“Halley, I know you don’t want a baby.”
My ears perked up. Where was this coming from?
Adam kept his eyes on the road, though we were in bumper-to-bumper, completely halted traffic, the searing red of brake lights filling the car.
“So you don’t even want motherhood if it meant, I don’t know, taking in a family member? Even if he wasn’t a baby, but six? Or a teenager?”
“Where are you going with this, Adam?”
“I’m asking, under all circumstances, you do not want to have a child?”
He finally looked at me, and his eyes, even amid an irritating red glow, were crystal clear. I could see the chocolate of his irises, the black of his pupils, the bizarre longing that filled his eyes and entire face.
“Adam.” I shook my head in disbelief. “I would do what needed to be done in the best interest of my nieces and nephews, absolutely. If that meant becoming their legal guardian, we’d figure something out.” I shook my head some more, trying to dislodge the discussion from my brain, our mouths, the car. “I don’t know what would happen,” I continued, “and I really don’t see why we need to discuss it. We are not Rylan’s guardians. We are not Alice, George, or Leah’s guardians. Charlotte’s gotten that all taken care of and—and—and I don’t see what good can come of having this kind of inane, hypothetical, pointless conversation!”
The car was silent for at least a minute before I said, “Why are we having this discussion?”
From his profile and the pressure building in the car, I could tell my husband was conflicted. He was holding back. His grip on the wheel was tight, his jaw locking and unlocking. This was a side of Adam I had never seen. Even when his colleagues at work had disagreements and he’d let off steam when he came home, he kept his cool, as if he had everything under control.
“Adam? Isn’t being an uncle and a godfather, even without custody rights, enough?”
Eyes focused straight ahead, Adam simply replied, “No.”
The red lights suddenly felt brighter, my cheeks suddenly felt ablaze, my stomach suddenly felt too full to hold the coq au vin.
“What are you saying, exactly?” I managed to mutter.
Adam slowly drew his gaze my way. “I’m saying that I think I want to have a child after all, Halley.”
We were nearly home, exiting the freeway and making the left onto the street that would eventually drop into our neighborhood, when I spoke the first word since Adam delivered the bomb of the evening.
“How long have you felt this way?”
“Awhile.”
“Awhile?”
He sighed, then said, “Don’t you think it’s beautiful, what Nina and Griffin are experiencing?”
“So your sister’s having a baby and you want one, too?”
I bit the inside of my cheek and looked out my window. I tried to focus on the cars parked along the sides of the street, the dark palm tree silhouettes high in the night sky. Anything to keep from growing angrier at the turn of events in what should have been a lovely evening.
“They’re not like puppies, Adam.” I couldn’t suppress the rage that was boiling inside me. How could Adam bring up something that was settled years ago? From the get-go. On our first date!
“I know that, Halley.” He stopped at a stop sign, and instead of reaccelerating after a couple of seconds, he remained behind the thick white line.
“I didn’t think I wanted that for my life,” he said. “But seeing how happy Nina and Griffin are . . . how amazing the concept of having something that’s part you, part me, together is . . .”
“I think it’s really great that they’re finally pregnant, Adam,” I said. He began accelerating, crossing over the white line in the blink of an eye. “I really do. It’s fantastic.”
Nina and Griffin had been through the wringer trying to conceive—ovulation kits, ultrasounds, sperm motility and egg tests, fallopian tube exams, IVF. After two years of failing to conceive by simply trying and two additional years doing all sorts of tests, Nina treated herself to her first round of IVF on her thirtieth birthday. Lucky for Nina and Griffin, both have successful and prestigious careers—Nina as an editor and Griffin as a corporate attorney and partner at an esteemed law firm—and they were able and willing to spare no expense for their dream of having a child. When the IVF didn’t take the first time, they tried a second, and then a third, and a fourth. Surrogacy and adoption weren’t at the top of their list (at least quite yet), as Nina had a deep desire to carry a child. Then, like a miracle, during the fifth round of IVF, Nina got pregnant. Tragically, she never made it to her second trimester, experiencing a miscarriage.
