I got out of bed, put on my slippers and robe, and searched the house. When I’d checked the kitchen and den, I stopped at a closed door in the hallway. I hadn’t been in what was supposed to have been a temporary office in months. We’d been so sure we’d get pregnant quickly and need the tiny room.
The porch light gave him away. I went out the front door and almost tripped over Blue resting at the top of the steps. I crouched down to pet her. Manning stood by the fire pit in his sweats, one hand in his hoodie pocket, the other delivering a cigarette to and from his mouth. He faced the house, staring forward, not seeming to notice me. Even from a distance I could see concern threading his brows.
He took his hand from his pocket to massage the bridge of his nose, then the back of his neck and shoulders. There was no question he was concerned about our future. Maybe he’d had a hunch all along that a baby wasn’t in our cards but had been putting on a brave face for me. He was such a good man. The best man. Always putting me first, making sure I was happy. I wanted nothing more than to thank him for that by making him a father. By showing him the kind of mother I could be to his children. Was there any better way to express how deeply I loved him? And if I couldn’t, would I be enough for him as I was?
Forever?
No. How could I be? No matter how much Manning loved me, and he couldn’t any more than he already did, it would never compare to the love a parent has for his child. Although not bearing my own children was proving painful to come to terms with, not being able to give that to Manning was the real knife in my gut.
I wanted to go to him, but tears built at the base of my throat. If he treated me the way he did every day—with love and respect and endless affection—I’d break down and tell him everything.
Manning blinked and shifted his gaze, as if waking from a dream. “Everything okay?” he asked me.
I pulled my robe more tightly around me, suddenly noticing the cold night air on my bare legs. “I woke up, and you weren’t there.”
He showed me his cigarette. “I needed one.”
I descended the steps and crossed the lawn to him. The act of walking, of moving, cleared the ever-present haunting thoughts from my head and extinguished any urge to cry. He’d almost quit this shit, but now he was back at it, using nicotine to calm his thoughts when I had to live with the turmoil of my own. That didn’t seem fair. I glared at the cigarette. “Why?”
He flicked ash into the grass and shook his head. “Got a lot on my mind.”
“And I don’t?” Guilt gnawed at me, an overwhelming sense of inadequacy prickling its way up my chest, a kind of emotional heartburn. Why didn’t he just come out and admit there was a problem? Why didn’t he ask me to go to a doctor, to do something, to get confirmation that we were fucked? “I don’t understand why you can’t quit,” I said. “Why do you need this? Why do you put yourself at risk every fucking day—every night?”
“I don’t smoke every night.”
“Really? This isn’t the first time I’ve woken up and found you gone. You’d rather spend your time out here killing yourself than in a warm bed next to your wife?”
He studied the cigarette a moment, then looked back at me. “I’ve had this habit since the day you met me, Lake.”
“Stupid me. I always thought I could love you enough that you’d stop killing yourself for me. I used to think Tiffany was so weak for letting you smoke.”
“I told you, nobody makes me do what I don’t want to. Everything I do for you, I do because I want to. Because I love you. This,” he said, holding up the smoke, “is for me.”
“Why?”
“Because it feels good.”
“And because it’s the only thing that brings you peace. You have so much on your mind that you have to drug yourself.” Blue appeared at my side as I balled my hands into fists. “You told me in the truck I couldn’t get away with not telling you what was wrong, but you keep stuff from me.”
“I don’t,” he said calmly. “I have in the past, yes, but not anymore. I respect you too much. You want to know what’s on my mind? I’ll tell you. Babies.”
My heart sank. I curled my toes in my slippers and muttered, “I knew it.”
“They cost money. As do dogs. Happy as I am running my own business, I have no guarantees. There’s no employer paying my wages or providing us health coverage or contributing to my 401k. I’m that employer. It’s on me.”
“Money?” I asked, my mind reeling to catch up. “You’re worried about money?”
“Fuck yes I am.”
Blue whimpered the way she sometimes did when one of us cursed.
“You can’t honestly tell me it’s never crossed your mind that my business might dry up and go away tomorrow,” he said. “And then what? What happens when we have a small human to take care of?”
I started to laugh. I couldn’t help it. Manning was worried about supporting a family he probably wouldn’t have. “I can honestly say that has never crossed my mind. Your business isn’t going to collapse for no reason, but if it does, I make a good salary. I’ve got great healthcare. You don’t have to be the breadwinner.”
He shook his head, cigarette between his lips as he pulled up his sagging sweatpants. “I’ve always wanted to take care of my family, since the day you met me. Don’t act so surprised.”
“I’ve never met anybody more responsible with money than you,” I said. “You’ve been saving since you were fifteen. You even survived the market crash.”
“I might not’ve if I’d hired on help a few months earlier like your dad wanted me to.” He gestured at the workshop behind the house. “If my business fails, I fail anyone who works for me. They have families, too.”
I hadn’t even realized all this was running through his mind. He’d assured me over and over I could talk to him about anything bothering me, but had he not felt I’d reciprocate? “I wouldn’t trust my family with anyone else,” I said. “I have every faith we’ll be fine, and you know why? Because you’ve never given me a reason to feel otherwise.”
