Page 67 of Your Soul to Keep

So, in the two days a week I had off, I crammed in as much as I could. The rest of the time? I struggled on my own.

There was a morbid kind of comfort in its familiarity.

A kind of security knowing I couldn’t leave or get sick or let anybody down if I never made myself indispensable in the first place.

Every year I got checked religiously. Mammogram, colonoscopy, chest x-rays. If there was a way to have a yearly C-scan or MRI, I would do it. I dreaded the phone calls that came out of the blue and lead to some of my darkest times. I’d existed on the wrong side of midnight for all of my adult life and most of my childhood.

The thought of being the cause of that darkness for Gabe or, God forbid, Dylan, horrified me.

And with my family history?

It felt like a certainty.

Driving to Ayana’s the next afternoon, I felt infinitely sorry for myself. Finding Bridge waiting for me in the parking lot surprised me out of my looming melancholy.

She got out of her car and met me at the door.

I offered her a hug, and she wrapped her arms around me tightly.

“Do you have a few minutes?”

“Absolutely. Come on in.”

I grabbed us a couple of soft drinks and sat with her at a table. “What’s up?”

She took a sip, her eyes wary. “I think we’re going to have to run point on this shower and I’m concerned it’s going to be too much for you.”

Anxiety tightened my throat. “It’s okay. It’s long past time I got over it.”

Bridge chewed on her bottom lip as she considered me. “There are some things too big to get over. For some things we have to make room in the car and take them with us on our journey. People either understand and accommodate for the space it takes up or get out of the car.”

I harrumphed. They leapt from the car while it was still moving.

Her hand covered mine. “And the ones who get out of the car? Those fuckers better get out of the way before I run them over.”

I huffed out a laugh.

She waited a beat then asked gently, “Want to tell me?”

Did I?

I swallowed and looked out the window, then took a breath and braced myself.

“I’m infertile.”

Such and ugly fucking word.

I am infertile.

By the time I’d given up, I didn’t identify as anything else.

“That sucks.”

I nodded, thankful she didn’t try to apologize for something that wasn’t her fault. “We tried everything, even three rounds of IVF. I lost all three babies.”

She winced.

After not talking about it to anyone for years, I’d broached the subject twice in one day. Maybe it was getting easier.

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