26. Water

26

Water

O ver the next two weeks, Rudy and I hired an additional hostess for the restaurant which let me off the hook and successfully untethered me from Ayana’s for at least half of the week.

Temporarily.

Once Marlena was up and running, something that wouldn’t take any time at all considering she had been doing most of it when Nan was sick, I’d be almost entirely free.

For now, the paperwork, admittedly the worst part of the job, I could do from home. Or in my case, from Gabe’s home, leaving more evenings to spend with Gabe and Dylan.

With Zoe gone, I could more easily imagine a future with Gabe and Dylan. With Zoe gone, I had a place with them.

From Sunday to Thursday, I stayed at Gabe’s.

Thursday, Friday, and Saturday nights I went into Ayana’s for the busiest days of the week and slept at home. Those were the days I spent every available minute with a needle in my hand.

It didn’t take us long to settle into a routine of sorts.

When I was at Gabe’s, Dylan only wanted me to put her to bed. Now, when she asked me to play mommy, my heart barely skipped a beat.

When I climbed into bed with Gabe at night, laughing as he rolled me under him, I reveled in his strong hands on my hips, his tongue claiming every part of me, his hips snapping as he took me bare, over and over again, his deep voice in my ear, his hands in my hair, the sweetest of promises spilling from his lips.

When Gabe covered his 24-hour shift at the firehouse, it was me who stayed with Dylan. It was me who made her dinner and put her to bed. It was me who got her up in the morning. It was me who packed her bag, fed her breakfast, got her dressed, brushed her little teeth, and drove her to daycare.

And it was me who picked her up.

Standing with the other parents, the other moms, I pretended I was one of them. Playing house. Wanting it so bad I could taste it.

But I’d been there before.

And I remembered how it ended every other time.

More than once, I had to close my eyes and take a deep, steadying, breath.

The situation was different, but it had awakened my deep desire to be a mother, and it was bleeding over into our sex life. While I loved taking Gabe bare, that old unfounded, illogical, cruelly impossible hope sent out tender shoots looking to take root.

The dream train’s whistle bellowed despite the fact motherhood was not in the cards for me. Gary wasn’t the problem, I was. And yet, I began to wonder if by some miracle, Gabe and I could make a baby.

Hope in miracles was a slippery slope that led straight to hell. And I wasn’t going back there.

I was, however, going to visit my doctor.

My knee bounced more and harder as the minutes dragged on. At least I waited in the sterile privacy of a patient room. These rooms all looked the same. Framed degrees on one wall, hand-washing instructions on another, a few anatomy posters, a stack of pamphlets, and a framed nature print some poor fool probably hoped would put you at ease in a place that was seemingly tailor made to induce anxiety. Case in point, when the soft knock sounded on the door, I jumped.

“Hello, Shae. It’s good to see you. How have you been?”

Having no time or patience for niceties, I dove straight into my concerns.

She sat back against her chair, twirling a pen between her fingers. “Shae, from what I understand from your reports, it’s clinically impossible for you to get pregnant.”

“I know that,” I snapped, then closed my eyes briefly and softened my voice. “I know. But I also know if I’m not on it, I’ll hope and I’ll wonder and I’ll pray, and I can’t do that to myself again.”

“I understand. Have you spoken to anyone about your anxiety?”

I sucked in a deep breath and prayed for more patience.

“I have. Endlessly. And I know what I need. With all due respect, doctor, I know my own mind.”

She nodded. “Fair enough. We can look at a few options, some less invasive than others, and get you set up.”

I breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank you.”

She made a few notes on the computer before turning back to me. “I have a feeling there’s more.”

I offered her a half smile. “I know my fear is irrational, but are you sure the cancers that took my mother, or my father, or my Nan are not genetic? None of them?”

She shook her head. “As a scientist, I don’t believe in luck, good or bad. As a doctor, I can’t tell you anything other than it was phenomenally bad luck. You’re not at risk. Not any more than anyone else.”

“Okay,” I answered weakly, knowing how crazy I must seem.

“Anybody with your history would be scared.”

I met her eyes. “Thank you.”

She rested her hand on my arm. “It’s good you’re taking care of your mental health. Now, tell me. What are you doing to take care of the rest of you?”

Taking care of the rest of me?

On the drive to Gabe’s, the question tumbled around in my brain like a running shoe caught in the dryer.

Pursuing a future with Gabe was for me, but it was equally as terrifying as it was gratifying. I probably needed a few sessions with a good therapist to work through my anxiety, but I was loathe to give up a single second of my hard-won free time.

Helping him with Dylan cranked open all the cracks in my heart I thought had healed. It both bled me dry and filled me with light.

Nadine’s shower allowed me much needed time with my girls, but I hadn’t been to a baby shower or anything else to do with babies since my body failed to give me one of my own.

I pictured the unsent shower invitations under my bed.

The tiny blankets.

It hurt.

But it did get me back into my sewing room. And for that I was grateful. Sewing, quilting, and embroidery fulfilled my creative side and gave my brain something to focus on.

Creating made me happy. My girls made me happy. My newly acquired free time made me happy. Gabe and Dylan made me ecstatic.

I couldn’t remember the last time my life had been so rich with friends and love and family. Happiness poured over me like Hailey’s Falls, pure, crisp, and sparkling with light. But anxiety wrapped around it like a fist.

And you can’t hold water in your fist.