He looked to the sky. “Lake, if I love my child anywhere near as much as I did my sister, and obviously, that’ll be the case . . . I don’t know.” With his eyes up, I watched his throat ripple as he swallowed. “I’d never survive losing them . . . or you.”
I pulled on his arm to get him to look at me, but he wouldn’t. “Manning?” I asked.
“Yeah, Birdy.”
“Nothing’s going to happen to me. I promise.”
Without moving his head, he let his eyes drop to mine. “You don’t know that. I want a guarantee that I can fix the bad things that might lie ahead of us. Money is the best way to do that.”
I covered my mouth at the sad irony. In vitro fertilization and adoption were options, and neither was cheap—but all the money in the world wouldn’t guarantee a baby of our own.
“Go inside,” he said when I shivered. “You’re not wearing enough clothing to be out here.”
I didn’t know what to say. How to tell him the truth. I focused on the orange tip of his cigarette as it flared with his next drag. “You can’t tell me what to do.”
“I’m not,” he said, exhaling. “I’m looking out for you. I don’t want you to get sick.”
“That’s because you care about me, and I care about you, too.” I tried to snatch the smoke from him, but he held it over his head.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
“Put it out, Manning.” Warmth rose to my cheeks as he stood there defying me. I’d had enough of the disgusting habit. “I’m serious.”
“I’ll come inside in a sec. I’m almost done.”
“Maybe that,” I snapped, pointing at the cancer stick in his hand, “is why we can’t have babies. Did you ever think of that?”
He jerked back as if I’d suddenly sprouted a second head. “What?”
“In case you haven’t noticed,” I said, raising my voice, “I’m—not—pregnant. And after sixteen months of trying, it’s time
to stop pretending this isn’t real.”
Manning had frozen in place. Slowly, he squatted to put out his cigarette. “Nobody’s pretending.”
“Aren’t you?” I asked. “Don’t lie and say you haven’t noticed how long it’s taking.”
“I’ve noticed, yeah, but I just figured it takes us a little longer than others. We have time.”
“You don’t get it,” I said, tears overwhelming me. “I can’t get pregnant.”
“We don’t know—”
“I do. I do know. I’ve been to the doctor and she did an exam, and she thinks I’m . . .”
He stared up at me, his eyes wide. “You’re what?”
“Infertile.”
I looked down at him, at the cigarette butt pinched between his fingers. It was a fucked-up thing to blurt out. It was even more fucked up to blame him for this when I knew it wasn’t his fault. He’d been nothing but supportive and didn’t deserve to be ambushed. I wasn’t sure why I’d done it, but I got a strong sense of satisfaction when he ashed out the cigarette. Maybe that was why I’d suddenly needed him to know—to put a stop to his worrying.
“When was this?” he asked.
“Does it matter?” I asked, sniffling.
“Yes.”
“January.”
“And you never thought to mention it?” he asked. “That was months ago.”
“Of course I did. It’s all I’ve been able to think about. I didn’t know how to tell you, though. I was scared—”
“No shit, Lake,” he said, standing. “That’s why you should’ve told me.”
“That’s not the point.”
“Yes it is. How am I supposed to be here for you if you shut me out?”
He reached for me, but I stepped back. If he held me now, I’d never get the rest of it out. “I wanted to get a second opinion first,” I said. “I didn’t want you to hurt the way I’m hurting unless I knew for absolute sure.” I inhaled a shaky breath. “But when everyone around me is getting knocked up out of nowhere—Tiffany, Val, Blue—”
“Blue’s a dog, Lake.”
“She wasn’t supposed to get pregnant, and neither was Val. But I am. We deserve this.”
“Do you have any idea what it’s like inside my head?” He tapped his temple, his jaw tight. “I think about you all the time. I’ve told you before, I want every one of your thoughts.”
I’d already heard that same speech once today. Manning needed to know everything about anything to do with me—that was no surprise. “Then you can thank Corbin for convincing me to talk to you.”
“Corbin?” he asked. “What the fuck does he have to do with this?”
“Nothing.” I didn’t want to keep my conversation with him from Manning, but as soon as I said it, I realized I’d made it sound as if I’d said all these things to Corbin first. “I didn’t tell him any details, just that you and I had been trying—”
“You talked to him about this?”
“I’m saying no, I didn’t.” It wasn’t exactly a lie, but it felt like one. I bit my bottom lip. “Not really. When he saw how I reacted to Val’s news, he put two and two together and guessed we were having trouble.”
Manning shoved his hands in the pockets of his hoodie. “Lake, you don’t ever talk to anybody but me about something like this, especially not him. Especially not before you talk to me.”
“I didn’t discuss it with him,” I said, exasperated. “We talked about getting pregnant, that’s all.”
“And you told him we were having trouble? Before you and I have even opened the door to that conversation?”
I thought of how tense I’d been watching Manning and Tiffany talk alone. I wrapped my arms around myself. “I guess.”
“It’s none of his goddamn business.”
“He was trying to help. For God’s sake, he was on your side. You act like he’s trying to come between us, something I thought we’d moved past.”
