Unpredictable

by K. A. Berg

  I need to think before I say anything. Quinn and I don’t see eye to eye on this. I don’t understand why she’s so bothered by other people’s opinions. “They’re just comments. You never used to let things like this bother you. You’ve never cared about people’s opinions before. Why now?”

  “Because they all make it seem so simple,” she spits out angrily. “It’s not. It’s more than having sex in a certain position. It's more than listening to a clock. It’s more than having faith and patience. It’s more than ‘our time will come.’” Her chest rises and falls rapidly. Emotions are running rampant inside her, and she tries to calm her breathing.

  “None of those things guarantee a baby, and everyone thinks I need to relax, have faith, and fuck until we produce one. It’s biology. I can’t just will my body to get pregnant. Everything needs to align perfectly for it to happen. But it doesn’t seem to be happening for us, and I hate it. I hate it.”

  “Quinn, it doesn’t have to be this way,” I try to explain as I start to understand why everything is weighing so heavily on her. No wonder she’s been so stressed out about this. She’s already convinced herself there’s a problem when we don’t have any reason to believe there is. She’s scared. “You don’t have to let this get you down. Make this a happy journey. Think positive. Enjoy our time together while we create something beautiful. It’ll all be worth it. You’ve never let a little hard work stand in your way before.”

  “This isn’t a hard work pays off situation, Alex.” Her eyes blaze with emotion. Her body vibrates in my arms, and she tries to push away. “I’m not training for a triathlon or trying to land a new client. A little more time in the gym or a couple of late nights at the office aren’t going to fucking fix this. I can’t get pregnant, Alex. I don’t have any control over it.”

  And there it is. The heart of the problem. My poor girl. I didn’t have any idea all this was raging inside her. She’s hurting and scared. When Quinn feels boxed in or afraid, she lashes out and tries to run. She’s tense and ready to snap.

  Spinning her around in my arms, I pull her against me, our chests mashed together, and my eyes locked on hers, trying to calm and comfort her. All she needs is a little reassurance. “We can work through this. You need to talk to me. I get that you’re stressed, and I understand. I want to help. I thought I was helping—thought I was being supportive. Just tell me what you need me to do. There’s no reason to get all worked up about something we don’t even know.”

  “There’s no reason to think you can’t get pregnant, Quinn. There could be nothing wrong at all. And even if there is, there are so many options available to make this happen. If you just go for the blood work as the doctor suggested, we could have a place to start with all this worry.”

  Quinn pushes away from my embrace. Shaking her head, she looks me dead in the eye. “Alex, we’ve been trying to work through this. I can’t go on like this. I feel like I’m spiraling and it’s going to get worse the longer we let this continue. We haven’t gotten pregnant for a reason and the sooner we accept it, the better it will be for us. You can’t work through something not meant to happen. What’s the point of going in for the blood work? I did go, and their computers went haywire. What more of a sign do I need?”

  I watch as Quinn crosses the room, leaves her glass on the bar, and heads down the hall. Despite wanting to follow her and ask a thousand questions, I don’t. She needs a little bit of time without questions. Without the mention of babies. Right now, it seems to be a hot spot for her. She’s frustrated and overwhelmed by it, so I give her the space she’s seeking. She gave me all the answers I need.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  QUINN

  DESPITE THE EMOTIONAL ROLLERCOASTER I’VE BEEN ON THE last couple of months, I feel a shift in the air. A good one. The vibes are good today.

  One of our startups just sold for twenty-million over what we expected. Closing a great deal is a fantastic thing to add to an already good morning.

  Alex woke me up by gliding his tongue through my pussy. My body was so wound up; my mind didn’t have time to drift anywhere before I was drunk on pleasure. Starting the morning off with a great orgasm or two is always a pleasant thing. Sex has gotten so much more enjoyable since we’ve stopped with all the baby stuff. True to his promise, Alex has respected my wishes and supported my decision. With the weight lifted off my shoulders, I feel like I can breathe easy again. Maybe I just needed to stop thinking about it and relax because my period is four days late.

