She twisted her body away, not wanting to think about it. ‘I don’t want to know.’
‘I’m just trying to explain it. You have to believe me. I hardly ever do it. And I would never, ever meet up with one of these people in real life. I mean, what kind of person goes onto a dating app just to have text sex with some stranger?’
‘You do it,’ she mumbled bitterly.
‘You would never do it. That’s what I love about you.’ He shuffled towards her. ‘You’re so good, Pri.’ He climbed up her body, kissing her stomach, chest and neck as he rose to his feet. ‘You’re so smart and so good. It was a stupid crutch that didn’t mean anything. Please, let’s just go to see the doctor. You’ve had surgery; don’t you want to know everything’s okay? Let’s not ruin this chance. Let’s not let me being an idiot derail everything we’ve ever wanted.’
She sniffed. ‘Okay. I won’t cancel. But I’d like to go alone.’
He let his head fall forward. ‘If that’s what you want. But please promise me you will go.’
All the way to the clinic she heard her phone vibrate as it received entreaties from Nick. I’m sorry. You were never meant to see. Please believe me. I feel awful for hurting you. Mixed in with a smattering of I love yous.
When she parked at Empona she felt rooted to her seat. Walking through the clinic’s doors would be another step down the path she shouldn’t take with an unfaithful husband. She wanted to believe what he was telling her, but she knew it might be foolish to do so.
She watched a couple walk up the ramp to the automatic doors, their arms around each other, their faces full of guarded hope. Priya took a deep, shuddering breath. She couldn’t go any further without being certain. She opened the Bumble app on her phone and went into Rose’s profile. She found Nick’s smiling face and clicked on the conversation bubble. Hey, she typed. What’s up, cutie? Then she stepped out of her car and slammed the door behind her.
Nine
A triple-embryo transfer sounded like an event that called for a grandstand theatre, with trays of silver surgical equipment glinting under stadium lights and a team of surgeons in green gloves and masks. It was seismic. Three! But Grace was taken into the same small surgery where she’d had all her previous attempts, passing through the airlocked clean room to change into a paper gown and a pointless paper shower cap that was too small to hold her long blonde hair. She giggled as she snapped it into place, on account of the valium that Dan had encouraged her to take. Then she sailed, detached, into the surgery where she settled herself onto the chair, and tried to stop her gown from rucking up. Doctor Li tapped Grace’s knee and her legs swung open like saloon doors. She slotted her ankles into the stirrups.
An embryologist Grace didn’t recognise was at the benches, working. Nurses rushed in and out. Grace lay back and looked at the ceiling, enjoying the way the valium dulled her feelings.
Somewhere in the room three potential humans were sitting in a petri dish. Three almost-souls who would be pushed through a catheter, to float in the soft pink tissue inside her, and hopefully latch onto the rough red walls. The tiny specks should be welcomed by an environment that was thick and marshy, if her profusion of medications had done their job.
‘How are you feeling?’ Doctor Li asked.
‘Good. Ready.’
The image of her uterus beamed onto a small monitor looked oddly empty. She was so used to seeing ultrasound images of babies—at barbecues, retrieved from handbags, stuck to fridges. The black abyss on the screen resembled something else entirely.
Dan crouched so his face was close to Grace. ‘Can you believe that’s where our baby’s going to be?’ He pointed to the monitor. ‘I have a really good feeling about this.’
Amid the excitement she thought of their other embryo—the morula with the possible abnormality, their little girl all alone in their allotment of the Empona freezer. Early in the process, Grace and Dan had agreed they would donate any unused fertilised eggs to science. But now, with her three potential babies waiting and ready not far from her, Grace wondered if maybe they should keep the fourth embryo for a try later. Give her a chance.
Doctor Li approached. ‘Okay, Grace, here we go.’
‘Do we need takeaway?’ Dan asked in the car home.
‘No, we’re fully stocked.’ Grace had ensured they had supplies for her confinement. ‘Is it terrible that a small part of me is glad to have an excuse to stay in bed all day?’