He snorted, pulling a pack from his pocket. “I could give a fuck about him. He’s no threat to what you and I have.” He slid out another cigarette. “But when we’re talking about the most important thing in our lives, I come first. You come first. That’s it.”
“But—”
“You have no argument here, Lake. You’re in the wrong.”
Frustration boiled up in me so fast, my chin trembled. So what if I was wrong? Didn’t I have the right to be? To get upset for no reason? To know I’d messed up and not want to acknowledge it? I might be infertile. I was trying to tell Manning this was the end of a future we’d counted on.
I pinched my robe closed at the neck. “Enjoy your fucking cigarette,” I said as I turned back for the house.
17
With each step away from Manning, my chest stuttered with the threat of tears. I headed toward our bedroom, but I knew he wouldn’t be far behind. I needed a minute alone, so instead, I ducked into the one room he’d be least likely to look for me.
The “temporary” office that had ended up staying for years.
We’d never wanted to put much effort into it, assuming it’d one day move to a more permanent spot in the house. There was only a desk, a small filing cabinet, and a computer. These days, I only came in to clean.
I rested my back against the door and looked around at what might as well have been an empty room. It was small, just big enough to take a baby through the toddler years before we moved him or her into the next room.
I put my hands over my mouth and sobbed into them, hoping Manning wouldn’t hear. I’d expected him to be devastated about my news, but instead he’d focused more on the fact that I’d kept it from him. I understood why that upset him, especially since I’d opened up to Corbin of all people, but there was a chance we might not have children. We weren’t getting the family I’d promised him and myself. That was a reason to be upset. That was why he should’ve been smoking all along. His money concerns hadn’t even scratched the surface of what we were about to face.
I walked to the middle of the room. The moon lit up the dark, and even as my eyes blurred with tears, I couldn’t keep my imagination from filling in the blanks around me. Picturing the space as a nursery was easy because I’d done it many times over the years. We’d paint the walls. Put a crib in the corner by the window, because Manning had spent part of his life without a window and was obsessed with making sure every room had plenty of light. My parents would’ve filled the room with gifts, and Manning and I would’ve been in here all hours of the night, the baby in my arms or his as we rocked our son or daughter to sleep.
Manning had asked if I’d thought of names—of course I fucking had.
He made me feel like a princess. His love turned me invincible, setting the world at my fingertips. Or so I’d thought. I’d taken that for granted, and now it was time to crash and burn.
The door opened behind me. I didn’t need to hide my crying from Manning, but I hated for him to see me this way. He took my tears as hard as possible. They hurt him in a real way, and over the years, he’d bent over backward to make them stop. Like the time right after I’d moved in and found a fallen baby bird out back. He’d helped me put it in a shoebox—trying to be as delicate as he could with his enormous, fumbling hands—and driven us to the animal hospital. Another time, I’d come home from school and tearfully relayed a seminar about the declining elephant population, and he’d promised to take me to Africa one day to see them in person. Then one winter when I’d been miserably sick and crying for no reason, and he’d held me, even knowing I was contagious.
Tonight was no different. The harder I tried to hold back, the harder my body shook. Manning came into the room and turned me by my shoulders, pulling me into his arms. I didn’t stand a chance. Pressed against him, surrounded by his warmth and comfort, I released all the pain I’d been trying to shield him from for the past couple months and beyond.
“Birdy,” he whispered into my hair. “Please don’t cry.”
“I can’t handle this,” I tol
d him. “I can’t do it on my own.”
“You can do it. You can handle this.” He squeezed me so tightly, for a moment, I couldn’t breathe. “But you never, ever have to do it on your own. I’ll always be here.”
“I’m so sorry,” I sobbed into his hoodie.
“What for?” he asked. “This isn’t your fault.”
“I should’ve come to you right away. We’re supposed to be a team, and I broke that promise.”
“I get that you were scared,” he said, “but you have to understand. I never want to be shut out, and I sure as hell don’t want anyone else to be let in.”
“I know,” I said, looking up at him. “I won’t do it again. But Manning, did you hear what I said out there?”
He moved a couple strands of my hair off my wet cheek. “I heard.”
“What if this is my fault?”
“It’s not.”
“But I took that pill. In New York, after you left my hotel room, I took the morning-after pill. What if I hadn’t? What if that’d been my chance to give us a baby?”
He peeled me back by my shoulders, shaking me a little as he looked in my eyes. “You know it doesn’t work like that. We don’t deserve this because you did what you had to do years ago.”
“I promised you so much—children, a family, a future—and now I don’t think I can give it to you.”
“You are my family.” He slapped the back of his shoulder. “I burned you, my star, right here on my fucking skin. You have already given me the world. The goddamn universe.”
I shook my head, and my voice broke as I said, “Not without a baby.”
“Lake, listen to me carefully. I love you so fucking much. You hear me? As long as I’ve had you, it has never once crossed my mind that my life isn’t complete. All I want is what you want. If you want a baby, we’ll have a baby. If you want a litter of mutts, then lucky us—we’ve already had our first one.”
“I want a baby,” I said, my voice breaking, “with you.”
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