Page 27 of Say Something
I shook my head, “Nothing.” I told him. “It’s just a little funny that you know what Pinterest is.”
He rolled his eyes and ate his food, waiting until he chewed and swallowed before continuing. Nothing but manners, my brother.
“I don’t live in a cave, Jess. Mom’s entire kitchen came off Pinterest. During the entire remodel, all I heard was ‘Pinterest this’ and ‘Pinterest that.’ Makes me glad we don’t do residential work. With commercial jobs, the folks have ideas, but they’re rarely that specific.”
“Well, I honestly never even thought to consult Pinterest for ideas.” It was true, but I sure was thinking about it now.
“Great,” Michael said, glaring at me. “You’ve got that look now.”
I laughed and speared a stalk of asparagus with my fork. “Just in terms of interior design, not carpentry.” I remembered seeing one of those pallet-style headboards a while back. That would look great with the whole rustic feel I was going for.
“Well, just don’t mention the word ‘pallet’ to me, and we’ll be fine,” he said, eyeing me.
I laughed; it was as though he was reading my mind. I tipped my glass of tea to him. “Deal.”
“There’s some new home store Mom and Karla were raving about at family dinner last month. It doesn’t have furniture or anything, but it’s got bed things, towels...that kind of thing.”
“Oh yeah? I’ll ask them about it.”
I’d sold all my furniture in one big yard sale when I sold the townhouse, and donated most of the linens, knowing that the modern styles and designs wouldn’t have matched the cottage. Hell, they wouldn’t have matched Oak River with all their clean lines and sharp edges. The only big piece I’d kept was a small, wooden heart-shaped table Danny and I had picked up at a local artisan showcase shortly after we were married. I’d been so excited, it was our first handmade piece, and I’d had dreams of picking up more like it for our home. Never did get around to it. It was one of the many things I’d set aside in my pursuit for a family.
Thinking back to those days, I wondered when exactly I had stopped living our dream. The early days of trying to conceive were still optimistic. We whispered about baby names and shared secret looks, like we knew something the rest of the world didn’t. After a few months, it became mechanical, but we were still optimistic,I think.Sure, the seed of doubt had been planted, but we were two young, healthy people. It would happen eventually—soon even—and when it did, the easiness of our lives would return. We’d smile and laugh like we used to, randomly tossing ridiculous baby names at each other, like Banana June or Maple South. We’d go back to fooling around for fun, instead of because it was a certain time of the month.
It hit me then, like a ton of bricks to the face.
God,I thought,three years.I wasted three years trying to have a baby. Ok, maybe all the years weren’t atotalwaste, I mean we didn’t know there was a problem that first year, but we should have. It should have been easier than it was, but it wasn’t. That should have been the first clue. Why we waited an entire year to see a specialist was beyond me. Maybe things would have been different if we’d sought out help sooner. Or maybe they would have ended that much faster.
It wasn’t that wanting and trying to get pregnant was a waste of time. That wasn’t it at all. It was that I had an amazing, loving husband through all of that time. A man who wanted to share the burden with me, and I didn’t let him. I wastedthat. I wasted him. And I’d regret it for the rest of my life.
“Jess?”
I registered the mess on my plate before looking up at my brother. I’d apparently merged my asparagus and mashed potatoes while stuck inside my head. The look on Michael’s face told me it wasn’t the first time he’d said my name.
“Sorry, just thinking about stuff.”
“You okay?”
I took a mental inventory and nodded. I was okay. It was getting less difficult to think about the past and what I’d lost. Many people don’t think of infertility as a loss because there was nothing tangible to lose, but oh, how I grieved for the lost opportunities and possibilities. They were as real to me as anything. Having never actually gotten pregnant, I never knew anything more than that...opportunities and possibilities.
“I’m good,” I said, smiling at him. For the first time in a while, it felt like the truth. It felt like thinking about the past was more therapeutic than painful.
“You mentioned you had all your colors picked out?” he asked, moving the conversation to something safe and comfortable.
“Yes. I’ll pick up the paint when we go to get the stain in the morning.”
We spent the rest of dinner talking about the renovations, and I welcomed Michael’s opinions about the space. It was fascinating, listening to my little brother talk shop. He really liked the rustic charm theme, and he had a lot of ideas. It was almost as though he’d spent a lot of time thinking about it, and I wondered if he and Kara had dreamed of what their home would look like. We settled our bill—I insisted on paying for his meal, much to his chagrin—and we made plans to go to the flea market over the weekend with his truck.
Life was good.
