Page 1 of The First Love Myth

Chapter 1

Liz

Not Pregnant. Well, that’s direct. Digital pee sticks give no fucks when it comes to a woman’s emotions. There’s no agonizing over whether that second line is there or not, whether the fact that it’s your fifth instead of first pee of the day makes a difference. It’s simple. Pregnant. Or Not.

I drop the test into the garbage pail and turn my back on it before slowly washing my hands. Now is not the best time to be pregnant. I know that. My husband fired his top account manager almost four months ago, and since then, his occasional business trips have turned into monthly outings. Julian hasn’t traveled so much since our post-grad days. With film festival season coming up, it’s exhausting. I can’t imagine dealing with this while hormonal. What a disaster that would be. And yet disappointment weighs on me. I can’t deny it. Will there ever be a right time for me and Julian? I bury the answer that’s crawling its way to the surface. Just because we haven’t found the right time yet doesn’t mean it will never present itself. And maybe a surprise baby is exactly what we need to find the time—to put our family and our future above work and passions and every other thing we use to keep us from really trying.

Because sometimes, I want a baby so desperately it hurts. There was that miscarriage in our first year of marriage, and honestly, we weren’t ready. But new birth control and poor timing and bad luck had other ideas, at least for a few weeks.After that, trying again didn’t seem appealing. I wanted to bask in the honeymoon stage. Five years later, my biological clock is all but screaming at me. Not that I’m old at thirty-four by anyone’s definition except my obstetrician’s, but I can’t shake the nagging feeling that maybe it isn’t meant to be. Not me and Julian—the baby part.

Or maybe it’s time to be a bit more proactive. I search for ovulation trackers on my phone. We agreed not to go overboard, to let this foray into family planning be casual—let’s have a lot of sex and see what happens. It works for Julian, and I am by no means complaining. Our sex life hasn’t been this good since the first months of our engagement. But it can’t hurt to pay more attention to my cycle. It has never been normal. The negative test and my week-late period proves that. My doctor said I most likely don’t ovulate when I’m supposed to, so knowing when I do could be quite beneficial. And it’s not like I have to pee on sticks every day like my sister-in-law. I can plug in some data from my last periods and see when it’s time to turn up the charm. No harm done.

Before I can even open the app store, Julian’s photo pops up on my screen. I let it ring so I can stare at his photo for an extra second. It’s my favorite shot of him. We’re on our honeymoon, and he’s happy and relaxed and sun-kissed. He’smyJulian.

“Hey, babe,” I say. He’s supposed to be flying home today from a conference in St. Louis. The weather forecast was clear as of a few hours ago, but it’s possible something cropped up.

“Are you home?” He sounds distracted, and the bustle of the airport crowds the line.

“I am.”

“Perfect.” The clatter around him quiets, and I know he’s walked into a private area or lounge. “I need you to mail something for me today.”

“Sure. Flight delayed?”

“Yeah, there’s a gnarly thunderstorm happening right now.” He pauses, and I hear a few key clicks from his laptop. “I got a day pass to one of the lounges while I wait.”

“Your boss will love that.” I walk out of the bathroom without another glance at the test. Tomorrow, I will go back to the tried-and-true pink lines. At least the anxiety comes with hope. I debate telling Julian about the test, but aside from the sex part, he’s not particularly interested in the intricacies of conception. Sometimes I wonder how long it would take him to notice if I didn’t get my period, if the lack of the tampon box would be a glaring admission or an oversight. “Long delay?” I ask when he doesn’t respond to my quip about his employer.

“A few hours, maybe.”

That’s not too bad, considering. I stopped planning anything for Julian’s homecomings after his first few trips since we inevitably fall into bed and miss our reservation.

I flip on the light in Julian’s office. The room is familiar but distinct. This is his space. It smells like him and looks every bit the creative genius lair that it is. I can’t remember the last time I came in here. Julian needs this space to shut out the rest of the world and delve into his fictional ones. It’s a trait I learned to accept long ago.

“What am I looking for?”

Papers litter the surface, sticking out at weird angles in one section and neatly stacked in another. It isn’t like Julian to be messy with his work or forget to drop something in the mail. An inkling of worry gnaws at me. I swallow it.

“It’s an entry form for the Norfolk Screenplay Contest,” he says, his voice perfectly normal.

Maybe the mess is just a mess, a consequence of his new schedule. Not everything means something deeper, I remind myself. I shuffle through the papers, finding only manuscriptand screenplay pages, a few bills I hope he paid or we’re about to be in big trouble, and a calendar.

“There should be a check clipped to it and a pre-labeled envelope.”

My eyes hit on it as soon as he finishes his sentence. “Got it. I’ll make sure it goes out today. Anything else?” I scan the calendar. It’s small and not the notebook he uses to keep his travel schedule aligned with contest deadlines and festivals. There are only a few Xs in the last week of the month—almost a week’s worth—and then an outlined star on one day and a colored star a few days later. I recognize the date that has the colored star but can’t place it.

“Actually, if you don’t mind, could you send me a few files while you’re in there?”

I perk up at the request. Julian is so tightly wound he never lets anyone touch his work. He almost never works on his films outside of this office. It’s his weird creative tic, and while it can be annoying, most of the time I love him even more for his passion.

A garbled voice sounds across the line, and Julian sighs loudly. I know I’m destined for a solo dinner now. Maybe I’ll try that new place on Wilton Avenue or see if I can get a facial and pedicure at the spa. It’s been ages since I treated myself, and something must be done about my cuticles before flip-flop season.

“Sure.” I turn my attention to the computer. “Which ones?”

“Umm... TheEternitydailies for April 5?”

The folder for that film and date is huge. It was a full-day-and-night shoot. “All of them?”

“Nah, maybe the first twenty?”

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