Dan laughed. He had brought the television upstairs so Grace could watch Netflix in bed, and he had set up a temporary nurse’s station by clearing the bar cart of its bottles and wheeling it into the bedroom. It was stocked with snacks, painkillers, water, orange juice and magazines.
‘Is there anything else you need?’ Dan asked.
‘No, thank you.’ She kissed him as he fussed over her blanket. ‘Unless you have some embryo glue.’
She said it in the half-joking way she used when she wanted to broach a thought she didn’t entirely trust to see how he reacted to it.
‘We could ask one of the nurses about it,’ he said.
They had already had this discussion. Grace had argued that if Doctor Osmond had given it to his patient, the worst thing that could happen would be that the glue would have no effect, but in the end they had decided that Doctor Li was treating them, and they shouldn’t mess with her regime.
‘No, you’re right. I trust Doctor Li.’
‘Would you settle for some honeycomb ice-cream?’
‘Ooh, yes, please.’
‘I’ll run down to the supermarket and get some.’
As soon as Dan was out of the house, Grace’s mind began to roam. Her thoughts still had the quality of being wrapped in tissue paper, owing to the valium. She mentally catalogued the plastic bottles and pill press-packs in her overflowing bathroom cupboard to be sure they had done everything they could to help the three little embryos. There was one thing she hadn’t tried that might help.
Grace threw back the blanket, crept into the bathroom and knelt before the vanity unit. She felt around in the old towels until she found what she was looking for. She pulled out the cardboard airfreight envelope and withdrew the little glass bottle.
She removed the stopper and held the dropper up to the light, asking herself, ‘Do I dare?
The obvious answer was no. She did not know what was inside the bottle, and with the stopper removed the peculiar scent of chemicals and old fruit was filling the air and irritating her nose.
Still. Her subconscious nagged. She had read so many blogs and customer reviews gushing about this elixir—half a dozen at least. She’d followed the thread of their online IDs and verified the women making these claims were in fact real people. One of them even had an open Facebook page, filled with photos of a little girl with hazel eyes and pinchable cheeks. People wouldn’t make up the claims, Grace told herself. They wouldn’t be so cruel. She had seen it spoken about in enough forums, mentioned by enough women, for her common sense to falter.
She had read and re-read the instructions from the website so many times she knew them by heart, and now she mouthed the words as she filled a glass with water and squeezed in three drops. The brown fluid dispersed quickly. It was such a small amount. It couldn’t possibly be harmful, she reasoned.
She sniffed the water and wished she had an old-fashioned poison taster. As the image of the medieval servant choking filled her mind’s eye she thought: so what if it is poison? If she couldn’t get pregnant, what did she have to look forward too? Shuffling around her house in ugg boots, her weekends filled with the birthday parties and graduations of other people’s children. The future seemed so shapeless without offspring to fill it, just her and Dan adrift in a middle-aged hinterland.
She picked up the glass and stared at it. Sydney’s drinking water was full of chemicals, anyway. What were a few more? Her hand hovered, holding the glass before her.
On a more rational level, she thought that, if it were dangerous, she w
ould have heard. This was a product whose name was whispered across internet sites the world over. If it were dangerous the site that sold it would have been shut down. A journalist would have uncovered it. The online store also sold Panadol and Viagra. Surely huge multinational pharmaceutical companies wouldn’t allow their products to sit on the same virtual shelves as poison.
But still, as she cautiously lifted the glass to her mouth, her mind raced. Was this madness? The water smelled normal. She dipped her tongue in, like a cat. It tasted like water. She took a small, cautious sip. The moment she swallowed, sanity returned. She jerked the glass away and looked up at her face in the bathroom mirror. Her reflection was pale, stricken.
Are you insane? she wanted to ask it. You’ve just had three embryos transferred to your uterus and you’re drinking something you ordered off the internet? A month ago you wouldn’t even allow yourself cheese.
