Page 59 of Screwed (Dad Bod Contracting 4)
I snort. “Why the hell would it be stupid? You’re in love with the man, yes?”
“Yes.”
“And you’re committed to him for life, yes?” I ask.
She nods. “Absolutely.”
“So what possible reason is there to not have a baby with him?”
She frowns. “Being old.”
Laurel scoffs. “You’re forty-one, Audra, not sixty-one. Big difference. People have kids at our age all the time.” She indicates Imogen. “Case in point.”
Audra nods. “I guess you’re right.”
Imogen rests her head on Audra’s shoulder. “I want to be a mommy and an auntie. I want us to be auntie-mommies together. So, you just have to work on becoming more fertile.”
Audra frowns at Imogen. “And how does one do that?”
Imogen shrugs. “I mean, you’re already doing most of it. Natural fertility doctors would say more sex, better diet, exercise.” She grins. “You’ve got the sex part down. More of the sex should be positions that put you a bit more inverted so his spermies don’t have to swim upward as much. Putting your legs up, like you’re already doing. There are supplements you can take, which I can help you find. I’d say in your case actually reduce your exercise—less high-intensity, less high-impact. More food high in healthy fats. Reduce stress, maybe even take up yoga and meditation. The more you stress out about it, the harder you make it on yourself. The more you relax and just enjoy the process, the easier it’ll be.”
Audra laughs. “Well, I definitely enjoy the process. No worries there.”
Imogen lightly whacks Audra’s shoulder. “I mean the whole process, dummy, not just the sex.” She leans against Audra, arms around her waist. “Enjoy being in love. Relax into the feeling of wanting a baby with the man you love, and while you’re laying there with a pillow under your thighs and Franco’s baby juice draining up inside you, think baby—think pregnant, think love, think openness, think acceptance. Don’t fight it, honey. You’re fighting the whole process. You have to relax and accept it and enjoy it.”
“Easier said than done,” Audra whispers.
Imogen nods, kisses Audra’s cheek. “You’re safe, Audra. You’re loved. You’re accepted. He’s not going anywhere and neither are we.”
Audra looks around at each of us in turn. “Promise?”
We all wrap her up in a big suffocating bear hug.
“You’re stuck with us, bitch,” I say, feeling oddly emotional about this myself. “Get used to it.”
Audra meets my eyes through the scrum of hair and arms and shoulders. “You’re not out of the woods, you know,” she says to me. “Just because we’re talking about me doesn’t mean we’re done talking about you.”
I sigh. “That’s fine, because there’s nothing to talk about.”
And no amounting of wishing or talking will change that. And at this point, I’m wondering if I was stupid to tell James I would wait. My heart hurts from waiting, and it’s been barely a month. How long can I wait with an open heart?
How long before I shut myself off again? Because if I do that…there will be no curtain call—not after this.
Chapter 11
Another week passes—my kitchen is nearly done. The island is finished, and the floor is in: dark wide planks. The cabinets are almost in, brand new white open-face cabinets custom built by Franco. The opening for the fridge is roughed in, and Jesse has been working on the bathroom while Franco does the cabinets. Ryder has come by a few times—once to reroute the electrical so I have light switches for the kitchen by the hallway and by the back door, and a couple more times to just generally help with the remodel.
But no sign of James.
Not a word.
In fact, the guys have clammed up about him, too, and I worry there’s something they’re not saying. I don’t push it, though.
Late one evening, it’s just Jesse putting the finishing touches on my new three-quarter bathroom—touch up paint around the switch plates and installing the new light fixture, caulking around the marble shower, changing the doorknob and installing the cabinet pulls.
“Jesse?” I say, leaning against the doorframe while he puts a powder-coated black iron cabinet pull on the cabinet and screws it in from inside.
He grunts a response, not looking at me.
“What’s going on with James?”
Jesse finishes and leans back on his heels, head hanging. “He’s been struggling these past few weeks.”
“Struggling? How so?”
A shrug of Jesse’s heavy shoulder. “Just with…everything. Memories, I guess. Letting go. I don’t know and I’m not sure it’s my place to say even if I did.”
I nod, and sigh. “I won’t ask again.”
Jesse eyes me. “Nova…” He flips the screwdriver in the air, catches it with a slap against his palm, and then stands up, raking a palm through his loose, messy brown hair. “I’m not saying give up. I’m just saying he’s trying to work through things he’s been suppressing or not dealing with for years. It’s a lot. I know he’s trying, but he…he can’t do this just for you.”
