by Megan Walker
Anna-Marie freezes mid-bite, her eyes widening as she stares at me over the turkey leg in her mouth, which isn’t an attractive look even on Anna-Marie. She blinks and lowers the turkey. “What?”
I swallow, and the turkey tastes like paste now. I’m half-tempted to just toss mine in the nearest trash can. “I’m pregnant.”
“Wow, I—oh my god.” She looks like the breath’s been knocked out of her. I get that feeling. “Are you—Were you guys . . . I mean—”
“It was a surprise,” I say, sparing her from fumbling around to figure out whether congratulations or condolences are in order. Because, really, I don’t even know. “Kids weren’t even on our radar, you know? Like in the future, maybe, but with how small our apartment is and our financial situation, and god, I don’t even know that I’d be ready to take care of one of Sheena’s hamsters right now, let alone a baby . . .”
“Wow,” Anna-Marie says again, in a small voice. “How is Will handling it?”
I tell her about last night as we walk, about how I realized my stupidity in having unprotected sex while still on antibiotics, and how Will is about as excited as I am—which is to say, not very—and how nervous we both are about this. I tell her about our financial discussion and Will’s job concerns and how he won’t accept charity unless it comes in the form of Felix buying Cushionless Couch. Anna-Marie listens, not saying very much, asking the occasional question. Which is exactly what I need right now, and it feels good to vent.
But eventually I realize that she’s too quiet. This is Anna-Marie, after all. A great listener, yes, but rarely one to hear dramatic news without an equally dramatic reaction. Right now, though, she looks like she’s shrinking in on herself a little, and that stunned quality to her expression is lingering.
It’s like my news is hitting her harder than it even hit me.
I pause in my recounting of our debate about whether we need to move. “Are you okay?”
Anna-Marie blinks at me. “Yeah. Of course. I just—Wow. All of this, you know? Wow.”
I do know, but I don’t think that’s actually what’s on her mind. “What is it really?” I give her my best no-BS look, and Anna-Marie shifts awkwardly. She looks off at the nearby stage, where a couple of women dressed up as medieval nuns are performing their “Hey, Nunny Nunny” show. The crowd laughs.
Anna-Marie looks back at me, and then sighs. “It’s—Josh and I just found out that we have fertility problems.” She sucks in her lips, and stares at the ground. “That I have fertility problems.”
And now it’s me staring in shock, though at least I don’t have a turkey leg in my mouth. “What? You’ve been trying?”
She nods, still staring glumly at the ground. “But we don’t need to talk about that right now, this is about you and—”
“No way. We’re on you now,” I say firmly, still trying to process this. I knew Anna-Marie wanted to be a mom someday, but like my own vague parental inclinations, I always assumed that was off in the future. Maybe way off in the future. “But you and Josh have only been married a year. For you to already know you have fertility problems—”
I cut off as she winces.
“We’ve been trying since we got married,” she says. “Do you remember when my mom came out and visited us about a month before the wedding?”
“And she sabotaged your birth control?” I wish I was exaggerating, but I am not. Anna-Marie’s mom was already a bit of a nut job, from what I’ve understood. And then . . .
Anna-Marie groans, as if just remembering this, even though she’s the one who brought it up. “Exactly. The day my mom became an actual soap opera villain.” She shakes her head. “I should have kicked her out the minute she suggested I get pregnant to keep my hooks in Josh and ‘guarantee future financial support.’”
I grimace in disgust, much the way I did when Anna-Marie first told me her mom had actually said that to her. Despite spending most of Anna-Marie’s life trying to convince her that men can never be trusted, her mom was thrilled when Anna-Marie got engaged to Josh—apparently men can’t be trusted, but the wealthy, well-connected ones should be used and taken for everything they have before they inevitably screw you over. At least Will knows I didn’t get pregnant to secure my obligation to his incredible wealth.
I think Anna-Marie and Josh had hoped that her mom seeing them together would convince her they were actually in love and happy and that these were both good things.
