by Robin Wells
She gives me what I think of as her professional smile. “I think it’s very open-minded of me to agree to spend time with Lily and Quinn tomorrow. What’s the plan?”
“I thought we’d go to the aquarium.”
“For the morning or the afternoon?”
“Midmorning to midafternoon.”
She sighs. “Okay.”
Hey, I’m not asking you to watch a public execution, I nearly say, but don’t.
We step off the escalator. “As I mentioned on the phone, a therapist friend of Quinn’s thinks it’s important that we all spend time together so that you can get to know them and they can get to know you.”
She nods. “For when they visit. How often do you think that’ll happen?”
Hell. She’s pretending to be a good sport, but she’s completely locked in on living in Seattle. “Probably once or twice a year. Then I’ll try to get back here three or four times a year. I’d like to see the kids every two months or so.”
She looks like she swallowed something sour. “That’s a lot of back-and-forth. And we’ll be paying for everyone’s airfare?”
I haven’t really thought of it. “Yeah, probably.”
“That’ll be a huge expense. And with the cost of housing on the West Coast and donor IVF . . .”
I refuse to talk about IVF. “So it’s settled,” I say teasingly. “We should just stay here.”
“Not funny, Zack.”
Great, just great. We’re off to a terrific start. I glance at my watch and wonder what Quinn and Lily are doing right now. Lily’s supposed to be asleep by eight, but I bet Quinn is still reading her stories. I almost say something to Jess about it, but I know the information won’t be welcome.
I search my mind for something safe to talk about. She’s never been all that interested in my work, and I don’t dare talk about Quinn, Lily, the baby, or Margaret. I don’t want to ask about Jessica’s family, because she told me on the phone how upset they were to learn about my donor family. If I ask about her new position, she’ll make it sound like nirvana.
Hell, I can talk to a stranger about more topics than I dare broach with my own wife.
I push open the door, and the humid New Orleans air settles over us.
“Christ, it’s hot,” she says. “Thank God I don’t have to endure another New Orleans summer.”
Was she always this negative, or am I just looking for things to criticize? That wasn’t my intention. I came to the airport to pick her up so we could spend more time together. I know the situation has been difficult for her; she looks strained and tense and miserable. Hell, that’s how I feel, too. We seem further apart now that we’re in the same city than we did when she was in Seattle.
We clearly need to patch things up, but she isn’t even trying, and I’m running out of ideas.
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
Jessica
Saturday, June 1
HOW ARE THINGS going? My sister texts around ten the next morning.
Not great, I text back. I feel stressed and edgy, and a headache is starting to pulse around the edges of my scalp. Things have been difficult with Zack from the moment he surprised me at the airport. They didn’t get any better when we got to his car and I saw a child seat fitted into the back. I’ve had trouble coming up with anything to say to him, and from the long, uncomfortable silences, I surmise he feels the same way. It’s like we’re both encased in armor and we can’t really touch each other. Not even in bed—at least, not in an emotional way.
Can you talk?
No. We’re in the car, on the way to pick up Zack’s little family for an outing to the aquarium.
OMG! You agreed to that?
Yeah, I text.
Good luck! Keep me posted.
I put down my phone.
Zack brakes for a stoplight and glances over. “Everything okay?”
“Yeah. Just my sister.”
“How’s she doing these days?”
“Good.”
“And her family?”
“All good. The kids are getting so big, it’s unbelievable. Danielle can be our sitter when we have a baby.”
He doesn’t say anything. Every time I’ve brought up the topic of a baby, I get no response.
“I found an awesome fertility doctor in Seattle,” I tell him. “She’s had amazing success with tough cases, and she’s booked three months out. I’ve already made us an appointment.”
His face gets that stony look I’ve come to dread. “Jessica . . .”
My stomach plummets. Oh, God—it’s never good when he says my name like that. I force a light tone into my voice. “What?”
“I’m not ready to dive back into that again.”
“The appointment is three months away. Surely you’ll be ready by then.”
“We’ll just be getting settled and starting new jobs. It sounds like you’ll be super busy and traveling even more than you thought, and my job will require some travel, too.”
“So what are you saying? That you don’t want me to have a baby? Because I have to tell you, having a baby myself is the only way I can picture coping with this whole second-family situation you’ve got going here.”
“A situation that you . . .” He brakes abruptly for a stop sign, takes a deep breath, and rubs his temple. He turns to me, his expression contrite. “Sorry. I don’t want to be like that.”
I mentally finish his thought—A situation I created by going behind his back. He’s right. My bad, my fault.
He reaches for my hand as he proceeds through the intersection. “Let’s just take it one day at a time, all right? Today, I’d like you to get to know Lily and Quinn. Let’s just relax and have a good time together.”
I look out the car window and sigh. He’s avoiding talking about having a baby with me because he doesn’t want to do it. I can read that clearly enough; what I can’t read is whether the reluctance is temporary or permanent. Either way, it won’t make it any easier to get through the day.
“Here we are,” Zack says, pulling in front of a large, white, two-story Victorian. We’re in a charming part of uptown, a section where I once thought Zack and I might live when we had a family.
