‘Well, it’s pretty straightforward, isn’t it?’
‘Hear me out,’ I say, pushing my plate aside. ‘Losing Max was the hardest thing we’ve ever had to deal with. It derailed me. I mean, how can the way you see life not change after something like that, right? And every time I think about the possibility of putting myself through another loss by choice, I fall to pieces. How do I do that and come out the other side unscathed?’ I glance over at the waiter serving the couple behind Nick and wait for him to step away before continuing. ‘I know this decision is potentially going to put you in a situation that you don’t want to be in. One you never dreamed of and never asked for. And I know it won’t be easy if things don’t work out for us the way we hoped they would. I know what it means to give this a shot. I know what this could lead to. And I also know you’re stronger than me – you’ll be able to deal with it. You’ll be the best dad…’ I feel my eyes going misty. ‘I know this is a sharp turn in our lives. And I know what I’m asking of you.’
‘God,’ he says, blowing out a breath. ‘What if I told you that, with time, the pain of going through something like a termination would fade? What if I promised to be there for you to help get you through it? I could take time off, change careers even… anything you want.’
‘I still can’t do it. I’m sorry, but I… can’t… do it. I’ve decided.’
I want Nick to reach across the table for my hand, take it in his and tell me that he’s on board.
Instead, he gives me a steely look.
‘What? What is it?’
‘I never thought I’d be saying this, but…’ He draws a deep breath, his eyes trained on the salt and pepper shakers in the centre of the table. ‘I don’t know if I can be with you if you make this decision alone and make it through.’
It’s like someone has robbed me of my breath. ‘Huh? What did you say?’
‘We’re a couple, a married couple. A couple that’s supposed to make decisions together. And if we can’t see eye to eye on life’s major curve balls, and you’d be prepared to disregard me and everyone else around you in a decision as big as this that affects both me and our future child, then I don’t know how I’m going to get past that.’
‘What? I can’t believe I’m hearing this. What about me? Maybe I should be the one reconsidering our relationship based on the fact you want me to have an abortion!’
A pair of eyes from the table across the room follows us. I fire a scathing look in their direction.
‘Because I don’t want you to die! How am I going to explain it to our child if he or she survives? Have you thought about that? When he or she asks about you and you’re not here – what am I supposed to say? I never signed up to be a single father, Paige! How do you expect me to take your place?’
‘You tell the truth. You be you. You are enough.’
‘Oh, come on, Paige! You and I both know that’s bullshit. This is a selfish decision.’
‘Not all kids have two loving parents and they turn out fine. I’m choosing to believe that he or she would be fine. Our family is tight, Nick. Everyone is going to be there for him or her.’ I hesitate. ‘And for you.’
‘Really? Is that what you’re telling yourself?’ He crosses his arms and leans back in his chair.
‘I don’t really have any other choice.’
‘So you admit that it’s not the best outcome for this child, to be motherless.’
‘Jesus, Nick, what do you think I am? Of course it’s not the best outcome!’
‘Then why set him or her up for a life without you in it? Why leave our child wondering about what it might have been like to be loved by you? This baby might never get to hear you say, “I love you.” They might never know what your hopes and dreams are for them. Or how much you love being their mother.’
I’ll find a way, I want to tell him. I’ll find a way to make this better. Only I don’t say that. Because I know it’s going to be impossible to be there, to fill the void, to kiss it better, to laugh or cry or cuddle or watch with pride from the sidelines if things go wrong.
‘Could we order a bottle of water?’ asks Nick as a waiter passes by our table.
‘Sure. Still or sparkling?’
Nick looks at me and shrugs, inviting me to answer for him.
‘I don’t know,’ I reply, staring at the waiter dumbfounded.
Forty-five minutes later, when the waiter clears our barely touched meals from the table, I reach for a headache tablet. Nick motions for me to pass him the packet.
‘So, this is it?’ he says as he pops two pills from the packet. ‘It’s your body, so obviously you’re the one who gets the final say here?’
The tablets that do not want to go down are dissolving at the back of my throat, leaving a bitter taste in my mouth. I pour more water and try again, swallowing hard.
‘We’ve officially graduated from embryo to foetus, and yes, this is it.’ I drain what’s left in my glass, unable to meet Nick’s gaze. And as I do this, I swear I hear him utter a string of muffled words under his breath that sound something along the lines of, ‘This can’t be it.’
Thirty-Seven
Nick
I spend the better part of the next morning doing two things in between patient consults: picking up the phone and putting it back down again. In theory, I know Miranda and Hope are right. But there is something bigger at play here, something I can’t seem to get past – the fact that if I don’t do this, if I don’t take this step, I might live to regret it. And with that thought, I dial the number to Jim Lawrence & Associates and make the damn appointment with one of Jim’s associates.
‘Barry will be glad to see you at one o’clock next Friday,’ says Bev, Barry’s receptionist, who sounds like she’s smoked three packs of cigarettes in a row. With what he charges, I’m sure he will be.
It’s settled then. I have officially made an appointment to see a barrister. A family barrister. It’s ironic, really, how all we ultimately want is to have a family, and here I am, potentially destroying the chance to have one.
Piper starts barking when she hears me enter the otherwise empty house. I take her outside, toss a ball around for a bit with her, and retreat back inside where I find a note stuck to the fridge with Paige’s scribble on it.
Back soon! Just grabbing some bread and milk from the supermarket.
I lean against the kitchen bench, where Paige’s collection of cookbooks is stacked in one corner. She’s been collecting recipe books for years. Last night she spent an hour searching for a vintage cocoa chiffon cake recipe that she never managed to find. I think she mostly did it for the distraction. She ended up trying to make a croquembouche and never got far enough to even attempt the spun sugar. The squishy, eclair-like balls have collapsed onto themselves on the white porcelain plate next to the hob, and the mere sight of it causes my throat to tighten.
The house is quiet – too quiet – without her. But she’s everywhere. Reminders of her are everywhere: the pictures on the walls mounted in frames that took her eight months to find, the shoe closet she will never ever cull from, the books of recipes she will never master the art of following. The bottom line is that the world – my world – will not be the same without her. Nobody’s will.