  Despite my best efforts not to think about it, every day I keep waiting for signs my period is coming. A headache. Some bloating. A couple of cramps. Anything. But nothing. No signs at all.

  A small glimmer of hope has started to form deep in my chest. Four days late and no symptoms at all. Except for sore breasts. But that’s never been a PMS symptom of mine before. The idea that it’s a pregnancy symptom lingers in the back of my mind. Alex and I have been trying for this so damn long, or at least it feels like it, and I’m afraid to dream again. Even for a moment. I’m terrified to let my mind go there. To break down the walls of protection I’ve spent the last couple of weeks building and bulldoze through all the progress I’ve made in trying to move on with our lives. One without kids.

  Then again, maybe our time has come. Maybe all the waiting and disappointment has finally come to an end, and it’s our turn. Perhaps every shitty thing I’ve experienced since beginning this journey is about to be paid back tenfold.

  A smile ghosts my lips as I enter our small conference room where everyone is gathering for a baby shower for Lucille, one of the accounting execs. Her maternity leave starts tomorrow, and a few of the girls in the office put together a surprise shower for her.

  The room looks adorable. The girls went all out in here. Pink balloons line the ceiling along with silver glitter streamers. I honestly didn’t know anyone still put up streamers, but it’s charming. They even got her a mom-to-be sash and tiara.

  Lucille is glowing. She looks fabulous for being eight months along. I want to look that good when I’m that far along.

  Did I just imagine myself pregnant?

  A wave of confliction courses through my body, making me feel out of sorts. My heart seems to be intent on pretending this is a good idea. Only my mind remembers how painful the fallout will be if it’s not true. I make my way through the crowd, saying hello to people and wishing Lucille well before I escape to my office.

  I sit at my desk and stare down at the calendar open to today’s date. I thumb back through and count the days again just to make sure.

  Four days late.

  In the quiet of these four walls, I let everything I’ve been suppressing rise to the top. Images of a fantasy life I let go of flicker through my thoughts. Round bellies. Tiny fingers and tiny toes. Pure adoration of something made from an intense love. An unconditional bond of family. A real family. Something neither Alex or I had. Something we so desperately wanted to give our child.

  And just like that… all pain and heartbreak go out the window as my mind drifts to thoughts of what Alex’s face would look like if I told him I was finally pregnant. Would he lean down and kiss my belly? Would his lips turn up into a smile so big it reached his eyes? Eyes swirled with emerald and caramel as they glass-over and a few tears break free?

  The phone on my desk rings, snapping me back to reality. Gathering my wits, I wipe my face as I head to the bathroom to check my makeup. I’m at work. This is not the time to sit here getting lost in thoughts I shouldn’t be having.

  I dab a tissue under my eye, catching the small droplet of black in the corner. There’s plenty of time for getting my hopes up later.

  Although, it may already be too late. No matter how I try to turn it off, I can’t. My lips tug up as I think about how good it feels to dream again, if only for a second, as I take care of business while I’m here.

  Just as I’m finishing up, a thousand-pound weight drops onto my chest, stealing all the air from my
lungs, robbing me of the joy that just started coursing through my veins again.

  My fucking period.

  Every ounce of happiness consuming me evaporates turning into anger, frustration, despair, and defeat. The images of Alex’s joy I was just wondering about morph into images of confirmed disappointment. Again.

  My heart is cracking into a million pieces right here in my office bathroom, and it’s my fault. You’d think by now I would’ve learned not to expect any different of an outcome.

  This is what I get for hoping. This is what I get for allowing myself to imagine someone else’s joy as my own.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  QUINN

  MY GREAT MORNING TURNED INTO A SHITTY AFTERNOON AND now a terrible evening. My mood has been so foul, my assistant avoided me as much as possible. After yelling at the delivery boy for taking forever to deliver my lunch order, everyone steered clear of me. I can’t seem to focus on anything other than the intense feeling of emptiness inside in me, and I’m angry.

