by Cassie Mae
“You have to talk to your husband,” I tell her, pulling back and looking into her eyes. “That man loves you.”
“What if he doesn’t?” And the look in her eyes tells me that she actually thinks that’s a possibility. “It’s getting bad, Maya. I’m not even sure if I…” Her hands circle her tummy, and she blows out a breath. “I’d hate to bring a child into a broken relationship.”
I want to tell her how her relationship isn’t broken… maybe a little bruised, but not irreparable. But whatever brought her here is too fresh in her mind that there is no way she can hear it. So instead, I pat her leg and offer her a can of frosting. It’s not until she laughs and races to the bathroom that I remember the pregnancy test upstairs.
22
Broken Woman
The paper under my butt crinkles as I shift and tap a message to Holland. She stayed at my place until Warren called in a panic, wondering where she was. I haven’t heard a word since, and I’m trying to be patient, but I’m worried about my friend and her husband.
I hit send, sleep the screen, then blow out a breath and look at the picture of a uterus hanging on the opposite wall. The first pregnancy test had one bright line, one very faded line. The second had one line, but then overnight it grew a twin. I figured I’d be safe and get a professional opinion.
“Okay,” I tell myself as the nerves ping and pop in my stomach. “If it’s negative, no harm no foul.” And I ask about birth control methods that I don’t run the risk of forgetting. My eyes swivel from the display IUD over to the take-apart pregnant, torso-only manikin. It has different sizes of a baby, like one of those Russian Matryoshka dolls, starting from peanut to watermelon. I rub my tummy mindlessly, the material of the hospital gown catching on my paper cut. If it’s positive… what do I do? What’s the next step? I think about the life I have and the life that it’d turn into and even though I pictured it the night that got me into this mess, it still terrifies me. I’m not a mother; I don’t have the patience, the know-how, the strength that I see in my sisters, in my friends. Motherhood suits them, just like I know fatherhood would suit Cooper.
Something warm crawls through my chest, and the corner of my mouth twitches as I look at that plastic baby. “If it’s positive, I tell Cooper.” And we deal with this together. That’s the next step.
A knock sounds at the door, and my spine straightens as the doc comes in. She’s young, maybe my age, and I wonder if she has a family. And if she does, how does she juggle them and this?
“Sorry for the wait, Maya,” she says, her smile friendly, but also like it’s taking a lot of effort for her to keep it there. I’d chalk it up to an occupational hazard if it wasn’t for that gut feeling that it’s most likely the news she has to deliver.
“It’s okay.” I let out an awkward giggle-snort that instead of calming me, just makes my cheeks warm. “So… what’s the verdict? Life sentence?”
My joke falls dead between us, even the doctor unable to muster up some laughter just to humor me. Her lips turn down, and she reaches behind her for the circular, rolling chair and wheels it toward the bed I’m perched up on. She gently takes a spot, her fingers delicate as they adjust her white coat. I brace myself for my life to change.
“You’re not pregnant,” she says.
There is a two second beat of shock, followed by a long, loud sigh of relief. Not pregnant, oh thank heavens. No harm, no foul, just like I said before. Next step is talking birth control, and then I’m going out for a strong drink.
I grin, the nerves in my stomach evaporating, and I start to relax, my body stiff and sore from the tense position I hadn’t realized I was sitting in for so long.
“Gah… don’t do that,” I playfully chastise her, and her brows pull in. “The look on your face made me think I was dying or something.”
Sympathy fills her eyes, and an uncomfortable itch invades my relief. “Maya, your bloodwork has me concerned.”
“Am I dying?” I ask, partly joking, mostly panicking.
She lets out a tiny laugh, and I wish she would just spit it out so that I could stop having these emotional mood swings.
“No. But, there are some more tests I’d like to run.”
“Why?”
Her lips press together, and she sets her clipboard on the counter behind her. She starts slowly, medical jargon getting tangled among words that I actually understand. The longer she explains, the emptier I feel—emptier than I’ve felt in my entire life. Am I understanding her correctly? My fingers twitch against the hospital gown, tickling my stomach that not three minutes ago had the possibility of carrying something in it, but now…
“You mean… I can’t have kids?”
Her eyebrows push together, her eyes swirling with concern for me, just another patient. “It’s a very low possibility.”
A dull thud rings through my chest. “How low?”
“Under one percent.”
My world fuzzes around me. This wasn’t on my list of outcomes. I don’t know what the next step is. There’s this empty pit growing inside of me that I can’t explain. There is a black cloud over my head, a heavy onslaught of hail pelting down on my shoulders. My insides crumple and shatter, screaming out in a pain they can’t feel. I don’t understand, not one bit; I never wanted kids. I was so relieved when I found out I wasn’t pregnant. How can I feel such crippling grief over something I never wanted?
I can’t find the words, only an empty joke on my tongue about how God just knew that I’d mess up being a mother. The doctor’s voice muffles through my fog about making sure with more tests, but I can tell it’s just a formality.
