Her Christmas Future

by Tara Taylor Quinn

  At home, and on her drive to the clinic. She’d found a serene safe place inside and had to stay there.

  As she approached the clinic door, she thought about what was immediately ahead. There’d be some lab work done. A technician was on call for that, too. They only had a matter of hours from the time any embryo was removed from her before it would have to be implanted in Beth. There’d probably be some cramping. Because she had to be at work that afternoon she’d opted out of any kind of medication to make her more comfortable. Beth, bless her heart, would need to remain supine for a while.

  Christine, in a flowing, deep purple dress, greeted her at the door of the clinic.

  “You okay?” she asked.

  Olivia didn’t speak. But she nodded. She had her truth and had to act on it. There was nothing else.

  The procedure was similar to other gynecological visits. Clinical. An internal flushing. Dr. Morrisette, other than checking in on Olivia’s comfort level, spoke only to the nurse assisting her. At one point Olivia was aware of intense cramping, but didn’t care. She was aware when the material was out of her body and being hurried away. Knew asking questions was pointless. The naked eye wasn’t going to tell them anything.

  Dr. Morrisette finished up quickly after that. And after pulling the paper sheet over Olivia and telling her she could sit up, she smiled for the first time since she’d entered the room.

  “It went like clockwork, Doctor,” she said, throwing her gloves in the trash. “You can get dressed, and your part is done here.”

  She was done.

  Either way. There was no more need for her or her body to be present. Beth was the one whose journey was only starting. Possibly for nine months.

  The idea was eerie. Leaving Olivia feeling... incredibly empty.

  She dressed quickly as soon as she’d been left alone. Grabbed her purse, the black one, she noticed, not the gray one that went with the day’s shoes, and frowned. She should have paid more attention. Now she’d have to carry around an unmatching purse for the rest of the day.

  The thought brought tears to her eyes. Swiping at them didn’t seem to help so she reached for a tissue, which caused her leg to bump into the hard, plastic chair close to the table, and so she fell into it. Rubbed at her leg. And cried some more.

  She might have sobbed all day, or maybe for the rest of her life, if Christine hadn’t come in. The second she heard the doorknob turn, she sat up. Wiped her eyes.

  “Hey.” Christine’s tone was soft as she kneeled beside her. “It’s okay,” she said inanely. Followed by, “Do you need something for pain, after all?”

  No pill was going to help this. The bump on her leg didn’t even hurt anymore. If it ever had. She couldn’t be sure and reached for another tissue.

  “Talk to me, Liv. There’s still time to stop this,” Christine quickly added. “Beth’s here and being prepped, but it’s not too late.”

  They’d signed all the paperwork the evening before. With two different lawyers present. One representing her, and one representing Beth.

  “What’s wrong?”

  Olivia met Christine’s gaze, saw the concern there, and realizing she was the cause of it, said, “My purse doesn’t match my shoes...” at which time the tears started again.

  Sitting back on her haunches, Christine watched her.

  And Olivia couldn’t pretend that she was okay.

  “It’s gone,” she whispered.

  “What’s gone?”

  “The baby. If there is one...

  “I had it inside me.

  “For two whole days.

  “And now I don’t.”

  Each sentence ended with a need for air. A moment to catch her breath and hold back tears.

  “I’m empty,” she finished. It was stupid to feel this way. Unexpected.

  And so real she wasn’t sure she could get up and walk out of that room.

  “It’s a little like losing Lily all over again...”

  Which made no sense. She’d never been a drama queen.

  “Except that it’s not gone,” Christine told her. “They already got a look, Liv. You were right to be concerned. Right about everything. There’s a viable embryo.”

  A jolt passed through her. Excitement shot one way. Anxiety another. “There is?” she asked through her tears. Let everything just drip down her face as she stared at Christine.

  “Dr. Morrisette was going to tell you, but I asked if I could.”

  Nodding, Olivia stared at Christine, trying to see the truth in her dark brown eyes. Something that would make it all real.

  Trying to understand the ramifications.

  “I did the right thing,” she said, “being concerned. If I’d ignored myself, I’d be...”

  Relief washed over her. And as it dissipated, Christine said, “So this is it, Liv. We can move forward or not. It’s your call.”

  Looking Christine dead in the eye, she answered immediately. “There is no call to make,” she said. “If there’s even the remotest possibility that my baby can live, I have to give it that chance.”

  “You’ll be a single mother, changing your entire life overnight.”

  She nodded. Almost dizzy with the magnitude of the spins her life had taken in the past forty-eight hours. “Yeah, I’ve got a lot to think about, and might soon have major plans to make, but I’ve got time to make them, too.”

  “You want this.” It wasn’t a question that time.

  Nodding again, Olivia smiled and teared up again. “I do,” she said. “I really do.”

  And in that moment, nothing else mattered.

