‘Sure.’ I read on, making the rocket sounds wherever I think they’re appropriate. At the end, I close the book and ask, ‘So, how did I do?’
He’s quiet, like he’s weighing things up. This small kid, taking this – a story – so seriously.
‘You didn’t do it as good as Dad.’
I turn my body so I’m facing him. ‘You want to know why?’
‘Why?’ he whispers.
‘Because I’m not your dad. No one can replace him.’
He nods thoughtfully.
‘Was it the rocket sounds? Were they not all that good?’
He screws up his face. ‘Yeah, they weren’t that good. You need some practice. Mum says with practice you get better at things. You need to be louder. Like this.’ He demonstrates.
‘You must miss him a lot.’
‘I wish he was still here. Mum gets sad sometimes. I heard her tell my Aunt Zoe she’s lonely.’
‘I’m sure she’s not lonely when she’s with you.’ I hand the book back to him. ‘You’re going to be okay, Will. So is your mum. You just have to keep remembering him. And remembering he loved you both, and you both loved him.’
He doesn’t answer, just starts making another rocket sound. I join in, louder than before.
He smiles. ‘That was a bit better. At least when you get a kid, you’ll have had some practice.’
‘Yeah,’ I reply. ‘I guess it’s going to come in really handy some day.’
That’s when I notice Miranda standing there, leaning against the doorway, watching her son. I know how she feels. What a beautiful thing to watch; what a painful thing to not be able to fix this for him.
Thirty-Two
Paige
‘What will it take for you to change your mind? Because I was googling last night, and with the right monitoring, there’s a chance I can make it through this pregnancy without complications,’ I say to Nick the next night before bed.
‘Google,’ he says, deadpan, with a mouth full of toothpaste. He spits into the sink and starts rinsing his mouth out.
I knew there was a chance Nick might respond like this. He isn’t intentionally making me feel stupid, but that’s how I feel. ‘Well, I didn’t get to the academic research papers yet.’
‘I’ve already read them,’ he says, matter-of-factly, as he reaches for the mouthwash. ‘All of them. And I spoke to a specialist doctor in the US.’
Of course he has.
‘I also consulted three cardiac specialists and another obstetrician. Just to be sure.’
‘Nick, you want us to terminate our baby. We want this baby. Like we wanted Max.’
He gargles and spits before replying.
‘This is about your life,’ he corrects. He pauses, reaching for the deodorant. ‘It’s not like we want to do this.’
‘And we don’t have to do it.’
Our life, like the life of any couple, is filled with choices and decisions. Give here, take there. Surely we can find a way to agree on this one.
‘Paige,’ he says, turning around to face me. I can tell he’s sorry about what he’s about to say by the way he blinks, the way his mouth curves a little at the edges. ‘I don’t feel confident about the outcome.’
And there it is. Nick’s clinical justification of why we should abort our baby.
My thumb breaks through the hole I’ve been making in the cuff of my sleeve, a bad habit of mine. Nick moves closer and tries to hug me but I raise both hands to stop him.
Nick flinches. ‘Paige, I devote my working life to saving people’s lives.’
‘That does not make you always right.’ My voice wobbles. Maybe because part of me knows he is right. My life is at stake. I could die.
‘No, it doesn’t. But do you want to know what it feels like? To be operating on a patient for hours – a child – and experience that moment when you realise that you’re losing them and there is absolutely nothing you can do to stop it? Knowing that after that child dies in front of your eyes, you’re going to have to walk out the door and face the people who love them more than anything in the world and let them know their child is gone? I never, ever go in believing that loss is an option. Even when I know the stats aren’t on our side, I try to maintain the belief that things will work out, so I can do the best job I can, but I still have to be realistic about things.’
I understand what he’s saying, but surely there’s a chance he can see that we can choose to be positive about this. ‘Why can’t you believe things will be okay? Why can’t you bring your positive attitude to this – to us?’
Because he’s scared, whispers a voice in my head.
‘I think it’s important to realise that we don’t need to rule out the fact that we might become parents some day. Right now, we need to see how your recovery goes, and from there we can work out how to become parents. Okay?’
‘I’m really not buying this right now,’ I say flatly.
‘I’m not trying to sell you anything. I’m trying to reassure you. Termination isn’t going to be the end of the world.’
I shake my head, trying to block out the idea. If I do this, how will I manage to cope afterwards? ‘That’s not how it feels. And this isn’t how it’s meant to be. This is not how it was supposed to go, Nick. We were meant to be… happy about this.’
‘I know,’ he concedes. ‘I want nothing more than for us to be happy about a pregnancy. But this one… it’s not the right time. I’m sorry, but it’s not.’
‘Are you going to die, Aunty Paige?’ asks Ella. She’s using my face as a make-up canvas, caking it with finishing powder.
‘Uh… what?’
‘Keep still!’ she says, brandishing my good red lipstick. We’re in Caitlin’s back garden. I’m lying down on an outdoor lounge chair, babysitting Ella while Caitlin is at Ethan’s swimming lesson. ‘Close your lips and do this,’ she says, making a face so her lips are taut. She leans her body over me, steadying herself on me with her elbow.
‘Okay. But what makes you think—’
Before I can finish my sentence, Ella is colouring my lips, my teeth and the area around my mouth with my sixty-dollar lipstick.
‘Want to see?’ she says, reaching for the mirror. She holds it up for me. My eyes widen as I take in my wild hairstyle, purple eyelids and fire-engine-red cheeks. ‘What did you say you wanted to be when you got older?’ I ask suspiciously.
‘A gymnast,’ she says matter-of-factly.
‘Oh, great. That’s good,’ I say, thinking this child would have no hope as a make-up artist. I sit up. ‘So, who told you—’
‘Mummy was talking to Daddy and then Mummy was talking to Nanny on the phone and Nanny was crying and then Mummy was crying and Daddy said you weren’t going to die because Uncle Nick would never let you die, and then Mummy said you were going to die.’ Ella lifts herself off the side of the chair, does a series of cartwheels across the lawn, rolls her way back to me and says, ‘So are you?’