Page 152 of On Cloud Nine

“I know it doesn’t make it any better, but I was going to share this with you tonight, if you can just let me try,” I beg, stumbling through every word.

Molly stares at me blankly. The tightness in my chest strangles me.

Have I already lost her?

I knew I was being ridiculous for not telling her the truth sooner, before this weekend.

I may have made the biggest mistake of my life.

“Okay.” Molly nods. Her eyes are glassy because of me. The seams of my heart begin to strain.

“I’m infertile. I found out when I was twenty-eight,” I begin. “Maya was in medical school at the time, focusing on her oncology research. She was running this big data-gathering project. It was extensive, and it required a lot of, uh—contribution samples. When her testing pool was short on donors, she asked all of the brothers to pitch in. We didn’t even hesitate.

“I was working up in Boston, at my old venture capital firm. The whole experience took an hour of my time.” My chest feels as if it’s being constricted by a boa. “Three weeks later, I took Maya’s call in between meetings, thinking she’s ringing me to vent about her asshole boyfriend or the research that’s been bothering her for weeks. Instead, she told me that I needed to make an appointment with my doctor. When I pried for more information, she explained that my sample didn’t carry any sperm in it whatsoever, and that I should get tested again soon.”

“Maya found out first?”Molly frowns, and the sight makes me want to break. “Is that why she brought it up to me?”

“Yeah. Trust me, I can’t quite explain how strange it was having my baby sister break the news that I couldn’t father any children.” I swipe at the hair falling onto my forehead.

“At all?” she chokes out.

“At all. I’m in the rare one percent of men who have azoospermia, which basically means I have absolutely zero sperm.” I drop my head, averting my gaze at the discomfort that speaking the words out loud still brings. “Anyway, it took only another week to confirm the findings with my doctor.”

“What did you do?” Her lip quivers.

“Panic, worry. I felt like a failure, like I had somehow caused this insufficiency myself. Sometimes I still wonder what could’ve gone differently in my past to prevent it from happening.” I pause. Molly’s eyes remain blank. I hate that I can’t read her at this moment. “I already told you a little bit about Laura, but what I didn’t mention was that we had discussed being one of those dual income, no kids families. However, after she found out….” I inhale a sharp breath. “Laura wasn’t a bad person. I guess. If you ask my family, they’d tell you that they knew she was awful the whole time but we had been together long enough that I assumed we’d get married, like everyone else does.

“When I broke the news to her, she got angry. Fuming angry. She called off the relationship and told me I wasted four years of her life. She acted like I kept a secret from her the entire time we were together. I never assumed my infertility would be an issue. Christ, we even talked about me getting a vasectomy when I turned thirty.”The hurt rushes back in full force. I remember that night so well, her telling me all the ways I’d deceived her as I sat on that ugly brown couch Laura insisted we needed.

A tear rolls down Molly’s cheek, and I swipe it away with my thumb. Her face blooms with pity. “That’s terrible. You had no idea.”

I didn’t want my girl to look at me like this. But it was inevitable. This is on me.

Guilt drowns my lungs. “Yeah, but the positive thing that came out of our breakup was that it led me to quit my old job, move to New York, and start Plastech.” If anything, I’m thankful for the pain that somehow managed to help me find my way to Molly. My breath hitches for the next part of the story. “A year after we broke it off…I was scrolling through Facebook and saw that she had her own child. A little boy. I don’t know. It made me hesitant to tell a partner about my infertility because I believed that maybe everyone wanted kids, and that’s not something I would be able to provide.”

“Did—did you love her?”

“I cared about her,” I say honestly. “We met at work, and it was one of those things that seemed easy. We meshed into each other’s lives because of circumstance, and we moved in together because rent in Boston is horrid. But whatever I had with her could never compare to what I feel toward you.”

Molly’s lip is still trembling.

“It’s not something that haunts me anymore. The infertility, I mean.” Though the way I handled this situation with Molly is proving otherwise. If we can get through this, we’re definitely going to have to talk about the topic for the rest of our lives, maybe even see a counselor. “I’ve gone to therapy, I’ve done support groups. There are podcasts and a plethora of information on how something like this can be handled. There are always alternatives, adoption or fostering. I never wanted to put someone in a position to make that decision and, honestly, I never thought I’d find someone who would want to face those hardships with me.”

“I’m not like her,” Molly says, slumping. Her hands glide on top of my palms resting on her thighs. Outside my frosty windows, the wind howls like a pack of wolves.

“Every cell in my body knows that’s true. You have every right to be mad at me for not telling you; I owed you my trust like you’ve given me yours. But, darling, I was so fucking terrified. The love I have for you is unlike any feeling I’ve ever had.”

“I love you too, but—” Her forehead creases. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

The one question I knew would be the hardest to answer. I look down, staring at my hands in hers.

“I didn’t want to make you decide something so important about your life. Hell, you’re only in your twenties, and anything you may want now could change later. I was afraid there’d be a part of you that would always feel like you gave something up for me, for us. You’ve spent your whole life sacrificing parts of yourself for others, and I couldn’t ask you to consider a future without a family of your own. Your mom brought up carrying on the Greene name, which made me feel ashamed because it’s something I couldn’t give you.

“I was going to tell you after your parents’ decision, except then the Winter Ball happened, and I wanted to give you time to process everything with your family without adding another thing to your plate.”

Molly sits on the bed, looking down at me. The floor beneath my knees feels like it’s splintering.

“You’re my best friend, you’re marvelous, and you deserve to have a life I wasn’t sure I could provide. It’s not fair to you that I assumed you were going to respond negatively. I was a coward. I was falling for you, and I selfishly wanted a moment where, regardless of your decision, we could be in love.” When I glance back up, there are tears in Molly’s eyes. “Where we could be real.”

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