She leaves, and I dress in a fog. My phone is buzzing against the crinkle paper, Cooper’s face on the screen. And suddenly I’m no longer numb to the pain; it’s not dull or aching, but sharp and fresh, slicing through my chest and burrowing under my skin. I clutch at my stomach, curl into myself, and sob into my palm. Oh god, Cooper… If losing the idea of children hits me like this, it would kill him.
Would he leave me then? Would he leave if he knew that it’s not just that I don’t want kids, it’s that I will never have them?
Another sharp pain shoots through my chest, and I lose it right there on the gyno floor. An image of me telling Cooper I’m pregnant a year, two, even three down the road hits me like a dream that will never come true. His face lit up and his arms around me. He’s so happy to be a father that he’s already getting the measuring tape, he’s already kissing my belly, he’s already planning on which room to paint, which sibling to name god-parent, whether or not to announce on Twitter. I never saw it before, never thought there was a good, joyful moment to be had in the midst of morning sickness, up-all-nights, and terrible twos. Now that image is darkened, and all I see is the heartbreak down the road. Cooper’s holding a baby that isn’t his. We’re babysitting or at a christening or some random family event. He’s so content with the baby, but there’s an underlining sadness in his eyes that won’t ever disappear. The sense of loss that he won’t have one of his own because he fell in love with a broken woman.
I can’t do that to him. There is a difference between being unwilling to change your view on things, and forcing him to give up his views because you can’t change. It’s hope that the love that you have for each other will allow for some compromise. There was hope for a future family. He nearly had me convinced. But now, there’s a “less than one percent” chance of that happening.
My butt hits the hard floor, and I hide my face in my knees. I know what the next step is now, but I’m not sure if I have the strength to do it.
23
Goodbye Cry
Cooper’s laughter jostles my head resting on his chest, and I sneak a peek at his face in the light of my TV, his smile lines beautiful, his five o’clock shadow dark and in such contrast to his blond mess of hair on top of his head. I won’t be able to look at him when I tell him. Those blue eyes have never been able to hide how he really feels—not to mention his
mouth can’t hide it that well either. One of the many reasons why I fell so hard so fast.
The room darkens as the screen goes from show to Netflix menu, and Cooper starts flicking through the choices.
“You up for another episode, or you want to watch something else?”
I lift a shoulder against the warmth of his underarm. I can’t believe that I’ll miss this. A month ago I would’ve traded any of my other suitor’s just to cuddle with my cats instead.
My eyes drift to Tom who is giving me the evil eye for taking up lap space when he hopped up on Cooper first.
“You’re quiet tonight,” Cooper says, selecting the next episode and setting the remote down. “You okay?”
No. “I… I have to talk to you.”
His brow furrows, and he shifts enough that I get the full blast of concern swimming in his eyes. “What’d I do?”
I bite away a laugh at his joking tone, an ache pulsing in my chest at the fact that this is the last time we’ll be light and fun with each other. I want to drag it out, soak it up before I have to break his heart.
“Lots of things,” I tease, settling back down on his warm chest and staring at the TV. “But that’s not what I need to talk to you about.”
“Care to fill me in?”
“I’m working my way up to it.” I snuggle into his shirt, smile turning upside-down as I remember him using the same line on me a few weeks ago. He was so nervous to ask me to stay with him—rightly so, I might add—but I bet he had no idea how hard I’d fall, how much he’d come to mean to me in such a short time, and how we should’ve walked away before it got to this point.
I can feel his grin through the kiss he places on my head; he must remember that day, too. “I’ll prepare myself for random word vomit.”
“I’m not as good at it as you are.”
“The ol’ Cooper bait and switch.”
“Effective.”
“Apparently. Next time I need to get you to do something you don’t want, I’ll just be quiet for an eternity and then blurt it out at the most inopportune moment.”
“We need to stop seeing each other.”
“You like my randomness and you know it.”
“No, Cooper.” I sigh and lift my head, begging my tears to stay inside where they belong. “We need to stop seeing each other.”
His playful smile slowly fades. His light eyes darken. His breathing stops and starts back up in a puzzled rhythm.
“What?”
That one word… one word that doesn’t mean anything and yet means everything—the beginning of the end. There’s already so much heartache in that one word that I’m not sure I can continue. I want to laugh and say, “Got ya!” and snuggle my way back onto that strong and loving chest, tangle my fingers with his, kiss away every ounce of sadness and loss that is eating its way through my stomach. I slam my eyes shut and turn away, pretending it is someone else, someone I’m not so in love with, just another someone in a sea of someones who meant so little to me.
“I can’t—” No. I don’t want him to know. Or maybe I don’t want to know how he’d react. I lick my lips and backtrack. “I don’t want kids, Cooper.”
He gives me a funny look, like he doesn’t understand why this is such big news. “I know.”
“I’m never going to… want kids.”
“Maya,” he says, his tone relaxing. “We’re having fun right now. You wanted that, right?”
“I did—”
“You took a big leap with me. Playing house and giving me a chance.” He takes my hand, and a heavy tear pokes at the corner of my eye as I look down at our interlaced fingers. “Look, I know we want different things right now, but I’m willing to risk my future just for the chance to be with you.”
“Don’t say that.”
“It’s the truth.”
