by Tracy Weber
Rene’s jaw hardened. “Whatever’s going on, you’ve been acting petty and jealous. It’s not attractive, Kate.”
She was right about the jealousy, of course. Simply wrong about the reason. “I swear, Rene, it’s not about you. I love that Infant Gratification is doing so well, and it’s great knowing you’re close by.”
“Could have fooled me. You’ve clearly been avoiding me.”
“You’re right. But it’s not because you opened the store, though I can certainly understand why you’d think that.” I reached across the table to take her hand. “The timing is just all screwy.”
She pulled her fingers away, but the anger in her eyes dimmed. “What timing? Kate, would you please tell me what’s going on?”
I bit my lower lip to keep it from trembling. “Michael and I recently had our first wedding anniversary.”
“I know. I called and left a message asking if you two wanted to get together with Sam and me to celebrate. You never called back.”
I ignored the well-deserved gibe, but I felt my face flush. “Michael and I started trying to make a baby shortly after the wedding.”
Rene’s energy softened. “I know you wanted to have kids right away, but sometimes it takes a while. Sam and I were married for five years before we had the twins.”
“You were on birth control, remember? I tossed the pills in the trash as soon as we said ‘I do.’”
Rene remained silent.
“We waited for a couple of months to let the hormones clear my system, but after that, it was all baby-making, all the time.” I yearned for those days. Back then, sex was so uncomplicated. So free. Now it was performed on demand. Timed so that Michael’s swimmers would have the perfect opportunity to strike. “At first we figured it was taking a while for my system to adjust, so we kept trying. Nothing happened. We finally called to make an appointment at a fertility clinic, shortly after you opened the store.”
“And?”
I stared down at the table. “I got the newest test results yesterday. Michael and I have issues. Big ones.”
three
“I’m so sorry,” Rene said. “I wish you’d told me sooner.”
“Honestly? I do too. The fertility specialist confirmed my biggest fear.” I grinned, but it felt like a grimace. “Michael’s swimmers are ready for the Olympics. My eggs, on the other hand, are scrambled.”
Rene didn’t grin back. “Nothing about this seems funny. What exactly did the tests show?”
I took a long drink of my soy cappuccino, drowning what remained of the chocolate heart floating in the foam. “My egg supplies are dwindling, and the ones I have left aren’t healthy. The doctor says I have something called Primary Ovarian Insufficiency.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means my number of viable eggs is minuscule. As if that wasn’t bad enough, one of my fallopian tubes is scarred shut, so half of the eggs will never make it to my uterus.”
“Is getting pregnant out of the question for you?”
“Not completely. We have options.” We had options, all right. None of them great. Most of them expensive. I ticked them off on my fingers. “One. Michael and I can keep trying to conceive naturally. The doctor says that about ten percent of women with Primary Ovarian Insufficiency get pregnant naturally. My chances are less than that, but it could still happen.”
“Would fertility drugs help?”
“Not enough. The doctor says drugs alone almost never work with women with my condition.” I added a second finger. “Option two. I can shoot myself up with different customized fertility drugs, have minor surgery to retrieve as many good eggs as we can, and go straight to IVF.”
“In vitro fertilization?”
“It’s our best option, if we want children that are genetically ours. There are no guarantees there, either. My number of viable eggs is tiny. If I were a chicken, I’d be stew meat.”
Rene ignored my lapse into gallows humor. “What about using an egg donor?”
I shrugged. “That’s option three. The doctor says an egg donor is by far our best chance.” Using an egg donor wasn’t feasible, though. Not for Michael and me. The costs would quickly become untenable. Depending on the number of attempts required, upwards of seventy-five thousand dollars worth of untenable. Michael and I couldn’t afford IVF using our own genetic material, and that was considerably cheaper. “Option four is adoption. But Michael and I talked about it, and we want a child that we made together.”
“So, go straight to IVF.”
“IVF is expensive. Even if we can come up with the money, I’d experience significant side effects. According to the literature they gave me, it’s like the worst case of PMS you’ve ever experienced. Can you imagine what that would look like with my temper?”