At that point the doctors said it didn’t look as if conception would be an option, and Nina and Griffin decided to stop trying. It was too painful to try and fail, time and again. But they never lost hope. Nina turned all her attention to her career, and Griffin to his, and they started to gather information about adoption. No heavy homework, only light doses of information. Slivers of hope. Then, after three years of not trying and always hoping, Nina became pregnant. No IVF, no special exams or fertility treatments. The good old-fashioned way had done the trick, finally. It was, as Nina and Griffin often say, a miracle. I’m not one to believe in miracles, but Nina’s pregnancy made me a believer in at least one.
“I understand why you’re caught up in the emotion and excitement of Rylan. Especially given the miraculous circumstances,” I said to Adam in an understanding and collected tone, despite the frustration bubbling within. “But in the end, Adam, we made a promise to each other. We have a plan—no kids.”
Adam didn’t respond, so I looked out my window and continued. “Our lives are not Nina’s and Griffin’s. They’re not Charlotte’s and Marco’s. They aren’t anyone else’s but our own, and our lives do not include a future of requesting a high chair or crayons with a children’s menu at our dinner reservations.” I looked to my husband.
“Halley.” Adam paused for a lengthy exhalation. “Look, all I’m saying is that I think this is something I want after all.”
“All you’re saying?”
Adam’s eyes moved from the road to me. “And yes, I know we planned on being the couple who never had kids.”
“That’s right we did!”
“And we’ve always been honest with each other.”
“Yes, we have.”
“Well, this is honestly how I feel.” He turned onto our quiet street and proceeded to roll up to the closed gate of our condominium community.
“How long have you felt this way, Adam?”
He hesitated before answering. “Err . . . since . . . we found out Nina was pregnant.”
“Three months?”
“Well . . . I’ve actually been thinking about it . . . for a while.”
“What exactly is a while?”
Wearing a blank expression, he replied, “I guess the past year I’ve been . . . thinking about it.”
I swallowed in astonishment. “The past year?”
“What with Nina and Griffin trying all this time, children always being a topic of discussion. Us getting older. It was only thinking, Halley. Hardly a crime,” he said dismissively.
“But for three months you’ve . . . what? Been decided? Y-y-you want us to be Nina and Griffin? You want what they have? You want . . . a baby?”
He said nothing. He only looked at me, that same chilling blank expression on his face.
“Omigod,” I muttered. “What is happening?”
When Adam propped baby Rylan’s first sonogram image on our entry table with the rest of the collection of photographs, I thought he was a proud uncle. When he insisted to Nina on introducing Rylan to the world’s greatest artists, and to teaching him about shading and composition, I thought he was a sweet big brother. I never imagined he wanted those things for himself . . . as a father.
“How could you keep something so huge from me?” I said, choking on my words.
Adam’s voice was s
teady, his words forthright. “I wanted to be sure of my feelings before I sprang what is obviously horrifying news on you.”
I gripped the sides of my head in sheer disbelief. “What are you saying, Adam? That you want to keep thinking about a baby or—”
“I’m not saying I want you to commit right now to us having a child.”
A car pulled up behind us, ready to pass through the gate that Adam had yet to open with the punching in of the key code.
“I’m just saying that this is something I want, and I want you to be open to considering it, Halley.”
My heart raced; my mind churned a thousand jumbled thoughts at once. How could this be happening? How could we go from being a joyous aunt and uncle to this, in the course of one brief evening? Or, evidently, over the course of three silent months? A year?
“I’m sorry,” he said after a long, hot silence. “This isn’t easy to say.”
“This isn’t easy to hear!” I squeezed my eyes shut. I could feel my chest tighten. I rolled my window down in desperate need of some air, some space. I had to calm down. “It was always supposed to be Halley and Adam against the world,” I wheezed. “Not Halley, Adam, and Baby.”