Instead, she poked pin-holes in all their condoms. Something they discovered about a week later, after having used a good number of them.
“So after we found the condoms, I told my mom that she’d gone way too far, and she was no longer welcome in our lives unless she gets help for her many issues,” Anna-Marie says, and I nod. I remember thinking this was probably healthier for everyone—especially Josh and Anna-Marie’s marriage. “And, of course, we took pregnancy tests later, and weren’t pregnant.”
I remember that, too. I’d been so relieved for them.
But Anna-Marie only looks sad now. “I know we said it was a good thing,” she says, “but the truth is, Josh and I realized we were both disappointed when the test came back negative. Not that either of us really wanted to conceive because of my mom doing that to us,” she adds quickly and bitterly. “But just that we realized we were both more ready to be parents than we’d thought. That we actually wanted to, you know?”
There’s an ache that pierces me like that Sting sword, but I don’t say anything. She must see the look on my face, though, because she cringes. “I’m sorry, I really shouldn’t be talking about this now, with—”
“No. I told you we’re on you now.” I gesture with my turkey leg for her to continue.
She shrugs. “So we haven’t been using birth control since. We just figured it would happen when it happened, and we’d be happy whenever that way, and . . .” She swallows. “And it’s been a year now, and it just never happened. We went in for testing last month. It turns out I have a hormonal problem. The odds aren’t, um. They’re not great. So I have a prescription to help with that, but . . .”
But there’s no guarantee. Now my ache is sharper, seeing the sadness on my best friend’s face. She’s been struggling with wanting to be pregnant, and now here I am, pregnant and not really wanting to be.
And also, she’s been struggling with this for a year, and I never knew.
“Is that the problems you were talking about at the sex shop?” I ask carefully. “Making things fraught?”
Anna-Marie nods and slumps down on a nearby bench, at the way back of the crowd watching the bawdy nun show. Which is loud, especially with the crowd’s laughter, but not so much I’ll have to struggle to hear her. I sit next to her.
“We’re doing good overall,” she says, “but it’s just been getting stressful. Like, oh my god, the sperm clinic.”
The way she says this tells me there’s definitely a story there. “Worse than the couples massage?”
She laughs, but it’s a bleak sound. “Surprisingly, yes. I didn’t think it would be a big deal, right? We’ll just go in the clinic, jack him off into a cup, and done.”
“That’s usually how it goes, yeah.”
“Well, we get there and the nurse shows us the DVD selection—which amongst all the porn contained, weirdly enough, a copy of Casino Royale—”
“Is that a James Bond movie?”
“Yep. Which maybe works for some people. Sure. Whatever, we weren’t planning on using their stash o’ porn and Daniel Craig anyway. But then Josh starts to freak-out—he just doesn’t want to be there, doesn’t want to do this, even with me offering to help.” She bites her lower lip. “I might have gotten a little bitchy. Like, ‘I had to give blood, and I didn’t get to orgasm during that, so just get to it.’”
I cringe. “Did you say that to him?”
“Yes,” she says wi
th a sigh. “I told you I got bitchy. But he wanted me to ask the nurse if they can extract the sperm with a needle! My husband would rather have a needle jammed in his testicle than jack off to me.”
“Yikes. Yeah, I wouldn’t have felt super great about that either.”
“It was awful. I was getting mad and he was in tears, and then I felt terrible and I was crying, and—ughhh,” she groans. “But he explained what was bothering him about it, and I get it. It’s Josh and me, and we’re trying to make a baby, and . . . Being in the clinic like that, it’s like suggesting that this connection we have is medically observable and can be replaced by porn.”
“Or Casino Royale.”
“Exactly.” Anna-Marie gives a sad little smile. “And really, can I be mad at my husband for feeling that way? Honestly, I really do get it. The whole thing felt so . . . just awful.”
I can see Josh having those issues. For such a powerhouse agent, he’s also a deeply sensitive guy, especially when it comes to his feelings for Anna-Marie.
