Page 74 of An Unfinished Memory

We walked for another quarter of a mile. The trail wasn’t that long, but traffic going through the park was heavy, slowing down our spectating and cutting into hiking time, which was fine on a hot day like this. The paths would be open, with little shade, leaving the sun to beat down on us.

When we arrived at an opening with signs, surrounded by rocky areas, a family with small kids was milling around. The mom was strapping a baby into a carrier she wore on her back, and the dad was trying to wrangle a toddler and a school-aged boy.

“Brynn, no—” The dad caught the toddler by the arm. He lifted her to sit on his shoulders. “Come on, Roman.”

The mom smiled at me when she passed. The dad was lucky he could see anything with the way the little girl clung to his head. A sweet family living had been my dream. Stuffing away the wistful tug at my heart, I took my backpack off at a little picnic table by one of the informational signs.

Wilder set his beside mine and put his hat down next to his pack. He ruffled his hair. “Brave family, doing these hikes with kids.”

“Probably wears them out.” I smiled. “Maybe wears the parents out more.”

“No doubt.” He helped me unload sandwiches. As we ate, quickly, because it was hot, another couple with kids swung through.

The dad grinned at us. “Finally a decent path for the young ones.”

Wilder returned the smile and pointed toward the youngest kid climbing on the rocks. “I think she’s getting away.”

The dad’s eyes widened, and he jumped away with a “thanks.”

I traded a smile with Wilder. When they left, another woman hiked through. She was dressed like me, only her top was snug around her baby belly. She said hi, read the signs, and went right back down the trail.

“Lots of families this weekend,” I said to make conversation more than anything else. We hadn’t been alone like we were this weekend since we’d been hooking up.

Wilder packed his empty containers into his backpack. “Good place for it.” He put his hat back on while I finished my grapes. “Can I ask…”

My chewing slowed. We weren’t supposed to have heavy conversations this weekend. Anything he was hesitant to ask about would fit the description, yet I was helpless to refuse him. “Go ahead.”

“Why didn’t you want to meet with the infertility doctor?”

I popped another grape in my mouth to give myself time to think of how to answer. He’d never asked why when I canceled the consultation. He’d taken a shift, and I went to work. The time of the appointment had become a normal day.

“Were you scared?” he asked. “Were you afraid nothing could be done?”

“No.” I wiped my mouth and carefully closed the baggie with the rest of the grapes. “Maybe all I would’ve needed was medication. Maybe we would’ve been facing shots and in vitro. In the end…” I didn’t want to hurt Wilder, but he had to hear this. If he was asking, he cared, and maybe if I’d told him at the time, he would’ve realized the depth of my frustration. But then I hadn’t understood it myself until later.

“In the end, I knew I’d be alone at most of those appointments. If whatever we did was successful, then you’d be missing the prenatal stuff.” He frowned, and I put my hand out. “I know you wouldn’t mean to, but we both know how it would’ve gone. I didn’t want to have a baby just to be a single parent. I didn’t want…” This part was the hardest to admit. The decision to have a baby was both of ours. The decision to not have one had ultimately been mine.

“What didn’t you want, Sutton?” His voice was quiet, rough.

I pushed past the tightness in my chest. I didn’t want to hurt him, but transparency was necessary if we were going to survive even long distance. “I didn’t want to just be having a baby to keep from being alone. That’s a lot to put on a child, and the sad irony that it would be the polar opposite of how I grew up wasn’t lost on me. I couldn’t do it. So, I thought if it just happened, then we’d figure it out.” And I’d feel less guilty.

His focus sharpened on me. “What was it like growing up?”

The band around my lungs got smaller. I shrugged and stuffed my empty sandwich container and fruit into my bag with more force than necessary. “I told you. My parents were gone with Honey a lot.”

“Sutton.” He hadn’t moved.

I chugged from my water bottle, then capped it and shoved it into my pack. “We should go so we can hit upanother trail. There are a ton of short ones in this section of the park.”

He rose with me and tossed his backpack on. I thought he’d push more, but to my relief, he didn’t, or I would’ve stopped breathing. He dropped behind me.

I sucked air in, and each lungful wasn’t enough. The pressure on my chest would suffocate me if I didn’t get some of this emotion out. I’d come this far with my story. I could go further.

I stopped and faced him. “I was alone. All the time.”

He wasn’t surprised. I’d made similar claims before. He knew how little my parents visited us. They barely made it to our wedding. But this was the first time he got a faraway look like he was processing the information and putting all the pieces together. “How old were you?”

I lifted a shoulder. A bead of sweat trickled from my hairline and down my neck. “They started leaving me home for the shorter practices when I was nine.”

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