Finding Infinity (Infinity Series)

by Layne Harper

  “I guess that’s true. Maybe they’ll let me help.” She smiles back at me.

  “If only. A man can dream…”

  We’ve been trying to get pregnant for six months now with no luck. I figured my super sperm would make her poor little egg scream for mercy. Instead, we make love like crazy, and every month her period still comes. We’re both trying to stay positive, but each month when she says that she’s not pregnant it gets a little harder.

  Last month sucked. In the span of twenty-four hours, I broke my leg, ending my season, and found out that I wasn’t going to be a dad this time around. God bless my wife. She tried to hide the tampons in her purse. I saw her take one out of the side pocket, and try to discreetly palm it in her hand as she walked to the restroom. Fucking blow on top of motherfucking blow. It made me crazy mad when she started apologizing to me for not being pregnant, like it was her fault.

  Our appointment is in two hours with her new doctor in Dallas, Doctor Starr. I pray to God that it goes well. Charlie and I need some good news right now, because I’ve got to get out of this funk that I’m in.

  Christmas is in four days, and Charlie has turned my house into a Griswold-style Christmas. I suspect that she did this to try to cheer me up. Every Sunday, when I stand on the sideline and watch my backup do my job, it shoves the knife a little deeper into my heart. I can’t seem to shake the weight off of my chest. Sometimes it gets so bad that I don’t think I can take a breath. My nightmares are getting noticeably worse. I keep lying to Charlie, and telling her that my leg is bothering me, but I really just have to get up and try to shake my dreams off of me. We need good news today.

  Normally, Jenny pays some designer to decorate my house expertly and tastefully for Christmas. This year, Charlie, Brad, Jenny, and sometimes me, have decorated the fuck out of it. What I’ve learned about Charlie is that, when it comes to Christmas decorating, her good taste goes out the window. Nothing has been selected because it matches. Every bit of our Christmas decorating has some sort of meaning to her, or us, or our friends and family. I have to say that I love it. For the first time since I bought the McMansion it looks like a home that a family actually lives in.

  Our Christmas tree has a homemade popcorn chain that the four of us made while we watched Christmas Vacation. There are multi-colored lights that Charlie chose, because they reminded her of our trip to New Orleans and Bourbon Street. We have crazy ornaments that the four of us picked out because we loved them, and not because they matched. She also got my mom to give us some of my ornaments that I made for her when I was a little boy.

  Our tree doesn’t have a theme, unless you call a mishmash of color a styled look. But it’s a testament to the things that we think are important. I like it so much better than the Texas Christmas theme I had last year.

  But, my favorite thing about our Christmas decorating is the Countdown to Christmas chain that Charlie made out of construction paper that’s draped around the tree’s branches. She wrote one thing that she loves about me on each piece of it. So, every morning after her run, she removes one piece of the chain and reads it aloud to me.

  Sometimes they’re funny, like, “I love that you don’t give a fuck.” Other times, they’re silly, like, “I love the face that you make in the mirror when you shave your chin.” But then, there are the ones that bring me to my fucking knees. “I love that you love me, just as I am.”

  I eagerly wait for today’s message, but I try to play it off as cool. “Hey, babe, we haven’t done the Christmas Countdown chain,” I say as I flip through the latest Sports Illustrated magazine.

  “Oh! I almost forgot.” She smirks.

  I’m so busted! She walks over to the tree and tears off today’s ring. I watch her read it first, and get a bit choked up. I feel my heart beat faster, anticipating what it says. I watch her gain her composure, clearing her throat, and finally begin to read. “No matter what the test results say, I love you enough. A baby is the cherry on top, but it doesn’t define who we are.”

  She guts me. “Come here, beautiful.” I need to feel her against me.

  She crawls on top of me and nuzzles my chest, which makes me crazy. I rub her back trying to soothe her trying to soothe myself. We’re a mess. “It doesn’t matter, Charlie. If we can’t get pregnant, we’ll adopt. We’re going to be okay.” We keep repeating lines like this to each other.