“Nice house,” I say. “Her business must be doing well.”
“It is. But she bought the place for an amazing price because it was in terrible shape—a hoarder had lived here. Then she got deals renovating it because she used contractors she hires for her clients.”
It bothers me that he knows these kinds of details about Quinn’s life. Hell, it bothers me that he knows her, period.
He wants so badly for me to like her, but every fiber of my being rebels against it. She has his child and is pregnant with his baby, while I’m the infertile wife. What woman wouldn’t hate being in this position? I probably hate it more than most; I’ve always despised settling for second place.
My thoughts fly back to a conversation I had with my mother a couple of days ago. Before I left her house, Mom had pulled me into her bedroom and sat me down on her bed. “Do you want to divorce Zack, honey? Because your father and I will support you, if that’s what you decide. Zack is wonderful in many ways, but this is not what you bargained for. No one would blame you.”
Having my mother mention the D word made the idea . . . what? More palatable, somehow. More like a positive solution, less like a failure.
Not that I need my parents’ permission to make major life decisions; I’m way beyond that—aren’t I? Of course I am. My sister would disagree, but what does she know? Most adults still want their parents’ approval; there’s nothing really wrong with that. Still, having Mom be the one to mention divorce sort of gave me absolution to pursue it.
I decided to investigate my options. The following day, I asked Brett for the name and number of his divorce attorney. I made a call, and the attorney re
turned it. He answered most of my questions over the phone.
In the state of Washington, only one party needs to be a resident in order to file for divorce. Residency doesn’t require living there for a certain number of months; if you have a Washington driver’s license and address, you’re all set.
The attorney emailed me the paperwork. If I decide to file, all I have to do is fill out the forms, and he’ll put together the official document. He’ll hire a process server in Louisiana to deliver a divorce notice to Zack, then—bam! Three months later, it can all be over.
I like having this option in my back pocket. I leased Brett’s rental condo, then visited a Department of Licensing office and got my Washington driver’s license. I’ll need them anyway, since I’m moving there. No harm in getting a jump on things.
I know Zack believes that marriage is a lifelong proposition and that he wants to make things work, but then, he’s a natural negotiator. He chose his career because he believes people can adjust and compromise until everyone’s happy.
I’m more of a realist. I’m not a fan of compromises, because neither party gets what they really want. It might be a solution for some people, but others—like me—are just not willing to settle. On the plane ride here, I took Brett’s advice and seriously considered staying in New Orleans. I made a list of pros and cons—or at least, I tried to. I could only come up with one pro: it would make Zack happy. The con list went on and on. My bottom line: I’m not willing to do it.
I’m here today to see if I can accept life with Quinn, Lily, and the baby in the picture, or if it’s time to cut my losses. I don’t want Zack to move to Seattle if the situation is intolerable. That wouldn’t be fair to him, and I truly care about him.
But I can’t tell Zack any of this. If he knew I was even thinking about divorce, it would irreparably harm his perception of me.
And I like being married to Zack. Except for my infertility, his newly discovered donor family, the fact that we barely have sex anymore, and the way we can’t talk to each other about anything important, our marriage is wonderful.
I nearly laugh out loud at the ridiculousness of my reasoning. Our marriage has the potential for wonderful, I mentally amend. We’ve had some wonderful times in the past. And we did have sex last night. It wasn’t epic sex—I didn’t feel emotionally connected to him, I had trouble getting my head into it, and I faked an orgasm so he’d just go ahead and finish—but sex happened, so that goes into the plus column.
Or maybe it goes in the minus column, because I felt lonelier afterward than I did before.
I gather up my purse and take my time getting out of the car. Zack comes around and puts his hand on the small of my back as we walk up the sidewalk to the door. I used to love that little gesture; I used to think it was masculine and chivalrous and possessive in a sexy, thrilling way, but now I just feel like he’s steering me to an unwanted fate.
A high-pitched, little-dog yap sounds the minute we reach the porch, then Lily’s face appears in the sidelight by the door.
“He’s here!” Her yell is muted by the glass. She bounces up and down like a dribbled basketball. I remember Zack saying she’d literally jumped for joy at the zoo. That’s exactly what she’s doing at the sight of Zack. My chest feels like tight rubber bands are stretched around it.
Quinn opens the door, and the sunshine spills in on her. I’m struck all over again with how attractive she is.
“Hello!” Her smile is warm, and even though I don’t want to like her, it’s hard not to. Zack bends down and scoops up Lily. Lily throws her arms around him and kisses his cheek. His smile is wider and more genuine than any expression I’ve seen on his face since I got here. The bands around my chest squeeze tighter.
“So nice to see you again, Jessica,” Quinn says, holding out her hand to me.
I take it. “Nice to see you, too,” I lie. We shake hands, then I step into her home. It’s as put together as her store, with a cool 1950s or ’60s vibe. It smells like banana bread. “You have a beautiful place.”
“Thanks.”
“This is Miss Jessica,” Zack tells Lily as he puts her down on the floor.
“I ’member. She’s the sad lady.”
“What?” Zack asks.
“She looked really sad at the hospital.”
