Page 45 of Say Something
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Mrs. Thompson set down a plate with a slice of warmed apple pie on the table in front of me. I thanked her, picked up the fork, and began eating. She excused herself from the kitchen, something about laundry. I barely paid attention, stuck in my own head.
I picked through my memories of mine and Danny’s relationship, from when we’d been friends as young children to the very beginning of our romantic relationship in high school, and all the way to the end and our divorce.
Sure, we’d gotten a little ticked off at one another here and there, but we never really fought. Not until we started trying to get pregnant.
I remembered the first time.
“Honey, I’m home!”
I sprung up from the couch at the sound of Danny’s goofy greeting and ran to the front hall to see him.
“Whoa,” he said, smiling as I practically threw myself at him. “Not that I mind the enthusiastic greeting at all, but what’s the occasion?”
“I’m ovulating!” I cheered.
“That’s great, babe,” he said, taking off his jacket and kicking off his shoes. I reached for the button on his jeans. “Hey,” he said, stopping my hands.
“What’s wrong?” I asked, frowning up at him.
“I just walked in the door, Jess.”
“So, can’t we be spontaneous?” I gave him a flirty smirk.
“Yeah, we can be spontaneous,” he said, smiling, but still holding my hands. “But it’s not really spontaneous when you tell me you’re ovulating and then want to have sex.”
“But there’s a very brief window of opportunity each cycle-”
“Yeah, I know,” he said, interrupting me. “You’ve told me every month for the last six months about that very small window. I get it, Jess. But I just walked in the door. I’ve been sitting in a horribly boring lecture for the past three hours, and before that I was teaching all day. Is it so much to ask that I’m able to come home a chill for a little while?”
“But-”
“I’m hungry,” he said, ignoring me and walking towards the kitchen.
“Danny...this could be it.”
“I read stuff online. There are blogs and articles that say we should just relax and let things happen naturally. They say that trying too hard can bring on stress and make it even more difficult to conceive.”
I read those same articles. I hated them. I got that same advice in the online baby groups I joined.Relax, it’ll happen.The biggest load of bullshit I’d ever heard.
He opened the refrigerator and pulled out the plate of baked chicken I’d saved for him. He pulled off the plastic wrap, ate a cold string bean, then put the plate in the microwave to reheat.
“Look, I think we should take a step back.”
“Take a step back?” I echoed, physically taking a step back, away from him. “But we want a family.”
“I know that, Jessica.”
“Do you not want to have a family anymore?” I felt tears prick behind my eyes. Was he changing his mind? Was it my fault because I wasn’t pregnant yet? We’d been trying for almost a year.
“Of course, I do,” he said, stepping around the kitchen island and pulling me into his chest. “I want nothing more than to have a small army of kids with you. But it’s gotten so mechanical, Jess. There’s no romance. No love. It’s becoming a chore, a duty.”
“Making love to me is a chore?” I asked, pulling out of his grasp.
“That’s not what I said. And we’re not even making love anymore, Jess. It’s like a damn science experiment. We’re trying all these positions because you read that they were good for some stupid reason or another. There’s no sweet talk or dirty talk, it’s like you’re directing the scene. ‘A little to the left. No, not there.’ It’s exhausting. Is it so much to ask that we just have fun? People get knocked up all the time by just having fun. Can’t we try that?”
Every word that came out of his mouth was like a stab directly into my heart...into my womb.Exhausting. Directing.Was I really that terrible? Thatmechanical?