Rene’s right eyelid twitched.
“Exactly,” I said. “And homicidal mood swings are only the start of the fun. Less than forty percent of women my age conceive on the first IVF attempt, and conception won’t necessarily result in a live birth. Given my low egg quality, even if I do get pregnant I could easily lose the baby. I don’t know how many failures I can take and still keep my sanity.”
“What does Michael think about all of this?”
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t know?”
“Not really.” I shrugged. “Michael treats me like cracked glass, liable to shatter at any moment. I can’t tell lately if he’s telling me the truth or saying what he thinks I want to hear.” I shrugged. “I don’t blame him. I’ve been so moody lately, even Bella’s giving me a wide berth.”
Rene and I sat in uncomfortable silence. I idly stirred lukewarm coffee while she stared at the melted ice cream pooled at the bottom of her dish. After several long seconds, she spoke. “How can I help?”
“I wish I knew. There doesn’t seem to be an easy answer. Honestly, all I want to do is hide out under the covers, avoiding people. I can’t stand to be around anyone who’s currently pregnant, has ever been pregnant, or might ask if Michael and I are planning to get pregnant.”
“Kate, that doesn’t make any sense.”
“Of course it does. If Sam were impotent, would he want to chat about it with everyone he knows? If you were destitute and I won the lottery, would you want to ooh and aah over the Bentley I bought with the winnings?”
Rene frowned, but it looked more like concentration than disapproval.
“If you haven’t struggled to get pregnant, you can’t understand. I feel like a dried-up old shrew, not woman enough to conceive. I hunger for a baby like a drowning person hungers for air.”
“I never thought about it like that.”
“I didn’t either, until it happened to me. Avoidance seemed like the only reasonable option. It sounds crazy when I say it out loud, but I convinced myself that if I didn’t talk about Michael’s and my fertility issues, they wouldn’t exist.”
“How’s that working out for you?” Rene asked drolly.
“It’s not. It’s destroying my marriage. Michael keeps pushing me to get out and be active. I hide out under the covers with a flashlight and a calendar, calculating the next time we should have scheduled sex. If something doesn’t change soon, Michael and I are going to end up divorced.”
“What does Dharma say about all of this?”
“I haven’t told her about it.”
“Seriously, Kate? You haven’t even told your mother?”
“It’s not the kind of thing you chat about over the telephone. I’ll tell her when she and Dale come to Seattle in a few weeks.” If the timing feels right.
Rene’s eyes narrowed, but she didn’t push me about Dharma, at least for the moment. “There must be something I can do to help.” She took a long, slow drink of her mocha. “Will your insurance cover the costs?”
I knew where she was going,
but I answered her honestly anyway. “Unfortunately, no. Our plan didn’t even pay for all of the fertility testing.”
“Then there is something I can do. The last thing you and Michael should be stressed about is money. I’ll talk to Sam about giving you a loan.”
Example number 1351 why I adored my best friend. I’d been prepared for her offer. Heck, part of me had even hoped for it. But I couldn’t accept it. “Thanks, Rene. That’s truly generous of you. Michael and I will have to get a loan from somewhere, but I can’t take that much money from you and Sam. It wouldn’t feel right.”
“You were willing to borrow money from us to pay off Michael’s ex-wife. At least this way we’d be getting a godchild out of the bargain.” Rene pursed her lips. “Sam and I would be the godparents, right?”
“You’d be more than the godparents. You’d be the auntie and uncle, the best friends, the guardian angels, and the designated foster parents if anything ever happened to Michael and me. Honestly, Rene, I’m glad I didn’t end up having to take money from you to pay off Gabriella. It would kill me if finances ever got in the way of our friendship. Besides, back then Michael and I had at least a snowball’s chance in hell of paying you back. If a baby came along, we’d be even more broke than we are now.”
“So what are you going to do?”
“The fertility clinic has some financing options, and we’re going to apply for a second mortgage on the house.”
“Will you qualify?”