  Chapter Five

  All day Monday Martin told himself it was good that Olivia had opted not to reply. She’d taken his hint in not immediately responding to her plea for a conversation. She knew him. Probably realized that he was done.

  Hell, she’d probably set the whole thing in motion and was still dragging him along with her little finger. That scenario explained the incredible, out-of-character sex on Friday night. She’d been saying goodbye.

  And he’d responded accordingly.

  Giving her what she wanted. To be away from him.

  Out of his life for good.

  After speaking at a conference, he’d gone on to the preplanned cocktail hour with some of the nation’s wealthiest people, and then to dinner. He was feeling great. On top of his game.

  And avoided all conversation that could in any way turn flirty. He didn’t feel flirty.

  He felt like he’d been dumped by his wife.

  Again.

  * * *

  Olivia had just finished her last rounds late Tuesday afternoon, had managed to have a few hours that felt almost normal, when her cell buzzed a text.

  From Martin.

  I’m in Marie Cove. Would like to speak with you. Will wait until you’re available.

  What if she wasn’t available at all that night? She was teaching a hygiene session at the center from six to seven. Women who attended earned points that they could spend in the thrift shop for things ranging from used clothing and houseware items to canned goods and laundry detergent. If she didn’t give the session, they lost an opportunity to earn their points.

  She’d planned to have dinner with Christine afterward—something they used to do regularly after center sessions, and hadn’t done quite as often since her friend’s marriage.

  But...

  Why aren’t you in Italy?

  It was Tuesday, not Thursday.

  I need to speak to you.

  Her heart started to thud. At forty-one Martin was decades away from old, but it wasn’t completely unheard of for men in their forties to develop heart problems...

  What’s wrong?

  When’s a good time for you to meet?

  If there’s something wrong wit
h you, you need to tell me now. Is it your heart?

  Sending a quick plea to the gods that it was nothing life-threatening, she stood in her office, staring at the phone as she awaited his response. She had to finish charting. But if it was an emergency...

  He wouldn’t be texting her. Or be willing to wait until she was available.

  So much for normalcy. Apparently bouts of idiocy were still in her system.

  In spite of how empty she’d felt after her procedure the previous day.

  Just had a physical last week. Everything in normal range. Doc says I’m going to live to be a hundred.

  Olivia sat down, just glad to know that he was okay. He might not be the right partner for her, but she still cared about him. Always would.

  She texted Christine. Asked if she could take a rain check on dinner. Explained that Martin was in town.

  And then she texted Martin back again.

  I’ll be home by seven thirty. You’re welcome to stop by.

  Whatever it was he had to tell her probably wouldn’t be nearly as earthshaking as her news.

  * * *

  With a couple of wine coolers in the refrigerator, Olivia tried to convince herself she was prepared for Martin’s knock on the door of her luxury condominium overlooking the Pacific Ocean. She’d left his name with the doorman. Knew he wouldn’t be late.

  She had refused to change out of the black-and-white tweed short-sleeved dress and black flats she’d worn to work and on to the center that day. Her hair was down from its bun, freshly brushed and hanging down her back, but mostly because it had started to fall and she hadn’t wanted to bother putting it all back together again.

  At 7:25 she thought about a wine cooler. Would have preferred to open one and have it to sip on during the upcoming conversation, but considering that a drink with Martin had gone all haywire the last time she’d seen him, she knew she had to wait for that small bit of relaxation until after he’d been and gone.

  Was she going to tell him about the live embryo? About Beth? The implantation?

  The question had been rolling around in her mind since she’d received his text. With varying results. If he cared, wanted the baby, they could share the tumultuous time of waiting the ten days until Beth’s first pregnancy test.

  What was she doing?

  Creating some kind of fantasy about her and Martin finding each other again through an unplanned pregnancy was just plain stupid.

  Impractical.

  And dangerous.

  Their problems weren’t going to be solved by bringing a child into the mix. If anything, they’d only be amplified. The way he’d approach parenthood would be different at forty-one than it had been a decade earlier.

  What if he insisted that she quit her job? He’d certainly done his best to talk her out of medical school. Putting family first, he’d called it.

  But the man’s genes were in a live embryo. He had a right to know.

  What if the embryo was no longer alive? What if it didn’t adhere to Beth’s uterus? Then he had nothing, and therefore, no need to know about it...

  It wasn’t like there were any decisions that needed to be made, or even any plans that couldn’t wait ten days. On the contrary—she had to wait.

  His knock came at 7:28 and she was glad she wasn’t holding the wine cooler. She might have dropped it.

  She was a nervous wreck and needed to get over herself. Be the person she’d worked so hard to grow into over the past decade.

  In black jeans and an off-white button-up shirt with the sleeves rolled up his forearms, with that tiny bit of silver starting to show in his pitch-dark hair, Martin filled her space before he’d even walked through the door. He was just one of those guys who looked like something off a movie set. His body, yes, the long legs and confidence with which he walked, but it was those vivid blue eyes and the expression on his face, too. The one that made you feel like you were the only person in the world he wanted to be with in that moment. Like you were that special.

