“That’s not what I’m saying and you know it.”
“Well, I’m keeping faith that we are pregnant, so I don’t see how doing this test could be wrong.”
“Fuck.” He works his jaw. “I’m not the bad guy here, Birdie.”
“And neither am I even though you’re making me feel like I am.”
“That’s not my intent.”
“It’s my body, Winter.”
“Yeah, and it’s me who has to deal with the fallout whenever you crash. And I guarantee you the crash will be greater if you go in there on Monday expecting the world because this test told you to, and getting anything but the fucking world.”
I stare at him, hating the words out of his mouth. “You really don’t think we’re pregnant, do you? Be honest with me.”
“Jesus Christ, that’s not what I’m saying. Don’t twist my words. I’m trying to get you to see—”
I push past him and leave the bathroom, not wanting to hear any more of what he has to say. Tears prick my eyes and I let them fall. I want to curl into a ball, cry my heart out, and forget everything. Everything we’ve just said. Everything we’ve had to go through to get to this point. Everything that might go wrong on Monday.
Winter has other ideas, though. He comes after me, grabbing my arm and spinning me around to face him. “Don’t walk off on me when I’m talking to you.”
I madly wipe my eyes but the tears keep coming. “I don’t want to fight with you anymore and I can’t stand here and listen to you saying the thing that scares me the most about Monday. I don’t want to see anything you want me to see. All I want to do is keep believing there’s a baby inside me.”
“Fuck,” he says, his eyes softening as he pulls me into his arms. “This is hard, angel. I know.”
I bury my face in his chest and let all my tears out.
I don’t know why I thought doing that test was a good idea. He’s right about it, which pisses me off because he’s always bloody right. When I finish crying, I lift my head and meet his gaze. “You suck.” At his arched brows, I explain, “You’re always right. For once, I’d like to be right about something.”
“Trust me, I don’t like being right. You don’t play fair.”
“How do I not play fair?”
“Baby, you know I wanna give you the world. Me trying to take shit away from you while you’re standing there looking at me like I’m the biggest asshole in the world is something I don’t wanna have to do.”
“Well, maybe in future, just stop trying to take shit away from me.”
He shakes his head like he doesn’t know what to do with me. “Is it safe for me to go on my run now or are you gonna get into trouble while I’m gone?”
I sigh. “No, I’ll be a good girl. I’ll just be here dealing with the joys of progesterone pessaries and other fun fertility stuff. But maybe you should take that test with you so I’m not tempted again.”
“Done. And when I get back, you and me are going out for the afternoon. I don’t care where; you choose. But make it something fun you wanna do. Fuck knows we both need to get out.”
He’s right again; we do. And I know exactly what I want to do. I wanna go play putt-putt. Winter isn’t a fan, but he said I could choose. I used to make him play it with me years ago and he always grumbled about it. There was one thing, though, that he liked. It gave him a chance to get handsy with me while he helped me play, and that is perfect for what we need in our relationship right now.
17
Birdie
* * *
I stand in the doorway to our en suite and watch my husband apply balm to his beard. I’m not sure why, but it’s something I like to watch him do.
His eyes meet mine in the mirror. “What are you thinking, angel?”
I smile and move closer, gliding my hands around his waist and pressing a kiss to his back before positioning myself on the vanity next to him. “I was thinking how much I love watching you apply that balm and that maybe”—I take the container of balm from him—“you should let me do it for you today.”
He moves in between my legs. “You can do it whenever you want to.” The deep rumble in his voice curls deep inside me; we haven’t had sex for weeks and today I’m missing the intimacy.
I rub some balm into my hands and gently smooth it over his beard. My touch is light, tender, and my eyes remain locked onto his. “I was also thinking,” I say slowly as I wrap my legs around his, “about how much I miss you.”
He places his hands either side of me on the vanity and leans closer. “And?”
I like the heat I see in his eyes. My tummy flutters at that heat, something it hasn’t done in weeks. God, how I miss him. “And how much I want your hands and mouth on me.”
He drops his mouth to pepper kisses along my collarbone. As he moves up my neck, he murmurs, “We’ve got five minutes until we have to leave.”
I thread my fingers through his hair, holding his head in place so he continues kissing me. “Yeah, but that’s really ten minutes because you’ve allowed for extra time. We could use the extra time to get naked.”
His kisses make their way to my mouth, and after he kisses me thoroughly, he says, “You sure about that?”
I know what he’s asking: Do I really want to have sex before our pregnancy test this morning when I’ve been committed to the doctor’s advice of not having sex during this two-week wait?
The answer to that isn’t black and white. While our doctor has given us this advice, I’ve read plenty of studies online that refute it. Some say sex is okay; some are all for it. I haven’t really felt like it, so it’s been an easy decision for me, but I’ve woken up wanting Winter in the way I haven’t for what feels like so long now.
“Fuck,” I mutter, placing my hands to his chest. “You’re right. We’ve come this far; we’re nearly there.”
“Yeah,” he agrees, and I hear all his regret in that one word. Taking a step back, he runs his eyes down my body, lighting me up even more. “I’m taking a raincheck. Tonight, if the doctor says we’re good to go.”
“It’s a date,” I say, leaving the vanity and kissing him one last time. “We better go.” This is the one appointment I’ve been ready super early for. And more anxious than ever for. My tummy has been a mess of nerves; this moment with him is the first time I’ve relaxed in days, but now that I’m thinking again about the pregnancy test we’re having soon, my nerves are back full force.
I grab my bag while Winter finishes locking up the house. Five minutes later, we’re on our way to the clinic and I feel nauseous.
What if we’re not pregnant?
How many cycles will it take to fall pregnant if we fail this time?
What if we are pregnant and there’s something wrong with the baby?
Oh God, what if I miscarry?
How will we keep affording IVF if we need to keep going back again and again?
“Birdie.” Winter’s hand lands on my thigh. “Stop thinking.”