27. Anything

27

Anything

I positioned Nadine’s decked out ‘Mother-To-Be’ chair at the front of the room and placed a little stool down in front of it for her feet.

Were they swelling? Did she have morning sickness?

The first time I had morning sickness, I danced. When it stopped suddenly, I was devastated.

I knew before I knew.

My hands shook as I set up the gift table.

The tablecloth, a pristine white, I bought new. A fresh new life deserved all things fresh and bright and shining. I wrapped fairy lights in tulle and tacked them around the edge of the table. In the center sat a basket wrapped in ribbon and light, waiting for me to fill it.

I set an empty vase, the one Aaron would fill when he showed up later, discreetly behind the basket.

Why was it so easy for some people to start a family?

Why were Nadine and Aaron, who didn’t have pregnancy in their plans anytime soon, blessed with a baby and not me?

For me, it would have been a celebration.

For them, it was shock and anxiety. They’d adapted, but they had a journey in front of them. They’d need the support of our small village.

Wren said Nadine was interested in becoming a chef. When the time came, I would help her.

I laid the blessings book on the table with a pen for all the seasoned mothers to write down their tips and tricks, hopes and countless prayers.

I eyed it warily.

Would it be weird if I wrote in it?

I pictured the box under my bed.

Picked up the book.

Grasped the pen in my trembling hand.

And in a small act of defiance, leaned over the first crisp, white, page. In a flowing script much like Nan’s, I gave them my wish.

Write yourselves a beautiful story.

I laid the pen down without signing my name. As much as I considered my children to be a part of me, I never got a chance to be a mother.

Crossing the room, I retrieved my bag and locked the door to the event room. Back at the table, I opened it. Tiny onesies, baby booties, burp cloths, and receiving blankets. I tucked them into the basket one-by-one.

Last, I lifted the baby blanket I embroidered for Nadine and Aaron’s sweet baby out of the bag and ran my fingers over it one last time. It was beautiful, every stitch sewn with love and hope and prayer.

My throat tightened.

I sniffed as tears welled in my eyes.

Taking a deep breath, I nodded to myself and thanked their sweet baby for putting my needles back in my hand. I hoped one day they would treasure it.

I carefully folded it into the basket and pulled the plastic wrapping up around the handle, tying it all together with a huge yellow bow.

A different story.

My journey to motherhood would be different.

But still good.

Bracing myself, I unlocked the door and waited for the ladies to arrive.

Hours later, I slid the key into the lock of my front door and shuffled inside.

My neck ached with tension, the muscle in my jaw twitched from forcing myself to smile, and my head thudded. I huffed out a laugh at the memory of Harley and Noelle’s games. There was no faking my laughter then.

Throughout the afternoon, my emotions swung back and forth like a pendulum.

Hanging my purse on the hook in the hallway, I passed through to the kitchen for a glass of water and a painkiller before shooting off a text to Gabe, letting him know I made it home in one piece.

He responded immediately.

Gabe: Are you okay?

My first instinct was to say ‘of course.’ But this was Gabe, and if I couldn’t be honest with him, I couldn’t be honest with anyone.

I wagged my head back and forth. I could be honest with Bridge. Always Bridge.

Shae: Mostly.

Gabe: I’m sorry, baby. I’m just putting Dylan back to bed. I’ll call you when she’s settled, okay?

Shae: You don’t have to.

Gabe: I want to. Hang tight.

Trading my glass of water for a hot chocolate, I stripped off my clothes and pulled on a loose pair of pajama pants with a matching t-shirt, then cuddled up on the couch.

I stared unseeing at the TV screen as I flicked through the options. Giving up, I tossed the remote onto the side table and hugged my hands around my mug. With its warmth pressed to my chest, I closed my eyes.

Blessed silence surrounded me. I settled back into the cushion, breathing in cocoa and vanilla until it turned cold.

Startled by the harsh ring of the doorbell, I surged to my feet, a splash of cold cocoa sloshing over the rim of my mug onto the wood floors. I stepped forward and wiped it up with my stockinged foot, hoping against hope it was Gabe at the door.

A huge silhouette filled the window.

I grasped the doorknob and threw the door open. “Gabe!”

He stood on my tiny porch, his hands shoved into the front pockets of his worn jeans, his eyes searching my face. “You okay?”

Jubilation.

Relief.

I smiled brightly. “Yes! I’m fine!”

My voice sounded funny.

Despair.

I sucked in a breath, horror spreading through my chest as grief teetered on the crest of the wave I’d successfully held back all day.

My smile faltered as my mask slipped. Shaking my head as I met his eyes, I slapped a hand over my mouth to muffle the sounds coming from my throat.

He stepped forward, mouth twisting in a grimace as his big hand splayed across my ribs and pushed me back inside the house.

I tried to catch my breath and began to flap my hands in front of my face.

“Baby, baby,” he whispered, the pain in his voice mirroring that in my heart.

“I did so good,” I choked. “I held it together all day.”

Pulling me close, he trapped my flailing hands between us. Wrapping his big body around mine, he forced me to arch back, unable to curl into myself.

I heaved in a breath. “Gabe,” I sputtered.

My entire body shuddered.

All those onesies.

Tiny socks.

Itty-bitty diapers.

Nadine sweetly flushed and smiling as the women in her life flapped and cooed around her in support.

A bitter contrast to the months I spent alone in the nursery, rocking alone in the chair I bought for a baby I never held.