  I mean it. I really do. I want to be a dad. I want to have a baby that the two of us made together, but there are plenty of kids who need a home. We certainly have big enough hearts to love any child.

  She pulls away from me, and looks at me with such love in her eyes. “I know. It just doesn’t seem fair that we aren’t pregnant yet. This is the last step today. If your swimmers are swimming, then we need to just give it more time. We’ll know in a couple of days.” She sounds more like she’s reassuring herself than me.

  Charlie scoots off of me and declares, “I need a shower. Can I get you anything, Bambi?” she says, placing way too much emphasis on my new nickname.

  “Just you wait, smart ass. One more week on my crutches and then your ass is mine.”

  “Ha!” she calls over her shoulder, as she disappears into our bedroom.

  While she’s in the shower, I call Aiden. It’s seven o’clock LA time, but the douche shouldn’t be sleeping later than that, anyway.

  “What do you want butt-plug?” His voice is scratchy like he’s still in bed and not pleased with me.

  “Is that any way to treat your best client?” I sound more happy than I feel.

  “I was up late, if you know what I mean. What can I do for you?” he grumbles.

  “Late? As in Rachael-late?” I probe. Charlie will be pleased that I’m doing some snooping for her.

  “Late as in none-of-your-fucking-business late,” he snarls. I don’t know why their relationship is such a secret. I know they slept together at my house. I found used rubbers in the garbage can after they left. If they want secrets, though, then fine. But they should make more of an effort.

  “Looking for a status update on what we discussed the last time that you were home.”

  “Still working on it,” he responds. “I’ve got a few leads, but are you sure that you want to do this?” He’s now awake because his voice is clear and about to lecture me. “I mean, seriously, dude. You’re my best friend, and shit. And not to sound all bro-love, but I don’t know if it is a good idea to do this without Caroline.”

  My jaw tightens. Of everyone in my inner circle, I thought Aiden would understand. Guess not. “You don’t have to think that it’s a good idea. I don’t pay you for your opinion. Well, unless I ask for it, and this time I’m not asking. Find her. Make sure that she’s happy. Pay her out of the company account, and don’t let Charlie find out. Not fucking rocket science.”

  “Too early in the morning, butt-munch. I’ll see you on Christmas Eve.”

  The phone goes dead.

  * * * *

  Charlie’s driving makes me want to take public transportation. She has no clue how to stop without slamming on the brakes. She believes that turn signals are more of a suggestion. I hate her matchbox-sized car, and she hates driving the Escalade. She refuses to get near Bertha. I’m half tempted to buy us a sedan so I can fit in it comfortably, and we’ll save this thing for weekend drives in the country that will never fucking happen.

  She drops me off at the front of the medical office building, and runs around the back to extract my crutches from the trunk. While we drove, my crutches extended from the back of the trunk to the center console in the front seat. She was so pleased that her car had a ski opening. Did I mention how much I hate her fucking car? Real cars don’t have ski openings.

  I unfold myself from the passenger side and wait for her to hand me the metal supports. She gives them to me one at a time and stands there with a smug look on her gorgeous face. Charlie wants me to acknowledge how well the crutches fit in her car. There’s no way I’m taking the bait. “Thanks
for the help. I’ll wait for you in the lobby,” I place a sweet kiss on nose.

  I see her roll her eyes as she walks back around to the driver’s side. It makes me feel somewhat guilty so I call to her. “Your car isn’t so bad.”

  She lights up. “I knew you’d come around.” She shuts her door before I can add that it’s not so bad if you’re less than six feet and female.

  I crutch into the lobby and take a seat. It takes exactly one second for a fan to recognize me—the crutches make me stick out like a sore thumb. By the time Charlie walks in, I’m surrounded by pregnant women, who are asking me to take pictures with them. Some even try to get me to lay my hands on their stomachs, as if my touch will make their sons into future football players.

  I’m not going to lie. It guts me. I look down at my leg. I can’t walk, no Super Bowl this year, and no baby. One lady asks if I’ll put my hand on her very swollen stomach to feel her baby kick. I decline. I can’t touch a swollen stomach that isn’t Charlie’s. The thought nauseates me.