  No one was that special. Not all the time.

  With hardly a smile, she led him to the balcony directly off from the dining room. They’d taken morning coffee there once when he’d come to town a couple of years before to deliver some papers and had ended up in bed together. She’d already turned on the small lamp on a side table by the wicker couch to offset the darkness.

  And yet leave them surrounded by shadows, too. That seemed safer somehow.

  “You want some tea? Or bottled water?” she asked.

  Shaking his head, he took a seat in one of the two wrought-iron chairs set at the little table. She’d have preferred her wicker rocker next to the couch, but whatever.

  “What’s up?” she asked, missing that wine cooler again. For something to do with hands that couldn’t sit still in her lap. And for a little assistance with relaxing the nerves that seemed to be standing up and screaming throughout her body.

  He didn’t answer right away. Clasped his hands, lifted them to the table, dropped them to his sides. At least they had that in common—their hands seemed to be malfunctioning.

  “How would you describe our relationship?” he finally asked, throwing her completely off course. Whatever she’d been expecting, it hadn’t been that.

  Not sure where he was going with it, or why, she thought carefully about her answer. “We’re divorced,” she said, speaking slowly. “And amicable.”

  He watched her and she couldn’t tell if she’d gotten the answer right. But had a feeling there’d been a right way to answer—something that would have given him what he was looking for.

  “We care about each other,” she said, continuing to talk. Not wanting to disappoint him. Searching for the truth within her.

  And struggling to get beyond her immediate internal crises long enough to find peace on any other matters. But she kept trying. Because it seemed that important to him.

  “We know we aren’t right for each other,” she said next. “We want different things and, on a daily basis, those differences build resentments that tarnish the good stuff.”

  Lips pursed now, he cocked his head, still watching her.

  Either she’d hit the nail on the head or she’d horribly missed and hit a nerve.

  “I consider you a friend,” she inserted quickly, going for the positive aspects. “A close friend. One of those I’d call in times of need.”

  The secret she held made her uncomfortable as she delivered the last, but...she had texted him. Asked him to call. He’d declined.

  She’d figured he was ending whatever it was they still had.

  Had even considered that maybe she’d wanted him to do so...

  And started to get a bit miffed. He was the one who’d said he needed to talk. Why was she the only one doing so?

  “What about you? How do you view us?”

  He seemed to give the matter real thought. Continued to study her, as she was assessing him. Eye to eye. Just as they’d always done.

  “Much like you do,” he finally said.

  So she’d gotten the answer right?

  Where did that leave them? Where was he going with it?

  Should she tell him about the embryo? The procedure?

  With him sitting there, meeting her gaze so openly, she wanted to. Badly.

  He wasn’t just a friend. In some ways he was her best friend. The one she trusted to have her back more than any other.

  One whose back she’d die to protect.

  She needed to tell him.

  Just as soon as he got what he’d come for. Or told her what he’d come to say. She wasn’t sure which it was at that point.

  If he was in need of some kind of reassurance...

  “What do you expect from me?” His question stunned her. She and Martin didn’t ask those kinds of questions, hadn’t since their divorce.


  “Nothing,” she said, thinking back to try to figure out what had prompted this discussion. To remember anything she’d said or done to make things go wrong between them recently.

  She’d texted him and asked him to call. Hadn’t thought anything of it.

  But maybe...she hadn’t been herself over the weekend to be sure... Should she have not texted? She’d made her choice without his input, which meant she really hadn’t needed it. Maybe that was it... She’d been out of line contacting him or seeking his call back. She’d just been in such a state...thinking he had a right to know what she was contemplating.

  And as it had turned out, she’d done just fine on her own.

  Not really on her own. She’d had family, a best friend, others who’d been with her.

  She’d done it without him.

  So...had she been too needy with that text? She used to be, where he was concerned. Or felt she had been, at any rate. At twenty-one she’d felt his decade on her had made him seem so smart to her. So knowing. Like she could rely on his advice more.

  Ridiculous when you considered that she was in medical school at twenty-one. But intellectual advancement didn’t mean that one was emotionally more mature. She just wasn’t sure what they were getting into. Where it was all going to lead.

  Had no real idea where she even wanted it to lead.

  Because, other than her work, she hadn’t dared to want anything for a long time. The thought struck her cold. He was still watching her. Almost as though he could read the thoughts playing through her mind. She wasn’t alarmed by the idea. Maybe he’d find what he was looking for.

  “You really think you have no expectations,” he said as more and more outside lights came on around them in the darkness. Seeming to encompass them even more closely in their little sphere.

  “I expect you to treat me decently,” she said. “To be honest with me. Why? Do you think I’m expecting too much of you?”