispered. She walked toward him. He was cute.

  Daniel hugged her to him and the puppy licked her face.

  “Let’s bring the kennel in and get him settled before we leave. At least now we have an excuse to leave early,” she said.

  They rode the fifteen minutes in silence. Pulling up to the cheery yellow colonial, she saw that they were the last to arrive.

  “Aunt Miranda!” her three-year old niece, Zoë came running up. Miranda bent down to take her into her arms. She relished the tight squeeze and the feel of the soft cheek against her own.

  “Hello, darling. You look beautiful.”

  The little girl took Miranda’s hand into her chubby one.

  “Come on. I made you something.”

  She followed Zoë into the house and smiled her hellos as the excited child pulled her up the stairs and into one of the bedrooms.

  “Here you go.”

  It was a macaroni necklace.

  “I love it!” She tilted her head forward so that Zoë could slip it over her head.

  “Do you like my dress?” Zoë twirled around.

  “It’s almost as beautiful as you.” Miranda tweaked her cheek.

  Zoë giggled and hugged Miranda’s legs.

  “I have something for you too.” Miranda opened her purse and pulled out a little box. “Here you go.”

  Zoë grabbed it and her eyes opened wide. “Oooh. It’s a diamond! The one I wanted. Thank you, Aunt Miranda.” Zoë loved shiny things. They had gone to Chucky Cheese last Saturday and the ring had beckoned to Zoë from underneath the fingerprint-smudged glass. It was a ridiculous amount of coupons and Zoë didn’t have enough so she had settled on some penny candy and they left. Miranda went back later and spent the next two hours playing the childish games until she had enough tickets. She had known the cheap ring wasn’t worth more than a dollar but the expression on her niece’s face would be worth her effort.

  “I’m going to go show Mommy.”

  Miranda walked over to the mirror and looked at herself, fingering the necklace. Would anyone ever call her Mommy? How she missed those days of naïve arrogance before the fertility treatments when she believed it was all in her control. She remembered the first time they’d made love without any contraception – the exhilaration she’d felt at doing something that had been forbidden for so long. It felt reckless and she was anything but reckless. She was surprised and disappointed when she got her period but not concerned. Never concerned. All three of her sisters had gotten pregnant as soon as their husbands glanced their way. Why should she be different? When the months turned into six, a kernel of fear nestled in her gut. Surely their timing was just off. She was only thirty-four. She didn’t know then that the female reproductive system hadn’t kept pace with the female social evolution. She didn’t think she needed a specialist – she just needed to get serious. Off she went to procure an ovulation kit and to inform Daniel to be prepared to make love on demand. Twelve kits later and she knew it was time to throw her denial in the trash along with the cardboard box. Then she lost another year trying less invasive therapies. She wouldn’t accept that she would indeed need the whole nine yards – in vitro fertilization.

  “What are you doing in here all by yourself? Come join the party.”

  “Hi Mom, Happy Mother’s Day.” She kissed her on the cheek.

  Her mother looked closely at her face, squinting. “You look a bit tired, dear. Everything alright?” She pushed Miranda’s hair from her forehead with a gentle hand.

  Miranda felt herself tense up. She wasn’t going to have this discussion today. No matter how she felt, it was Mother’s Day and she would not fight with her.

  “I’m fine, Mom. Shall we go in with the others?”

  As soon as they were in the living room, Daniel came to her rescue.

  “I’ve been looking for you. Let’s go get something to drink.”

  She put her hand in his and gave it a grateful squeeze.

  She glanced over at two of her sisters in close conversation across the room. They were whispering and looking very serious.

  “I’m going to go see what’s going on,” she told Daniel.

  Was that worry on his face? Did he know something she didn’t?

  “Let’s get something to drink first.”

  He looked over at the girls.

  He
r stomach tensed. “Why? What’s going on?”

  He put his arm around her. “Let’s go sit down.”

  Miranda looked back and forth from her sisters to her husband. She couldn’t deal with this right now.

  “I think I’ll just go and get some air.”

  She walked outside into the garden and sat down on the glider. She rested her hands on the back of her head and breathed deeply. It was a beautiful day; she was surrounded by family who loved her, yet she had never felt more alone. When had she become this person? How had her natural desire to start a family, to have a child of her own, turned into this obsession – a force all its own? She hardly recognized her own thoughts anymore. She couldn’t see a pregnant woman without feeling resentful. Why her and not me? Every baby allocated to someone else seemed to be one denied to her. She knew it was crazy. Their good fortune wasn’t causing her misfortune. But it didn’t change the way she felt. She couldn’t even be around her friends anymore. All they seemed to do was complain about motherhood. They were tired. They had no time for themselves. Their husbands didn’t know how hard it was to be a stay-at-home mom. She wanted to slap them, to scream: “You don’t know how lucky you are. You don’t deserve it.” But she kept her mouth shut, seething at their ungratefulness. The last straw had been last week when they were all having lunch. After the usual pleasantries they got into more serious conversation.

  “I think I’m pregnant again,” Tilly confided to the group.

  Cynthia, Miranda’s best friend and only confidante in the group, shot Miranda a look that said I’m sorry.

  “That’s wonderful,” Susan said.

  Tilly took a long swallow from her iced tea. “Yes, but it’s a bit soon after Bryce.”

  Miranda could feel the blood rising to her face.

  “I don’t know if I’m going to keep it,” Tilly blurted out.

  Miranda’s mouth dropped open.

  “What do you mean?” She couldn’t help herself.

  Tilly turned toward her.

  “Well, I’m just not sure it’s fair to Bryce. He’s only one. I think it’s better if we wait.”

  Miranda stood up. “I have to go.” She frowned at Tilly. “I hope you come to realize what a blessing a baby is and how lucky you are. I don’t understand how you can be so cavalier about dispensing with it as if it were just an inconvenience.”