  My madness resonates deep inside me, and I am taking it out on everyone else around me. Allowing myself to imagine a baby beginning to grow in my belly was the worst thing I could have done. Why the hell did I let my mind wander there? I knew better. What was I thinking?

  Sitting in two hours of traffic hasn’t helped my mood pick up either. I just want to get home and hide from the world and all my problems in my deep Roman tub with a bottle of Bordeaux. But instead, I’ve been sitting in the car due to an accident just outside the Lincoln Tunnel. I look at the time as I pull into the parking garage. It’s after nine, and I’m about three hours overdue for some wine and the solace of my bathroom.

  My shoes are the first to go as soon as I walk through the door. I kick them off into the corner, not caring even a little that I probably just scuffed the shit out of my favorite black peep-toe Manolos which were discontinued last season and nearly impossible to replace. The desire to strip down and soak in the tub is almost as strong as the need to down a glass of wine to calm my nerves. Letting the hot water wash away all the tension and pain sounds heavenly.

  Heading from the foyer, I make a beeline straight toward the kitchen. My fingers work the tight knot of the chignon at the nape of my neck, letting what’s left of my curls fall around my shoulders. I spot Alex working at the dining room table. “Hey, it’s been a super crappy day,” I say, crossing the room. The closer I get the more I notice the papers surrounding Alex. “I’m just going to head to…” My words fade as I get a good look at what Alex is working on.

  “Alex?” His name comes out as a question, and he smiles up at me. “What’s all this?”

  “I’ve been working on putting this into a nice organized presentation. I’ve been researching for the last two weeks, and I think I’ve got everything covered.”

  He sits proudly as he gestures to the different piles covering our oak dining room table. There must be six piles for different fertility doctors and clinics. Each one is peppered with pictures of smiling women holding babies or happy families playing in the park. They’re so bright and cheery and hopeful looking, the complete opposite of anything I’m feeling.

  The anger I hoped would simmer when I got home only grows bigger, stronger, and deeper. I feel volatile as Alex continues, so obviously ignorant of the storm inside me. “Some are in the city. Some are here in Jersey. I’ve filled out all the paperwork for us the best I could. I didn’t know how to answer some of the questions for your portion. It asks about cycle lengths and family history. When your last period started? But I’ve done everything else. After we choose which ones we want to see, we have to send it over and talk to the appointment manager.”

  I take a few shallow breaths trying to control my heart as it beats rapidly with fury in my chest. My fingers grasp onto the dining room chair, gripping tightly as I count to ten in my head. “Alex,” I try to interrupt him while doing my best to remain somewhat calm. I remind myself there’s no way he could have known about the chain of events today. I didn’t tell him my period was late or that I thought pregnancy was even a possibility.

  His smile grows wider as he keeps going. The excitement in his voice makes my stomach turn worse than when I had food poisoning last year. “I know this has been hard on us, so I thought I’d help with the stress and pressure and do all the legwork for us. This place,” he says pointing to the stack to the left of his computer, “has a great reputation. All their reviews are fantastic and Randy, you remember the PT assistant Randy, right? Anyway, he told me his wife’s sister went to this doctor, and she loved him. But this place,” he points to the pile above the last, “has the top doc in NYC. Again, he has great reviews. I haven’t spoken to anyone who has personally used him, but everyone seems to be raving about him online and this one…”

  He needs to stop talking. I need him to shut up. I’m not sure whether I want to throw up at the thought of all this or scream at the top of my lungs. This is the last fucking thing I need today.

  “Stop.” My voice has an edge to it. It’s sharp, clearly letting Alex know I’m not happy about any of this. I wouldn’t be happy about this any day but especially after a day where I went from thinking I was on top of the world to plummeting back to reality hard.