“If the clinic environment is too stressful to, um, perform, you know you can just take the cup home, right?” I can’t help but ask.
“Yeah, but the clinic’s too far away from our house to get the sample back in time. So it’s like, where are we supposed to go? Behind the Taco Bell?”
“Or a hotel?” I suggest.
“We just felt so stupid that this was going so badly. We’ve both had sex in way skankier places than a clinic. God, we’ve had sex with each other in skankier places.”
I imagine so, if their first non-clinic sex location idea was “behind the Taco Bell.”
“Did you guys figure it out?” I ask.
“Yeah. We went back again, and this time went better. Still awful, but no freak-outs from either of us, and we got the sample.” Her shoulders slump. “Though after all that, it turns out we didn’t need it. The problem’s with me.”
I don’t want to point out that with infertility problems, most of the solutions are going to involve Josh needing to do this anyway, even if his sperm aren’t the issue. Probably she knows this by now.
“I’m sorry, Anna,” I say.
She nods. “Me too. About what you’re going through, I mean.”
We both just sit there, and the nuns burst into song and the crowd laughs. Across the way, there’s a woman dressed as a fairy, and her dark skin is dusted with glitter and she has these huge gossamer wings that sparkle in the sunlight and her delicately braided hair is threaded through with ribbons. She bends down to greet several little girls who are enchanted with her, one of whom is wearing her own set of wings, probably picked up at a vendor here.
The little girls giggle, and Anna-Marie and I both watch them. I can tell by the wistful expression on her face and the scared little knot in my chest that we’re feeling vastly different things at seeing this, neither of which are pleasant.
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before,” Anna-Marie says quietly, after the little girls scamper away and the ethereal fairy-woman continues walking on. “I just felt like it shouldn’t be a big deal. Like you said, we’ve only been married a year, right? And we’re happy. We really are. We shouldn’t want this so much.”
“But you do,” I say, and I reach over and grab her hand. “And that’s okay. And it’s okay if you couldn’t talk about it before.” I realize as I say it that it’s true. It stings that she’s been going through this and not telling me, but whereas I can’t keep from sharing my problems, no matter how embarrassing—as evidenced by my sex advice phone call with my little brother—Anna-Marie has always had a hard time being open. I didn’t even know much more than the basics about her family and past until after the trip to Wyoming brought all that baggage tumbling out of the emotional closet.
She always opens up to me eventually, though, and I’m one of the very few people in the world who can say that. I smile as she squeezes my hand back.
And then my smile drops as the guilt sets back in. “I feel horrible complaining about being pregnant to you.”
“No, you need to be able to complain about it. It’s not something you wanted right now, and that’s scary.”
It is, that’s for sure. “But should I even be talking to you about it? Not that I don’t want to, but is that going to hurt you?”
Anna-Marie considers this. I appreciate this about her—with questions like this, she doesn’t just toss off the answer she thinks people want to hear, something I’m inclined to do. Finally, she says, “I think it’s both. Yeah, it’s going to hurt a little, but I want you to be able to talk to me even more. This is huge, and I want to be there for you in any way I can.”
I know she means it, but it’s going to be hard, knowing that my problems are hurting her. And I can’t help but wonder if it’s just going to make things awkward between us, and weird, if I can’t be happy about this, or even if I can be happy about this—god, I hope eventually I can be happy about this . . .
“I know you said Will won’t take any money,” Anna-Marie says, cutting into my anxiety spike. “But if you could change his mind, I know Josh would be okay with us helping you guys out.”
I lean my head on her shoulder. “You could buy Cushionless Couch,” I say. “But like we’re telling Felix, if you buy it, you need to keep it. And prominently display it.”
Anna-Marie does one of her infamous snort-laughs, and rests her head on mine. “You know I love you, Gabby. But no way in hell.”
“Tell Josh not to tell anyone, though, okay?” I say. “Specifically Ben. Because I know Will goes over there just to escape, and I’m not sure when he’s going to want to talk about all this with other people.”