“Cooper…” I want to draw my hand away, and I dig into the deepest parts of my strength to do it. I’m out of breath when I finally do. “We’re too different, and I can’t keep letting this play out when I know how it’ll end.”
“What makes you so sure it’s gonna end at all?”
“Picture your life with me, okay? Picture it the way that it will happen if we stay together.” I level my eyes, make sure that through all the fantasies he sees, all the dreams he has, that he can focus on the reality I’m going to paint for him. “You will never have children. Could you really live with that? Because I don’t think I could live with taking that away from you.”
And then I see it—his entire face falling as my words hit him. The pain that flashes in his eyes as the image becomes clear in his mind. The unshed tears of never holding his own baby, never teaching a son to ride a bike, or having date nights with a daughter. It’s only me and him, and while for some people it’s enough, for some people—like me—it has to be enough. But for him, it will never be enough. I could never give him what he needs, and I shove from the couch, pad my way across the room and bury my face in my palm, too afraid to feel everything I know he feels with just the idea of no family, when the reality is so very much mine.
“If I painted you a picture of what I saw for us, would it… would it hurt you as much as yours hurt me just now?”
“What?”
He stands, his footfalls heavy as he steps up behind me. He runs his hands down my arms, squeezing my elbows. “If I told you I picture a house with a big backyard, a swing set, a little girl with her mom’s freckles and a little boy with her quick wit… would it hurt you?” His hot breath cascades over the back of my neck. “Maya, please look at me.”
I slowly turn in his arms, knowing that he’ll misinterpret the pain in my eyes for something I don’t want instead of what it is—something I can’t have.
“Are you sure you don’t ever want that?” he asks. “Or even think that you could try to want that?”
I gulp, trying to keep my voice steady, but it’s near impossible. “You said… you said you weren’t trying to change my mind. You told me that was not what this”—I wave my finger between the two of us—“was about.”
The shock of our conversation, the attempt to talk me back up falls from his expression, and he crumples in front of me. He reaches out, touching my arms, my hands, my waist… cupping my face and dragging his thumbs across my lips.
“This isn’t happening, is it?” he says. “I feel like we aren’t coming back from this.”
I reach out for him, but draw back, knowing that if I try to cling onto him that I won’t ever let him go.
“Would you be willing to give up kids for me?” I ask, not wanting an answer. Whatever it is wouldn’t change anything. A yes would only triple my guilt over never being able to give him what he wants. A no would break my heart in a million ways.
His silence is just as earth-shattering.
“Then we have to stop this now, please.” I sniff, a sharp pain slicing through the back of my throat from choking back all my tears. Cooper shakes his head, taking my hand and putting it to his lips.
“I don’t think I can,” he says. “You have become so much more than just the beautiful woman I saw on the street. So much more than my savvy realtor. So much more than the crazy cat lady.”
We both let out a sad laugh at his words, and he takes my moment of weakness to step into me, hold me close, pattern kisses over my cheeks and across the bridge of my nose. “I don’t want to let you go.”
It takes every ounce of strength I have to push away, to coax his hands from my skin, to replace his warmth and comfort with something cold and lonely. I take a step back, my stomach tossing in a whirlwind of heavy, thick tar, my voice a distant cousin that I don’t recognize. “I won’t have kids,” I say, knowing my words are carefully chosen. “I’m not going to change my mind, and… I don’t want to change yours.”
His eyes break again, his voice cracking and shattering my heart in two. “This can’t be it. This can’t be how it ends between us.”
“Please… please go.” I slam my eyes sh
ut, but I can feel him a breath away again, closing the gaps between us and filling it with his comforting body heat. “Cooper, please just go.” He needs to go. He needs to leave before I tell him the truth, before I give in and marry him on the spot. I can’t take away a family from him. I won’t.
His hands are suddenly, softly on my cheeks; the warmth spreads from his palms and sinks into my skin. He taps a gentle kiss against my lips, a kiss that doesn’t feel like his many others—the kisses that were persuading and meant to snare me into a moment of weakness. No, this kiss is warm and loving, kind and understanding, saddened and afraid.
“I’m sorry for lying to you,” he says as our lips part. “For stupidly assuming everyone wants what I want, for trying to change your mind when I said I wouldn’t. I wouldn’t dream of asking you to give up anything just for me.” He puts his forehead against mine, breathing in, inhaling like I’m inhaling, like we don’t want this to end, that we’d both like to bask in it forever.
His eyes open to mine, the dark pools so unbelievably heartbroken and hurt that I nearly tell him to forget everything I’ve said. “So… I’m gonna walk away, but it is not because I don’t love you.”
He presses a long, lingering kiss to my forehead, drawing back so suddenly that I don’t see his face before he turns. He slips into his shoes, not giving me a second glance as he pulls open the front door and steps out into the starry night. The click of the door as it shuts in place behind him sets off the flurry of tears I’ve kept just under the surface. I plummet to the floor, grasping at anything warm and soft to press my face into. Now I’ve lost both things I never wanted, and it’s more devastating than anything I’ve ever experienced.
I didn’t ask him to leave because I didn’t love him, and I wish I would’ve said that before he walked out.
24
Missed Kiss
“Maya, you have a call on line three.”
