Max rattles off his list, which includes some sightseeing he wants to do. Birdie forces her excitement again, concerning me, but I don’t voice that. If she’s trying to give Max the impression she’s excited when she’s not, I know she won’t appreciate me saying something in front of him.
After they discuss the list, Max looks at me and says, “I’m gonna hit the hay. I’m exhausted.”
Birdie shifts, allowing me to stand and hug my brother. “Thanks for today.”
Max catches the emotion behind my words and smiles. “Yeah. It’s good to see you guys.”
“Night, Maxxi,” Birdie says, hugging him and using the name he allows only her to call him. “Sleep well.”
Once we’re alone, she places her hand to my chest and says, “Did you have a good birthday?”
“Yeah, but I’m concerned about you. What’s going on?”
“Nothing. Why?”
“Birdie, don’t bullshit me. Are you not feeling well?”
Clutching my shirt, she presses her body to mine. “I’m fine.” Standing on her toes, she brushes a kiss across my lips. “Take me to bed. I wanna wrap my lips around you.”
“Fine usually means anything but that, angel. Talk to me.”
She lets go of me. “I said I’m fine; I’m fine.” The bite in her tone lets me know she’s now pissed.
When she turns away from me and takes a step to leave the room, I reach for her, my fingers curling around her wrist. “Don’t do that.”
She allows me to pull her back. “Do what? Offer to do the one thing you always want?” More bite.
Doing my best to ignore her mood, I say, “Don’t shut me out.”
“I’m not shutting you out. I just don’t want to talk about how I’m feeling, so stop asking me.”
“I can understand that, but we’re partners in this, and—”
“Yeah, well I’m the one who’s actually dealing with the shit these drugs cause, so I should be the one who gets to decide if I wanna talk about it or not.”
Fuck.
Birdie’s moods have been up and down, and all over the place since the day I came home and found her in the bath. It’s been four days of not knowing which wife I’ll get each time we speak or see each other. If I ever thought her PMS was bad each month, I had no idea what bad was.
Choosing my words carefully, I say, “Fair enough. Are you in pain, though? Can I get you anything to help?”
Sighing loudly, she nods. “I’m sore all over. Maybe some Advil.”
I fucking hate that she’s going through this. I’d do anything to be the one who has to deal with this pain. Jerking my chin towards the hallway, I say, “Go get in bed; I’ll be in soon.”
She does as I say and exits the lounge room. I locate the heat pack, water bottle, and Advil, and take them to her.
She’s under the covers, curled into a ball on her side. Looking up at me as I sit on my side of the bed, she takes the water bottle and heat pack. When she lifts the covers to position them, I see she’s changed into one of my T-shirts. It’s one of the “wife” range of tees she’s bought me over the past year. This one says My Wife is Perfect. I have five others clean in the wardrobe; the significance of her choosing this one tonight doesn’t escape me.
“Here,” I say, passing a glass of water and the Advil.
She swallows them down, and once she’s got the heat pack and water bottle where she wants them, she bundles herself under the blanket again.
I stand and pull my T-shirt over my head and strip out of my jeans. Switching the bedroom light off, I get in bed, rolling onto my side to face her. I find her watching me intently, deathly silent. Deathly, because a Birdie who isn’t talking is a Birdie who isn’t good.
Tracing my finger down her cheek, I say, “I’m sorry you’re in pain, angel.”
She remains silent for another minute or so before saying, “I’m sorry for being a bitch.”
“I know.”
More silence and then— “This is the first time we haven’t had sex on your birthday.”
I don’t like the guilt I hear in her voice. “I’m not even thinking about that.”
“Don’t lie. You are.”
I want to touch her. Hold her. Comfort her. But I don’t want to hurt her while she’s in pain, so I keep my hands to myself. Fucking hardest thing to do in the world. I was put on this earth to look after this woman; the fact I can’t do it in the way I want right now kills me. “Sometimes I wish you could read my mind. It’d save you a lot of guilt and worry.”
“I doubt that. I’d just think you were thinking thoughts on purpose.”
Fuck it, I can’t not touch her a second longer. “Baby,” I say as I gently smooth my hand over her hair, “stop worrying about my needs and just focus on you. We have such a short window here with this IVF, and we need you as stress-free as possible. We’ve got years ahead of us for all the sex we’re not having now.”
She reaches for my hand and threads her fingers through mine. “I know, but it still worries me. Sex is such a huge thing for us. What if IVF drags on for a long time? How will you cope with that if I’m never in the mood?”
It’s only been four days since we’ve had sex, but I think Birdie has blown that up in her mind to be a huge amount of time for me. “Remember I went without you for five years?”
“That’s different, Winter. We weren’t together; it’s not like you weren’t getting it at all.”
“Getting any old sex is not the same as getting you.” To hell with worrying about hurting her. I pull her close, keeping my arm over her. “Yeah, I love fucking you, but what I love more is this. Talking. Being with you. Knowing what you’re thinking and going through. You can take sex away from me, but take this away and I’ll force my way back in. This is what I can’t live without, angel.”
She bites her lip. Like she’s on the cusp of believing me but still not quite sure whether to. Then, fucking finally, she brings her lips to mine. Her hands meet my skin. And she gives me what I need: her wide-open heart.
After drawing the kiss out, lingering with me in ways I love, she says, “I feel like I’m going fucking crazy. Between the headaches, hot flushes, night sweats, and now this muscle pain, I may just lose my mind. Add to all that my insane moods, and I’m not sure how we’re going to get through this.” She presses her body harder to mine. “Promise me you won’t ever give up on me.”
“Fuck, Birdie, you know that’s never going to happen. Fucking never.”
Tears fill her eyes as she nods. “I know, but honestly, my head is all over the place screwing with me so much that there are moments I believe you might. And although I tell myself it’s irrational, I can’t get rid of the thoughts. I told you I’m going crazy.”
Max was right; she’s overwhelmed and struggling. I’m angry with myself that I didn’t see this sooner. I should have. “You’re not going crazy. But I think we need a set check-in each day where you share all the thoughts you think are crazy so I can assure you they’re not.”