Gabe circled his big palm over my back, bringing me back to the present. His deep voice rumbled in my ear. “You’re all wound up. Let it out, Shae-baby. I got you.”

Let it out?

I shook my head against his strong shoulder, my fingers digging into his back. But other pieces of advice from the past shattered my resolve.

You just have to relax.

There will be other babies.

It wasn’t meant to be.

It’s a blessing in disguise. You don’t know what you would have been keeping!

There was something wrong with it. It’s nature’s way.

You won’t even think about this when you have another baby in your arms.

Lies.

All of it, lies.

Gabe shuffled me backward into the living room, Nan’s Tiffany lamp throwing soft shadows on the walls. Falling onto the couch, he pulled me into his lap and tucked my face into his neck.

Then, he rocked me like a baby.

My tears streamed, clogging my nose and stinging my throat as I clung to his shirt until my hands cramped.

“My poor baby,” he whispered, one hand cradling my head, the other at my back. “My poor, poor, baby.”

I sobbed his name. In agony. In surprise. In gratitude.

Not one person had invited me to cry.

I lifted my head to thank him for his compassion and found the evidence of it rolling down his cheek.

No one had ever grieved with me.

Until now.

The wonder of it stemmed my tears.

He dropped a kiss on my forehead. “Are you ready to talk about it?”

I sniffed and wiped the tip of my nose on my sleeve before looking up into his soft eyes. “How much do you want to know?”

He shrugged as he worked the elastic out of my hair, freeing my ponytail. “Whatever you need to get off your chest.”

Finding nothing but truth in his eyes, I told him my story.

“We tried for over a year before the doctor referred us to a specialist.” I stared, unseeing, into the past as his strong fingers massaged the back of my scalp. “We did everything we could. Ovulation kits, special lubricant, abstaining, but it didn’t work. Then Gary put off the wedding date saying it would put undue stress on me.”

My eyes skittered to Gabe’s. He nodded for me to continue, uncharacteristically silent.

“Thank God I didn’t have a marriage to dismantle on top of everything else.” I forced a small smile. “That year was easy compared to what came next. Bloodwork, pelvic ultrasounds, dye and saline injections that caused cramping the likes of which I’ll never forget.”

His arm around me tightened as he pressed a hard kiss to my temple.

I stared into the past. “Then things got serious. Meds and blood work, mood swings and weight gain, swelling and so much disappointment.

“I felt like half a woman, like I hadn’t lived up to my part of the bargain. I used to accuse him of wanting to leave me.” I barked out a bitter laugh. “And then when he actually did leave, I was shocked.”

I paused and gathered my courage.

“By then, the only time we had sex was when the doctors said. There was no pleasure, no intimacy.” I met his eyes. “In the end, I was just a womb to him, a barren one at that.”

I didn’t miss him, but the wound he left still bled. I shrugged off the hurt. “He didn’t touch me otherwise. When the doctor hosted an IVF information night, I wanted to stop, but Gary begged me to try.”

I swallowed audibly. “I didn’t want him to leave me, so I did.” I winced at the memory. “And some of those procedures really hurt.”

Gabe raked his fingers through my hair. “It never took?”

“I did it five times, got pregnant three of those but never made it past eleven weeks.” I looked into his eyes, then my face crumpled. “I made three baby blankets.”

He dropped his forehead down onto my shoulder. His voice gruff, he asked, “Do you still have them?”

I nodded, rubbing my cheek against his.

“Will you show me?”

I’d never shared them with anybody. Not even Gary. He had no patience for what might have been, constantly advising me to look forward.

I nodded. “I’d like that.”

My breath shuddered out of me. “I spent every penny I had saved up for a house.” My voice shook. This part was the worst because I betrayed myself. “It would have been worth it if it had worked. It would have been worth it if it had been my choice. But it didn’t and it wasn’t. All I had left after four and a half years was a broken engagement, my shattered self-esteem, empty arms, and a two-year dance with depression.”

“He was wrong to ask that of you.”

I cringed. “I went to see my doctor the other day to ask for birth control.”

He nodded and murmured, “Of course. You don’t want to take the risk. That’s understandable.”

I shook my head impatiently. “There is no risk, but I still hope. Even though it’s impossible, every time we make love, I wonder what a child of ours might look like. A baby with your eyes and my hair,” my voice trembled. “Your smile and my dad’s laugh. I wonder if we might have a miracle. I can’t be on that rollercoaster. I got so depressed last time,” I spoke faster. “I can’t go back there—”

He hushed me, running his big hand over my hair. “Go on birth control for now, okay? I’ll get a vasectomy and once we know I’m shooting blanks you can go off it.”

I gaped. “You would do that for me?”

He snorted and nuzzled his nose against my cheek. “Shae, you’ve gotta know by now I’d do anything for you.” His eyebrows crunched together, his eyes searching mine. “I looked you up once.”

“You did?”

He nodded, his face pinched. “Just the once. You were engaged to be married. You looked happy. I never looked again. I figured you’d get married and have a handful of kids.” He held me closer. “I’d give anything for you to have had that. Even if it wasn’t with me.”

I froze and stared at him.

“You would have made the most beautiful babies,” he whispered, brushing the backs of his fingers across my cheek. Eyes welling, he tipped his chin down to press his forehead to mine. “I’m so sorry you lost your babies, Shae.”