  An image of Charlie with a large swollen stomach floods my mind. My large hand covering her belly button, feeling our child kick, takes my breath away.

  I’ve got to get out here. I can’t be surrounded by these pregnant women any longer. It’s too much. I give Charlie a pleading look as she enters the lobby. My girl walks over to me, gently moving pregnant women out of the way, and takes my hand. “Come on, honey. We’re going to be late for our appointment.”

  Then there is the chorus of congratulations, and questions like “When are we due?” I guess the fact that we’re in a building that is nothing but an ob-gyn clinic tips them off.

  Charlie’s face is unreadable. She’s become a master at hiding her emotions in public. I’m not able to respond. My chest is so tight that I can’t take a breath of air. Thank goodness my girl does. “No need for congratulations when it’s just an annual pap smear.”

  She helps me get situated with my crutches, and we head for Doctor Starr’s office. She snickers when the elevator doors close. “Did you see the look on their faces when I said that I was here for my annual?”

  I shake my head at her. She’s doesn’t realize how panicked I got back there. Good. I’m hiding my shit well from her. I will give her credit; she’s gotten so much more comfortable dealing with difficult situations.

  Fortunately, when we arrive at Doctor Starr’s reception area we’re shown straight to her office, so we don’t have any more waiting room awkwardness.

  Doctor Starr has built-ins behind her desk that are filled with books, pictures, and dust collectors. There are no windows, but it feels welcoming with soft lighting and family photos. We sit down in front of her desk on soft brown leather chairs that look like the furniture in our bedroom. Framed on her walls are pictures of kids doing cute things, like licking an ice cream cone, or sliding down a slide.

  After the nurse shuts the door, Charlie takes my hand and turns to me. “Doctor Starr is going to ask us some very personal questions. You need to answer them as honestly as you can. There’s nothing that you can tell her that will upset me. If we aren’t honest with her, she can’t help us.”

  I’m confused. What’s there to lie about? “Sure, of course. You know everything. No secrets.”

  “She’s going to ask you about your first marriage and past sexual encounters, Colin. If you get uncomfortable ask me to leave, but don’t hold back information.” She’s concerned about what I’m going to say and gives me a pensive look.

  Oh fuck! I should have known that this was not going to be as easy as jerking off while replaying a great night of making love to my wife.

  Doctor Starr enters her office in a frenzy of activity dropping Charlie’s file folder on her desk. She apologizes for keeping us waiting even though we’ve only been here for, like, five minutes, and takes a seat. She looks like an older version of Charlie, which I find a bit disturbing. Her hair is the same color as Charlie’s but her eyes are more of a grey than lavender. She’s maybe ten-years-older than me, and she’s incredibly fit. I’d be scared to make her mad. We make small talk. She asks about my leg. Nothing earth shattering.

  Then she opens Charlie’s file, slips on a pair of silver glasses, takes the top off of her pen, and she gets down to business.

  “Colin, Caroline has given me the history of her sexual experiences. Now, I have some questions for you,” she states. “How old were you when you had your first sexual encounter?”

  “Why?” I ask, beginning to fidget with the hem of my cargo shorts. I’m not sure the first time that I had awkward sex, if you even want to call it that, with Jenna, is relevant to Charlie and me.

  “I need a complete sexual history. Would you like Caroline to leave the room?”

  “No, no. She can stay. I was fifteen,” I say, resolved that this is going to be suckiest hour of my life.

  “Protection?”

  “Condom.”

  “How sexually active were you after that?”

  “I had a girlfriend for most of high school. When we were together, we had sex frequently. I always wore a condom.”

  “College?” She asks as I squirm in my seat.

  “Lots of hook-ups and one night stands. Always wore condoms. When Caroline and I began dating, that was the first time that I had sex without protection.” Maybe she’ll ask more questions about Charlie and me. I don’t mind answering those.

  “Caroline, you were on the pill?”

  “Yes,” she replies, glancing at me with a reassuring look on her face.

  “Did you take them properly?”

  “I can’t say that I never missed a pill, but I was reasonably responsible.”