Anna-Marie nods. “And Ben can’t not talk about uncomfortable things. He doesn’t know about the infertility yet for the same reason.”
That surprises me. Anna-Marie can be really private, but Josh and Ben talk about everything. I probably shouldn’t be glad that he isn’t talking about this, but it still makes me feel better that I’m not the only best friend being kept in the dark. Maybe things will get weird and difficult as this goes on, but I really believe that ultimately our friendship will be okay.
I wish I felt as confident about other areas of my life.
Fourteen
Will
I’m collapsed on Ben’s couch, watching old episodes of The Office, when Josh comes over. It’s a surprise to see him. Technically, he’s always invited to our movie nights, but Ben has a computer programming job he never brings home and I’m mostly desperate for human connection and have no responsibilities to speak of beyond trying and failing to produce words and, only recently, looking for a job. Meanwhile, Josh has a demanding career and a wife who doesn’t work nights, so he rarely makes it. Generally speaking, when Gabby works late and Wyatt has the evening shift at the pool hall, Ben and I are left with the television for company, and, more dubiously, each other.
“Hey,” Josh says as he comes in. He takes the other end of the wraparound couch that I’m currently occupying, while Ben is sprawled out in his recliner. Josh must have gone home between work and here, because he’s wearing dark jeans and a Star Wars t-shirt, and I’m pretty positive he wasn’t out lunching with A-list actors in that.
“Hey,” Ben says. “Where’s Anna-Marie tonight?”
“She’s at home,” Josh says. “She wasn’t in the mood for The Office.”
Ben gives Josh a look, while I keep my eyes glued to the screen. Josh pretty much never comes in casually to announce that Anna-Marie is at home, but he decided to hang out with us instead. The only time he does that is for his Sunday video-game nights with Ben, and usually I’m not invited to those.
Josh has either had a fight with Anna-Marie and doesn’t want to admit that he needed to get out, or he’s here for some other reason. And while it’s probably self-centered of me, I have a terrible feeling it might have to do with
me and Gabby. I know Gabby told Anna-Marie about being pregnant, and apparently that went even less well than I would have expected, because Josh and Anna-Marie have been trying to have a baby for the last year. That’s pretty terrible timing, and I’m kind of irked at Anna-Marie for bringing it up now and making Gabby feel even worse about our situation, even though logically I’m not sure what else she was supposed to do.
“So,” Josh says to me, kicking his feet up onto the couch next to mine in a way I think is supposed to be casual. “I heard Gabby went with Anna-Marie to the sex shop the other day.”
Oh my god. The last time I discussed this with Ben in the room, I got the worst pre-sex advice of my life. Someone’s happy to see you. I can’t believe I actually said that to Gabby. I can’t believe I was desperate enough to ask Ben for advice to begin with.
“So I hear,” I say.
“Did Gabby get anything good?” Josh asks.
“Um,” I say. “Not that I’d tell you about.” I mean for that to come out as a joke.
But it doesn’t.
“She got one of those painting kit things that you have sex on,” Ben announces. “And Will wasn’t excited about it.”
“Oh my god,” I say, rolling my eyes. “Yes, I was.”
“Yeah,” Ben says. “That’s about how excited he sounded.”
“Maybe this is my excited voice!” I say. But it’s not. It’s my defensive voice, and from the way both of them stare at me, it’s obvious they know it.
“Hey,” Josh says in a tone that is clearly supposed to put me at ease. “That’s pretty cool. Should Anna-Marie and I try one out?”
Gabby is sensitive enough about the big ass-print that I’m not going to share it with anyone. “I don’t know,” I say. “If that’s what you’re into.”
“That’s not exactly a glowing review,” Josh says.
“It’s okay,” Ben says. “Will is always like that. I once tried to tell him about this time I had sex with Wyatt in pool hall after hours and Will was like, ‘I don’t need the details.’”
