Page 77 of Where She Belongs
“He doesn’t have to,” I say, wrapping my arms around myself. “He’s at the age when most men start thinking about starting families. And even if he says it doesn’t matter now, what about in a few years? What about when everyone around him are having babies and he realizes what he’s given up for me?”
Harlow sighs, leaning back against the cushions. “You do realize you’re making a lot of assumptions about what Gabe wants, right? Without actually talking to him about any of it?”
“I’m being realistic,” I insist. “I’ve counseled too many patients through infertility issues not to understand how they can poison even the strongest relationships. The resentment builds slowly, but inevitably.” I’m tempted to add that infertility issues led to Harlow’s divorce but this isn’t about her.
“Andie,” Harlow says carefully, “do you remember when I first offered my services at your clinic? I’d been on a cross-country drive then.”
“Of course, I remember. You volunteered for two months and when it was time for you to drive back, I suggested you drive up north to Santa Fe and then you ended up in Taos… and met Dax.”
“I was grieving during that drive… from a stillbirth,” she says as my eyes widen. But before I can say something, she holds up her hand. “And before that, a few miscarriages.”
“I’m so sorry, Harlow.”
“I never thought I would ever have children and I left Dax partly for that reason,” she continues. “But he still wanted me anyway. And I bet he would have stayed with me even if I hadn’t gotten pregnant with the twins.”
I look up, meeting her eyes for the first time since she arrived.
“Of course, we can’t have anymore, but you know what he said to me one day?” She pauses, smiling. “He said, ‘There are a thousand ways to make a family, but only one you.’”
“That’s Dax,” I say, though something inside me wavers. “Gabe is?—”
“Just as stubborn and loyal,” Harlow interrupts. “Look, I’m not saying POF isn’t serious. It is. And I’m not saying your concerns about age and fertility aren’t valid. They are. But making unilateral decisions about what Gabe can or can’t handle, what he will or won’t want in the future? That’s not fair to him. Or to you.”
Her words hit uncomfortably close to home, echoing the doubts that have been circling my own mind. “What if he stays out of obligation? Out of pity?”
Harlow actually laughs at this, the sound jarring in the somber room. “Have you met Gabe Vasquez? The man who’s spent the last decade dating half of northern New Mexico without ever committing to any of them? You think he’s suddenly developed a martyr complex?”
Put that way, it does sound ridiculous. Gabe has never been one to do anything out of obligation, especially when it comes to relationships.
“Besides,” she continues, “these are preliminary findings, right? You haven’t even had a follow-up appointment to confirm the diagnosis.”
“The bloodwork was pretty clear,” I say, though I know as well as she does that initial readings aren’t always definitive.
“And how many times have we seen anomalous results corrected upon further testing?” she challenges. “Even if the diagnosis is accurate, there are treatments, options. You know this, Andie. You’re a doctor, for God’s sake.”
“I know,” I admit, the first tear finally escaping despite my efforts. “But knowing something professionally and processing it personally are two different things.”
Harlow’s expression softens as she wraps an arm around my shoulders. “Of course, they are. But that’s all the more reason to have someone by your side through this. Someone who cares about you. Someone like Gabe.”
“I was trying to protect him,” I whisper, the tears coming freely now. “Trying to be selfless.”
“There’s nothing selfless about making decisions for other people,” Harlow says gently. “Real selflessness is being honest,being vulnerable, and letting the other person choose for themselves.”
We sit in silence for a while, her arm around me, my head eventually dropping to her shoulder as the exhaustion of the past days catches up.
“I’ve made a mess of things, haven’t I?” I finally ask.
“Nothing that can’t be fixed,” she assures me. “Gabe isn’t going anywhere. He’s giving you space because that’s what you asked for, but he’s hurting, Andie. Call him. Talk to him. At least tell him what’s going on.”
I shake my head, straightening. “Not until after the follow-up appointment. I need all the facts first, need to be clearheaded when I talk to him.”
Harlow studies me, then nods reluctantly. “When’s the appointment?”
“Day after tomorrow. Nine AM.”
“Want me to come with you?” she offers. “Doctor to doctor, friend to friend?”
The offer is tempting—having Harlow’s steady presence would make the consultation easier to bear. But this is something I need to face on my own. “Thanks, but I need to do this myself.”
