Page 5 of Remember When

“You make it sound so simple.” Each word was as sharp as a knife.

“Nothing is ever as simple as it sounds.” The therapist’s eyes darkened with sympathy. “But talking about it offers a starting point. A place from which we can express our feelings, learn more, gain clarification, explore options, and engender support.”

“You’re saying I need to open up with Ben.” She’d been avoiding doing just that, unable to face his disappointment and apprehension. This pregnancy had already put him through so much—costing him time away from work, sleepless nights, and making him the sole breadwinner for their expanding family.

“You aren’t the only person impacted by these events,” Marisol reminded her. “Skye is Ben’s daughter as much as she is yours, and he’s worried about how the brain tumor could affect the pregnancy.”

Hot, shaming guilt made Jules pull at the neckline of her t-shirt. Ben had suggested adoption after the third miscarriage, but she’d insisted they try again. She wantedtheirbaby. One they created together, that she carried and brought into the world with Ben beside her. They’d accomplished the first part and were ten weeks or so from completing the second. Overall, the pregnancy had gone well—physically. Emotionally, it had been the most difficult period of her life.

“It’s hard to tell how Ben how I feel,” Jules admitted. “This is all my fault. I insisted we keep trying. I wanted a baby so desperately I ignored the damage it was doing to our relationship. Then, when this pregnancy stuck, I quit my teaching job to be a full-time incubator. Ben is handling everything—the garage, household finances, cooking and cleaning, and now getting me to and from doctor appointments while looking at me like my head is going to explode at any moment. I don’t know why he’s still here.” She slapped away tears.

“Is that true?” Marisol asked. “Really? Or is that the story you’re telling yourself? I think there’s a different story, one far more accurate than your version.”

“Okay, Mother Goose. Tell me a story.” Jules hated her petulance but couldn’t seem to help herself.

“Ben is a grown man. He built a successful car renovation business from the ground up. He was a self-proclaimed bachelor until you came along. He suggested counseling when your marriage hit a rocky patch. What I’m saying is—”

“I hear you.” Jules cut her off. “Ben is a smart, resourceful adult who makes his own decisions.”

“And he loves you very, very much,” the therapist added. “You don’t have to carry this burden alone. Talk to Ben. Tell him how you feel. Share your fears. Lean on him.” She bent forward and took Jules’ hands in hers.

“There is nothing worse than feeling helpless when someone we care about is going through a difficult time and we can’t fix it. That’s why people deliver casseroles and offer to babysit for free. Accepting those offers of assistance isn’t selfish; it’s just as much for their benefit as it is for yours.”

Maybe it was as simple as Marisol suggested. It was easy to overreact and overthink things when estrogen and progesterone were using your body like their own biology laboratory.

“You said Ben looks at you like your head is going to explode. He’s probably scared to death he’s going to lose you and the baby. He’s worried, but probably not about what you think.”

“I’m renting space in his head,” Jules said, repeating a caution from Marisol that had become familiar to both her and Ben. It meant making assumptions about what the other person was thinking instead of asking them.

“The next few months will be a challenge, for sure.” Marisol squeezed Jules’ fingers, then released them, sliding back in her seat. “But the prognosis for you and the baby looks good. You have a wonderful support system, and Skye is a fighter.”

“Ben was smart to call you.” Taking a deep breath, she relaxed into the chair and let the tension drain out of her neck and shoulders.

“He’s a good man.”

Skye kicked, as if to put an exclamation mark on Marisol’s statement. Jules blinked back tears—happy tears.

Ben was a wonderful husband, and he was going to be the world’s best dad.

4

31 Weeks

“What’s all this?”Ben stepped through the breezeway into the kitchen, inhaling the savory aroma of meatloaf—the only recipe Jules had ever mastered—and fresh herbs. The round wooden table was covered with a lace tablecloth and the fine china usually reserved for holidays, as well as candles and a bouquet of wildflowers.

“A romantic dinner for—” She frowned, searching for the right word. “For—”

“For two?”

For a second, she appeared distressed, then inhaled and composed her face in a serene—almost—expression.

“Technically, it’s dinner for three.” She smoothed a hand over her belly.

Ben crossed the room and pulled her in for a kiss. Nothing too intense, just a gentle brush of his lips across hers. She’d shown improvement since her visit a few days ago with their therapist, but there was still a subtle tension between them.

“You look amazing.” Hands still cupping her shoulders, he pulled away to admire the cream-colored lacy halter dress she wore. The deep vee-neckline revealed the plump swell of her breasts, the dark circles of her areolas visible through the sheer fabric. It stopped just above her knees, higher in front where it draped her belly. She’d done her hair and makeup and wore the diamond studs he’d given her for their first anniversary.

“Do I have time for a shower?” He looked down at his denim shirt and jeans stained with dirt and grease.

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