“Well, I’m very happy I get to go to the aquarium with you today,” I manage. I hold out my hand, and Lily solemnly pumps it up and down. “I’m Zack’s wife,” I add, because he didn’t.
Lily doesn’t seem to register the comment. Zack straightens, and Lily grabs his hand as soon as she finishes shaking mine.
“Let me get my purse and I’ll be ready to go.” Quinn heads into the living area, and I peer into the dining room, taking in the midcentury table, the Telstar light, the tall-backed modern chairs. The only thing that seems out of place is a vaguely familiar box that says Fetal Doppler on the credenza. My heart contracts again. Quinn doesn’t look pregnant, but then, she’s still in the first trimester.
She comes back and smiles at Lily. “Do you need to run to the bathroom one last time, sweetie?”
“No,” Lily says. She’s still holding Zack’s hand.
“Are you sure?” Quinn asks.
Lily shifts from foot to foot, considering her options. “Be right back,” she tells Zack, and races around the corner.
Quinn and Zack exchange a smile, like doting parents. Quinn’s gaze moves to me, as if she’s trying to include me in the moment, but I still feel like a third wheel. “Anyone want a bottle of water for the road?” she asks, gesturing toward the kitchen.
“No, thanks,” Zack says.
I hold up my hand. “I’m good.”
“I’ll grab one for Lily,” she says, heading for the fridge.
Lily whips around the corner. “I’m back!”
Quinn smooths Lily’s hair, the gesture unself-conscious and motherly. “I guess we’d better take my car.”
“We can take mine,” Zack says. “I bought a safety seat.”
Quinn’s eyebrows rise, and her mouth curves in a surprised smile. “You did?”
Zack nods. “I made a note of the brand and model you have, and I got one just like it.”
“Well—wonderful!” She looks at me. “He’s amazing, isn’t he?”
“Yeah.” The word feels like a hard rock in my throat. It isn’t easy, hearing the woman who’s carrying my husband’s child tell me how great he is. “Yeah, he’s terrific.”
* * *
—
THE AUDUBON AQUARIUM of the Americas is right along the Mississippi riverfront. We watch a towboat push a dozen barges upstream, then Lily grabs Zack’s hand. “I can’t wait to see the penguins!” She tugs us toward the building. “They’re on the second floor. An’ that’s where they have the birds you can feed, too. But first we’ll go by the sharks an’ the turtles.”
“You really know your way around this place,” I say. I’m trying my best to interact with Lily. Quinn asked me lots of questions about my work on the drive over—I’m sure she was trying to help me feel included, which I appreciate—but all of Lily’s comments were aimed at Zack or Quinn.
“Lily’s mom had an annual membership here,” Zack tells me as we walk inside.
“Yeah,” Lily says, once again grabbing his hand. “An’ we had mem’erships to the zoo and the bug place, too. For all the Au-bu-don places.”
“It’s pronounced Au-du-bon,” Quinn gently corrects. “But it’s great that you know the name.”
Lily nods. “An’ I know they’re named after a famous man who knew all ’bout birds an’ painted bootiful pictures of them.”
I smile. “You’re a very smart little girl.”
“Thank you,” Lily says. “Grams says I’m jus’ like Mommy.”
“Yes, you are. And your mommy was very, very smart.” Quinn smi
les over at Zack. “Your daddy’s no dummy, either.”
It’s small and petty of me, I know—but I feel left out and a little competitive. I’m accustomed to being acknowledged as the smart one.
“Daddy saved Grams’s life. Did you know that?” Lily asks me.
My throat knots at the word Daddy. I curl my fingernails into my palm, hard. “Yes, I heard about it.”
We’ve been strolling to the right, and we’re now in front of the Gulf of Mexico exhibit. I want to walk beside Zack and hold his hand, but Lily is already doing that. They stop in front of an enormous aquarium featuring a scaled-down offshore oil rig. Sharks, schools of fish, and stingrays swim by both overhead and at eye level.
“Ooh, look!” Lily points. “A turtle! Like Franklin!”
“Who’s Franklin?” I ask.
“He’s prob’bly the mos’ famous turtle in the whole world,” Lily says. “He’s got lots of books written ’bout him.”
“What about Yertle?” Zack asks.
Lily ponders this for a moment. “Yertle’s famous, too, but not as famous as Franklin. There’s only one Yertle book. An’ this turtle looks like Franklin ’cause he has a fat head.”
Quinn and Zack exchange a gaze and laugh. I feel like a complete outsider. When did Zack learn so much about children’s literature? When did he learn so much about children, period?
“Come on, Daddy! I wanna show you the penguins.” Lily tugs Zack’s hand and pulls him toward the stairs.
Quinn and I follow behind.
“Have you been to the aquarium before?” Quinn asks me.
“A few times,” I say. “Zack and I came here once, and I’ve attended a couple of after-hours events.”
“It’s a gorgeous venue for a reception or a banquet,” Quinn says, “but there’s nothing like experiencing it with a child.”
“That’s true of life in general, isn’t it?”
Her smile is warm and genuine. “Absolutely!”
We take the bend of the stairs in silence. “Lily is adorable,” I say.