I shrugged. “Honestly? I don’t know. It’ll be tight. You’d better keep sending me new yoga students. I’ll need all the income I can get.”
Rene hesitated. “Actually, I do know a way you can make some extra money. Not a lot, but a few hundred a month.”
A horrible image flashed through my mind: a five-foot, three-inch yoga teacher wearing yoga pants and a pre-prenatal T-shirt. “Please don’t tell me you want me to model some new pre-conception clothing line.”
Rene scrunched her perfectly plucked eyebrows. “Where’d you come up with that?” Then she paused, placed her index finger over her lips and tilted her eyes skyward. “It’s not a bad idea, though.” Another pause. “I could sell it as a First Trimester and Trying line. It might open a whole new untapped market.”
I groaned.
She placed her palms on the table and leaned forward. “Seriously, Kate. Think about it. Why should pregnancy clothes all be designed for when you’re already fat? I could capitalize on the bigger-boobs, still-small-waist-line weeks.” Her eyes jumped wide. “Ooh, and easy wash-and-wear outfits for the morning sickness days.” She grabbed her purse and started digging. “Layers. We’d need lots and lots of layers.”
She pulled out a notebook and pen and started sketching. “Morning sickness made you vomit right before that important business meeting? No problem! Pull off the soiled layer, toss it to the side, and you’re good to go.” Her smile grew so wide, I could see her back molars. “This is truly brilliant, Kate! I specialize in accessories, so I’ll start there. What about eighteen-karat acupressure bracelets for nausea?”
I sipped cold coffee and watched my friend, momentarily captured by her enthusiasm. Somehow I had a feeling that First Trimester and Trying would be her next big success.
A few minutes later, she stopped writing and shoved the notebook back inside her purse. “Sorry, Kate. I needed to jot down a few thoughts before I forgot. Back to my moneymaking idea for you. Sam has a potential job for you at Teen Path HOME.”
“Teen Path HOME? Isn’t that a center for homeless youth?”
“You’ve heard of it?”
“Yes. I read an article about it in Dollars for Change.” Dollars for Change was a local homeless advocacy newspaper. It shared stories about Seattle-area homelessness and poverty while employing some of its subjects as salespeople. “Since when is Sam involved with local nonprofits?”
She gave me a mock scowl. “You’d know if you ever returned my calls. The center’s director, Gabriel Cousins, was Sam’s roommate in college. He approached Sam a few months ago and asked for a technology grant. Sam toured the place, met some of the youth they serve, and fell in love. He joined the board of directors shortly after.”
Rene leaned forward, attention now completely focused on me. “Gabriel wants to add some stress management classes, and Sam thinks yoga would be perfect. He sort of volunteered you to teach a trial series.”
“Sam volunteered me?”
Her cheeks turned pink. “I hope you’re not mad. I told him he should have talked to you first, but he’s so excited, he got a little carried away.”
I wasn’t upset in the slightest. I was surprised and, to be honest, a little flattered. Sam had never taken one of my classes.
Rene continued. “It wouldn’t have to be a forever thing, more like a trial run. We were thinking maybe a three-week series?”
Champagne-like bubbles of interest percolated beneath my sternum. Sam was right. I didn’t have any experience teaching yoga to displaced teens, but I still might be able to help them. More selfishly, I might be able to help myself. At the very least, I’d be forced to get out of the house and focus on something besides my barren uterus for a change. “A three-week series won’t be long enough. Let’s make it six.”
“Are you sure you’re up for that long, Kate? Most of the teens you’ll be teaching have been pretty traumatized. A lot of them suffer from mental illness and drug addiction.”
“That’s why yoga’s so perfect!” My interest blossomed to enthusiasm. “Yoga has been proven to help veterans with PTSD, and it’s a great tool for overcoming alcoholism and drug addiction.”
“So you seriously want to do it?”
“Yes. I’m in, at least in enough to learn more. Before I fully commit, I’d like to check out the facility and meet some of the clients.”