“I know.” Adam rubbed my thigh in that comforting way of his. However, no amount of comforting could be achieved in that car at that moment. I still couldn’t believe what I’d heard.
“Dammit. We talked about this.” I squeezed my eyes shut again. Could I turn back the hands of time? Pretend this car ride never existed? Have been more clear about not wanting a child when we met?
“I know we did,” he said.
“On our first date!”
“I know. But things . . . can change. People can change.”
“Unbelievable.”
“Look,” Adam said, voice still calm, “I didn’t want to just come right out and lay it heavy on you and say I want a child. But . . . this is how I feel, Halley. I’ve given it a lot of thought.” His face looked pained—brow knit, upper lip slightly curled.
The car behind us honked, and Adam reluctantly rolled down the window and punched in the gate’s code.
“How about you think about it? Give it some consideration?” he said. “And we can talk about it when you’re ready?”
“There’s nothing to consider. I’ll never be ready.”
“Halley.”
“This isn’t fair, Adam.” I bit back the tears I could feel forming. “It isn’t fair to throw this kind of a thing at me, knowing how strongly I feel. We both agreed we didn’t want this.”
“I know.” He pulled into our driveway, parking alongside my car. “But it isn’t fair to either of us to not be honest with you.”
I held my head high and opened my door.
“Fair enough.” I didn’t know what else to say. I didn’t want to have to say anything. I had to get out of the car. I wanted to walk inside our home and return to the way things had been. “I have to send that e-mail for work,” I said dismissively.
“Hey, Halley,” Adam called as I slid out of my seat. “I think you should add in your e-mail your proposal for that recurrent feature about strong females in literature.” He gave me that warm, encouraging smile I’d climb the highest of mountains for. “It’s a really good idea. And one you’re passionate about.”
I nodded, affected a weak, tight-lipped smile, then made my way up the walkway to our home.
When Adam and I stood at the altar, we did so with a mutual understanding of what family meant to the soon-to-be Mr. and Mrs. Brennan. I’d even asked him about not having kids once while we were engaged, wanting to be certain I was not going to deprive him of something he might want someday. His answer was what I’d hoped it’d be—“No children, no problem”—and one I expected never to change. How could it now? Besides, isn’t it usually the woman who gets the baby itch? How could this be happening? And, more important, what the hell were we supposed to do about this revelation?
Sitting down at my computer to send my e-mail, then taking the bath and reading the book afterward, helped bring the tension down, but it is still there. It lingers overhead like a San Francisco fog.
I mindlessly flip through one Netflix show after another, nauseated and unable to make a selection. I’m mentally preparing myself to hear another remark from Adam, as he exchanges texts with Nina, about the wonders of having a child. I’m also hoping that this is something the two of us can put to rest with a good night of sleep, and that we can wake up to business as usual, where Adam will pour me my bowl of muesli and I will stick a love note on his coffee cup. We’ll come home after work and exchange our highlights and low points. Before bed I’ll grab a book to read, he’ll sketch or flip through a magazine, and maybe we’ll make love, without the intention of procreating. The way we always had and were always supposed to.
Adam laughs to himself as he types on his cell phone, so I ask what Nina’s said.
“She’s just wondering if Mom still has this ridiculous lederhosen outfit I wore when I was a kid.”
I know the outfit. I remember the photo. It’s adorable, Adam with his unruly mop of brown hair and those chubby pink cheeks. He’s sporting an outfit that was intended to be a Halloween costume but was actually a childhood favorite he’d begged his mother to allow him to wear to day care, day after day.
“Oh, she’d never get rid of that,” I say as Adam types a response. “In fact, don’t we have that in a box somewhere?”
“I think so.”
“What? Does Nina want it for Rylan?” I’m giddy at the idea of seeing my future nephew in it. “You should give it to her. I’m sure your mother would love to see photos of that.”
Adam doesn’t respond.
I’m about to ask if he wants to settle on an episode of Friends when he says, “You’ll think about it, won’t you, Halley?”