  Why would he think this was a good idea? He hasn’t brought up babies in over two weeks. I was sure he understood. We were done trying. That was it. I’ve never once mentioned anything about wanting to go to a doctor.

  Despite my best efforts, I can’t keep the tone of my voice from sounding bitter and cold. “You want to know when my last period started? Today, Alex. After being four days late. After I was stupid enough to let myself believe this was it. After I started picturing a perfect family for us with a perfect baby. After I let the idea back into my heart. It started today. Crushing any ounce of faith, patience, or whatever else you want to tell me to have left.”

  His excitement dissipates, and his chest rises and falls as he takes a deep, sighing breath before letting it out slowly. He contemplates his words for a brief moment before sighing again. “Quinn, I didn’t know you were even late. I’m sorry you got your period today. But how was I supposed to know?”

  “You should have known this…” I wave my hand over the papers covering the table, “was not a good idea.”

  “How?” he asks, his voice harder as he leans his elbows on the table. “How should I have known? You don’t ever want to really talk about any of it. All I know is you’re stressed and have convinced yourself something is wrong. Figuring you need some time, time without the mention of babies, I thought I’d take on this burden, so you didn’t have to. You’re right, we have been trying for a while now. I think it’s time we maybe consider seeing someone and figuring out why it’s not happening and if there’s a problem.”

  My head shakes with zero hesitation. No one told him to waste his time and energy looking up that information. He did it all on his own, with apparently no thought about how I feel or what I would want. And treatments and doctors are not the way I want to go. “No, Alex. I’m not doing this.”

  He opens his mouth to speak, but I beat him to it. “You should have checked with me before you did all this. I could have saved you ‘the burden.’ I’ve had a very shitty day, and all I want to do is take a hot shower, have a glass of wine and go to bed. I’m not looking for doctors or clinics.”

  The frustration builds inside him. His shoulders tense and his back stiffens. His jaw sets as he narrows his eyes, challenging me. His voice is now holding its own edge “There’s no reason we can’t look at all the information while you have a glass of wine. We need to start looking into seeing someone, Quinn. We can’t find a solution for the problem if we don’t identify it first.”

  Identify the problem? Find a solution?

  What am I, a fucking math problem?

  Stomping into the kitchen, I grab a bottle of wine, opener, and glass before heading down the hall toward my bedroom. “I said no, Alex. That’s the end of this.”r />
  Wine. Hot shower. Bed.

  No discussions of clinics. Or doctors. Or treatment plans.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  ALEX

  “I SAID NO, ALEX.”

  Who the hell does she think she is?

  My body vibrates with rage. Quinn doesn’t get to tell me no as if I’m an errant child. She doesn’t get to say no to having this discussion.

  My footsteps thunder down the hall as I follow her to the bedroom. My fingers grip the knob, twisting, and I swing the door open. Quinn stands in front of her dresser pouring wine into her glass, not the least bit startled by the boom of the door hitting the wall. “I don’t think so, Quinn. Not this time. You don’t get to walk away. I spent hours upon hours researching everything out there. The least you could do was be respectful and listen.”

  Her face tightens, and she turns toward me, letting loose a scathing snicker. “Let me get this straight…” Her glacial blue gaze bores into me with contempt, and her plump pink lips turn down into a harsh frown. “You want me to listen to your plan which consists of going to have tests done to see if there’s something wrong?”

  I nod my agreement despite being sure it was more of a rhetorical question.

  The ice in her voice drops a few more degrees to freezing, and her eyes narrow with abhorrence. “Why? To prove what… I’m defective? So you can find out what’s wrong with me and we can fix it? I never asked you to fix me. I’ve always been broken.”

  Defective? Broken? That’s not what I’d think at all. My mouth opens to tell her as such, but I don’t get the chance. Quinn raises her hand, halting my words before I can speak them. “What do you get from that, huh? I know what I’d get, pity. For the rest of our lives. Every time you look at me.”