It seemed impossible, but Rene’s smile widened. “Awesome. Sam will be so pleased. I’ll have him connect you with Gabriel.
I strode back to my car through the retail parking lot, feeling more upbeat than I had in days. Lighter. Not happy, exactly. Certainly not optimistic. But less desolate. According to The Yoga Sutras of Patanjali, yoga’s key philosophical text, pain is inevitable. The only thing we can control is how we react to it. Frankly, controlling internal turmoil had never been my strong suit. I was good, however, at helping others do so. That’s why I dedicated my life to teaching yoga. I might not always be able to find inner peace, but at least I could offer it to my students.
My discussion with Rene had reminded me of something else I’d almost forgotten: I had a great life. Rather than dwell on what I didn’t have, I’d focus on what I did: an amazing marriage, loyal friends, adored pets, a successful yoga studio. Michael’s and my savings account might still be sucking fumes, but business at the studio was on the upswing. I could at least be grateful for that.
I crossed the white-lined lot and wove through the cars, so caught up in cataloguing blessings that I barely noticed the flyers trapped on each automobile’s windshield. I paused long enough to wave at Michael’s assistant, Tiffany, inside Pete’s Pets and took a left into the underground parking garage, where I rented a covered parking space. Bella was deeply immersed in her favorite pastime: guarding my Honda from imaginary intruders.
Bella’s separation anxiety had improved significantly since Michael and I had adopted Mouse, her polydactyl calico cat, but I still indulged my German shepherd’s fondness for yoga studio ride-alongs whenever I could. On this late-October afternoon, the back seat of my ancient Honda was cool and secluded, and Bella could enjoy a brief respite from her role as a calico’s pincushion.
At the sound of my approach, she sat up and pressed her nose against the back window. Her deep brown eyes sparkled. Her brilliant white teeth flashed in the canine version of a smile.
“Hey there, Bella baby,” I said. “Want to go for a walk?”
I pulled out the keys to release my happy-looking canine, then paused. A paper was trapped underneath my windshield wiper.
What is it this time?
I was surprisingly nonplussed. Historically, notes left on my car had been harbingers of bad news, but I wasn’t worried this time. Someone had obviously covered every car in the area with flyers. Annoying, but not worth the energy to stress about. I slid the folded page out from underneath my windshield wiper and opened it.
I immediately wished that I hadn’t.
Above the top fold, a blood-red headline danced at me like a psychotic clown in a Stephen King movie.
Do You Yoga?
The next third of the page displayed a full-color photograph of scantily clad yogis posing in Warrior Two. Their biceps glistened with sweat. I recognized the studio instantly: Some Like It Hot Yoga.
At first I was irritated. How rude for another studio to plaster Serenity Yoga’s parking lot with flyers. Irritation melted into confusion. Why bother? The one and only class I’d taken at Some Like It Hot Yoga had been a sweaty, slippery, smelly failure, but I’d been in the minority. Their downtown studio already had a much-greater-than-capacity following. Why would Some Like It Hot Yoga advertise in Greenwood, over five miles away?
My eyes drifted lower, and confusion spiked to alarm. Opening November 15th. Ten Classes for Ten Dollars! The address at the bottom was that of a large, newly empty retail space two doors down from Mocha Mia. As in, directly across the street from Serenity Yoga.
I unlocked the car, crumpled the flyer into a ball, and tossed it onto the passenger seat’s floor. “Forget the walk, Bella. We’re going home.”
What could go wrong next?
four
“Dang it, I’m going to be late,” I grumbled to no one in particular.
I hated being behind schedule, but in this case, it wasn’t my fault. I’d left home in plenty of time for my meeting with Gabriel at Teen Path HOME—or so I’d thought. Parking—except for coveted spaces in fifteen-dollar-an-hour lots—had proven to be practically nonexistent, and the center’s building didn’t have parking except for a couple of staff spots that Sam said were always in use. Most of the center’s clients didn’t have cars, so it wasn’t a problem for them. For me, it meant driving around the area for fifteen minutes until I scored street parking six blocks away.