“Honey, it’s your outfit to give or keep. It’s not up to me. I do think Nina would lo—”
“Not the lederhosen. The baby.” He rolls to his side and looks at me. “Can you at least consider having a baby?”
“No.” It isn’t a harsh no. It isn’t stilted, nor is it bratty. It’s honest. Like his asking me, my answer is genuine.
He sighs heavily and says, “Please, just consider it, Hals.”
“I did. A long time ago.” I turn off the television and stand, ready for bed. “Come on. Let’s sleep.” I hold my hand out to him, hoping he’ll keep that beautiful mouth of his shut and just let us go to bed, put to rest this nonsense about upending our lives over something neither of us really wants. Go to bed the happily married couple without children we want to be now and forever.
With the duvet pulled over our bodies and my bedside lamp already turned out, I give Adam a long and passionate kiss. It’s a kiss that doesn’t necessarily invite something more but that lets him know that I love him, only him, and want to keep us. I don’t want to argue, to go to bed angry.
His kiss is not as intense, but it’s still heartfelt. It tells me what I need to hear, what I want to feel. That he’s mine and I’m his. He wants to keep us, too.
He rolls to his side of the bed and turns out his bedside lamp.
“Good night, Halley.”
“Good night, Adam.”
But it’s the lack of the habitual I love you before we go to bed that tells me I, alone, just might not be enough for my husband.
Three
A whole week passes, and much to my surprise the B word is not brought up. Not even the morning after our disagreement, when I figured chances were high Adam would at least ask if I’d slept on things. Nothing. That’s exactly how I’d hoped things would go down. However, the resulting week has been anything but what I hoped for. Adam seems to be distancing himself from me, or at the very least letting his reserved side shine brighter than usual. He’s brooding. Things seem different between us—there’s a lot of quiet space.
For instance, Griffin’s law firm happened to have some extra tickets to the sold-out ballet I’d wanted to see,
and when they arrived in our mailbox one afternoon, Adam stuck them under a magnet on the fridge without mentioning their arrival. I happily discovered them while preparing dinner and asked him if he had the date marked on his calendar—it’s a Friday-evening performance, and he’ll need to leave work early to beat the traffic. His answer was a simple, “I’ll have to check.”
“We’ve been wanting to go to this for a while,” I said.
“We just now got the tickets.”
I tried to ignore his unusually direct tone.
“Well, let me know,” I said.
“I will.”
It wasn’t just the incident with the tickets, but with the way conversation was flowing between us in general. Like a foreign language. Adam has a strong introverted side. Though he’s confident and a born leader, he tends to be soft spoken, a nurturer by nature. With me he’s fun, carefree, gentle, an open book. His keeping discussions succinct at the dinner table—emotionless and strictly about work—is out of the ordinary, and the shortness of his responses is unsettling. A small part of me—a very small part—wants to bring up the B word simply to move on from it, so we can carry on with the way our lives are supposed to be. Get beyond this. If he won’t talk about it, then I will, because we need to find our way back to normal.
The thing is, I know negligence can lead to festering, and festering is childish and dangerous. It can be the prologue to a disaster in a marriage. Because just as much pain and damage, if not more, can come from the things you don’t say as from the things you do. And the longer Adam and I neglect to deal with this enormous grey cloud, the greater I fear our problem will become. I have to find the right way to broach the topic of parenthood. A way that allows us to move past this quiet space that’s become so loud I can’t hear myself think anymore.
Unsure of where or when to begin, I consider rallying my sister, Charlotte, to my side. If anyone knows about the struggles of married life it’s her. She and her husband, Marco, tied the knot straight out of college, eleven years ago. Like Adam and me, she’s seen the marital peaks and valleys, though she’s seen more valleys than we have, and more than I think she ever imagined. Her first and third children were not accidents but what she lovingly refers to as “earlier-than-expected blessings.” Charlotte’s still finding herself—aren’t we all?—and she’s a real-life testament to what it means to work at a marriage.
Everything the Heart Wants: A Novel Page 4