She tipped the water down the drain then emptied out the pipette and the tiny glass bottle. She washed her hands vigorously with soap and brushed her teeth, spitting and gargling and then repeating the process. She lowered her head and let the tap run over her tongue. She scoured her tastebuds with her toothbrush then threw the brush in the bin along with the bottle and its packaging, then emptied the entire contents into the outside bin.
‘Stupid,’ she said to herself as she hurried back into the house. ‘Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.’
Ten
‘I said I was sorry,’ Nick said. ‘What will it take for you to believe me? I’ll do counselling, I’ll do therapy, anything.’
‘We’ve been through counselling before,’ Priya said, exhausted.
‘And it worked.’
‘It appears it didn’t.’
‘So, what? You’re just going to give up?’
They had been repeating the same fight over and over, exhuming all of the old grievances they thought were long laid to rest, filling their days with un-dead resentment. And despite the knockdown, drag-out fights sparked by the smallest things, there had been no real conversation about their future.
‘How could I put my body through that knowing any minute you might—’ She broke off.
‘What? Leave?’
He was angry. Insulted. Priya went quiet, knowing she had gone too far. But she was angry too. He was forcing her to argue against starting IVF when he was the reason they couldn’t go ahead. She wanted a baby, more than anything. But she also wanted to know that baby would have a stable, happy life.
They fell asleep in their clothes.
After Nick got up the next morning, Priya lay curled up in the doona, listening to the morning news. It was almost eight when she heard Nick leave and was able to drag herself out of bed. She would be late for work.
When she went downstairs Jacker was at his bowl, wagging his tail happily as he lapped up the egg on his dog chow. Nick liked to give Jacker an egg to keep his coat shiny. Priya looked at the happy, scruffy dog and gave him a scratch. How many times had she watched Nick crouch beside Jacker’s bowl and crack an egg over his food, with a loving pat and a ‘There you go, buddy’?
The thought gave her hope for their future. She took her phone from her pocket and sent him a message: Okay. Six weeks of counselling. Then we’ll see.
When she got home that night Nick was in the kitchen, slicing carrots into matchsticks. He had the makings of a green curry spread out on the bench.
‘That smells good,’ she said politely. It was one of three dishes in his repertoire, along with Guinness pot pie and lasagne.
He gave her a kiss on the cheek, hesitating as he lowered his face to hers. In turn she offered a forced smile.
‘I got something,’ he said, sheepish. ‘To help.’ His eyes stayed cast down as he took something from his pocket. ‘A bloke from work gave it to me.’ He handed Priya a business card. It was creased from when he’d sat on it and warm from being close to his body.
‘Said she saved his marriage.’
Priya read the card: Clementine Crosley. Marriage Counsellor. Dip Psych BS. PhD.
Nick slid a hand through his hair. ‘She’s pricey. But worth it. I suppose it’s like IVF. You’ve got to pay for a full and proper service.’
‘I’ll call tomorrow and make an appointment,’ Priya said, pleased he was trying.
The counsellor, when they saw her, did a good job of drawing out their emotions.
‘If I’m cold it’s because I’m sad. Not because I don’t love you,’ Priya said. She was sitting upright on a chaise longue in a tasteful office.
‘You’re always checking up on me,’ Nick said. ‘I feel like you want to catch me out.’
‘I don’t want to catch you out. I don’t want you to be doing anything I could catch you out at.’
Their hour was nearly up and it felt like they were going in circles. Nick folded his arms and scowled at the bag squatting at Priya’s feet. ‘And there’s nothing in your phone you wouldn’t want me to see?’
Priya shifted her bag with her foot so that it was behind her ankles. ‘You know there isn’t,’ she said, looking out the window so he couldn’t meet her eyes.
She still had Rose. She’d laid the bait for him. A simple Hey. What’s up, cutie? And he hadn’t answered. She had followed up with another message a few days later, just to be sure. She’d felt guilty the whole time, but also like it was a necessary step.
Cute puppy. He looks kind of like the border collie we had when I was growing up. What’s his name? And what breed is he? Looks like there’s some boxer in there.