  “Any pregnancy scares while you were together?”

  “No.” We both say it at the same time, looking at each other. Neither of us mention our getting-back-together sex in Los Angeles. No need. Charlie didn’t get pregnant.

  “After you broke up, Colin, tell me about your sexual encounters.”

  “Look, doc. I’ll cut to the chase. I’ve slept with lots of women. I always wore a condom, even if they said they were on birth control. The only person other than Caroline that I didn’t wear a condom with was my ex-wife.”

  “Was your ex-wife using birth control?”

  “No, but we also weren’t actively trying to have a baby. I pretty much knew on my wedding day that it wasn’t going to last, so I checked out when it came to having sex with her.” I slump down in the chair. God, I can’t believe that I just admitted that out loud.

  “How long did you have sex with her without protection?”

  I fidget in my seat. I can now clearly see that the problem is me, and I want to be anywhere but here. My chest tightens to the uncomfortable, not breathing, point. I start concentrating on expanding my lungs.

  Doctor Starr says, “Colin, there’s nothing to be ashamed of. I just need the answer to the question. It will help me help you and Caroline reach your dream of becoming parents.”

  I mumble, “Over a year.” I manage to suck in a breath of air which my lungs are grateful for.

  Charlie grips my hand, trying to comfort me, but there’s nothing that will make me feel better right now.

  “Have you ever used HGH, or any other steroid?”

  “No. Even in high school when everyone else was doing it, I stayed away,” I say, as the words rush out of mouth. Thank God I was smart enough to listen to commercials on television and just say no.

  “Any other history of drug abuse?”

  I squirm in my seat. I don’t think that I can answer that. Charlie looks at me, and must register my distress because she replies on my behalf. “He had a problem with prescription painkillers early in his career.”

  “Colin, is that accurate?”

  “Yes,” I mummer.

  “Any other drugs?”

  “No. I have an alcohol intolerance.”

  Doctor Starr scribbles some more notes in Charlie’s file. “All right, today, Colin, I’m going to need
a sperm sample.” She takes a plastic cup out of her drawer and slides it across the desk.

  I grab it with my left hand, and stare at it. It’s just a plain, clear, plastic cup with a lid. How could something so innocuous be one of the keys to finding out whether or not we can be parents?

  After that Spanish Inquisition, the last thing I want to do is jerk off in a plastic cup.

  “My nurse will show you to a special room. As soon as the sample has been produced, the lab will analyze it, and I should have the results in about an hour.”

  “Wow! That’s quick, Doctor Starr,” Charlie says in surprise. “I didn’t think we would have them back for a couple of days.”

  She gives Charlie a warm smile. “I made special arrangements.”

  After Doctor Starr leaves to see another patient, I fall back in my chair, running my hands through my hair. “I’m so fucking sorry. It never occurred to me that my ex-wife didn’t get pregnant. I just thought God was doing me a favor.” The weight that’s been sitting on my chest since my accident has become crushing. I can’t believe this. This is me. I’m broken. Why didn’t I see it before? God, why have I dragged Charlie into this mess? She deserves a baby.

  “Look, Colin. That’s why we’re here. It probably means nothing. Stop it. Quit beating yourself up. We’re probably just going to be told that we need to keep trying. But, we’ll never know if you don’t go make love to yourself while you watch a bad porno.” She smiles.

  “Fuck the porno,” I say, trying to make myself feel better. “I’m going to beat off to us making love on the sun lounger by the pool.”

  “Colin, we’ve never had sex on the sun lounger?” she lifts her eyebrows in confusion.

  I shoot her my half smile. “It’s called a fantasy, darlin’.”

  The nurse opens the door, and I slip the cup in my shorts pocket. I need two hands to crutch to the “special” room.

  Charlie goes to the waiting room while I follow the nurse. She shows me how to work the DVD player, and introduces me to the porn library. The titles are so amazingly bad that I’m half tempted to snap a couple of pictures of the covers, and buy them for Aiden for Christmas. There’s even a gay porn. I could buy it for Brad. Even he would be appalled—I hope.