Nick loved to speculate on Jacker’s origins. He was on the smaller side, with short, tan fur. Stavros liked to tease that maybe he had some poodle in him. ‘Or some Bichon Frise.’
‘No way,’ Nick would say, wounded.
She knew all his weaknesses, all his desires. She also knew what she was doing was wrong, but she wanted their baby and she had to be sure.
‘I think today has been really productive,’ their counsellor, Clementine, said. When she stood to shake their hands and see them out Priya noticed she had the beginnings of a baby bump. She was struck by a bolt of envy and felt her smile slip as she said goodbye.
‘Thank you very much, Doctor Crosley,’ Nick had said, laying his left hand over Doctor Crosley’s right as he shook it, smiling. Priya noticed him encase the woman’s slender fingers, and her envy was joined by a twist of jealous mistrust. She was glad when they stepped out into the car park and she could draw fresh air into her lungs. Her head was swimming with conflicting thoughts and feelings.
‘That went well, I thought,’ Nick said. ‘I mean, we started to get some things out in the open.’
It was true. Priya felt like she’d been cracked open. She felt exposed and a bit bruised, but also lighter.
‘We could pick up some fish and chips then finish painting the mural in the baby’s room,’ Nick said.
‘I think it’s a bit early for that, don’t you?’
‘It’ll be a good activity. Like when we renovated the house the first time around.’
‘I was going to go to my art class.’
‘Priya.’ His face fell. ‘We have to work on this.’
‘Nick, we are. We will. But this is my one thing that I really look forward to.’
‘If we’re going to fix this maybe you should put us ahead of your project.’
‘I didn’t see you volunteering to paint when you had footy training,’ she countered. ‘This class is important to me.’
‘Okay.’ He threw up his hands like a martyr. ‘You go. I’ll paint. I’ll stay inside the lines you drew.’
Priya felt guilty. ‘How about we do it on Saturday?’ she said. ‘Make a day of it.’
Nick grunted. ‘I’ll make a start tonight.’
Priya drove to the Fairfield Art Factory, where she poured some cheap wine into a tumbler and sat cross-legged on a cushion on the floor next to Husani.
‘How’d the Blackman sale go?’ he asked.
‘The what? Oh, the
painting. Um. Record bid. Nine hundred thousand.’
Husani gave a low whistle. ‘That’s why I always wanted to be an artist. So, tell me, when are you coming to look at my work?’
‘Sorry, Husani, I’ve had a lot on my mind—’
Priya broke off as the model stepped into the room. It was someone new tonight. She dropped her kimono to the floor to reveal large breasts. Her dry blonde hair looked like straw. Priya kept her head down and made the woman’s feet the focus of her drawing but she couldn’t stop another image flashing into her mind. Megan. Megan. Megan. This model was younger than Megan, and looked nothing like her in the face. But the hair, and the figure, gave an overall impression of the woman in Nick’s phone. Priya hadn’t had the opportunity to check if he was still talking to her. She sat grinding her teeth as she tried to sketch, thinking: Nick ruins everything. She wanted desperately for things between them to be better. But she also felt like he was acting as if they were equally to blame for this crisis in their lives. Her hand wouldn’t stay steady, and her lines were all over the page. She only got through two poses before she put down her graphite stick and told Husani she had to go.
‘Are you coming next week?’ he asked.
‘I’m not sure I’ll be able to make it next week. I’ll text you. I’m really sorry, Husani. I know I said I’d come and look at your work. It’s just a bad time right now.’
‘Hey, it’s okay. I didn’t mean to hassle you.’
On the way to her car she pulled out her phone. It stopped her in her tracks. Her Bumble app had a blue spot on it. Her thumb hovered over it, afraid. She stood in the car park, clicked on her husband’s message to Rose and read it in the dark: That’s my buddy Jacker. Man’s best friend. We’re a package deal. And a smiley face. A disgusting, cheesy smiley face.
Her hands were trembling. She stood in the dark, staring at the screen. She couldn’t move until she had dealt with this. She tapped in a response. Oh. You come with baggage?
The Mothers Page 10
