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I don’t know how long we stay like this, with me sitting against the door and her hiding in the bathroom. When she finally opens the door, I fall backward and let myself hit the floor. Looking up at her, she’s bent forward slightly with her long, dark hair cascading toward me like a waterfall.
“Hey.”
“Hey,” she says.
I extend my hand out for her to take, hoping she thinks she’s helping me up. When she clasps mine, I pull her down to me. Her breath escapes her lungs. I chuckle at the sound she makes when she lands on me.
My arm wraps around her, and I hold her there. She begins to cry, breaking my already splintering heart even more. All I can do is hold her because anything else is out of my control. Right now, all I want to do is make love to my wife, show her how much of a woman she is to me, that she’s perfect with or without a child. But I can’t. Because hopefully in four days, they’ll be able to transfer two embryos, and they can’t take the chance I have a swimmer in there, looking for some fun.
Instead, I hold her and let her cry. I encourage her to let it all out, reminding her that I can take it. I do this while staring at the ceiling and fighting back my own emotions, my own tears. Later, when I’m in the shower or she is, I’ll break down. That’s when I’ll let my emotions take over. She doesn’t need to see me like that, not when she’s dealing with this.
Later, when she’s asleep, I’ll go to her yoga room and sit in front of her Buddha altar. Maybe he has the answers to help us. That’s when it hits me. I may have the answer.
“Come with me,” I say as I tap her shoulder. We get up and I take her hand, pulling her to our bedroom. “Sit on the bed,” I tell her as I go to my dresser. Inside, I go through my socks until I find the silk pouch I’d been given in Portland from Madame Kiesha.
Inside the bag is the bracelet she gave me. She said this would help Peyton. I don’t know why I didn’t give it to her before.
“Here,” I say as I slip it on her wrist. “I don’t know if I believe this or not, but Julius had taken me to this guru once. He needed something from her, and she knew right away we were trying to have a baby. She sensed things and then gave this to me. She said you’re supposed to wear this until after the babies come.”
“Babies?”
I nod as I look into her eyes. “She definitely said babies.”
Peyton lifts her arm and looks at the bracelet.
“I’m sorry I didn’t give it to you earlier. I don’t know why.”
“Because I’m meant to have it now.”
I kneel in front of her and rest my head on her lap. She runs her fingers through my hair, comforting me, when I should be the one comforting her.
“It’s going to be okay, Peyton.”
She nods. “I know. Because I have you.”
11
PEYTON
We have, or do I say had, two viable embryos. I suppose, in the grand scheme of things, two is better than none. I’m grateful for those two. I’m not trying to be selfish or entitled. I know there are women out there who desperately want a child and can’t have one. It’s such a feeling of emptiness, knowing you can’t do the one thing your body is meant to do. I can’t even imagine how others must feel—those of whom can’t afford to go through the process.
On the fifth day, our two embryos were transferred into me. Now we wait. As much as I’d love to be Phoebe from F.R.I.E.N.D.S. and run to the bathroom to pee on a stick, seeing a negative line would probably do me in right now. I’ll wait, even though waiting is not going to be easy. I want to thank the likes of Amazon and the internet for the instant gratification I get from clicking on something I want and having it arrive at my house two hours later. Why can’t all parts of life work this way?
When we get home, Noah makes me lunch and brings it to me on the patio, which overlooks the ocean. It’s funny, we have a view and access to the water, but don’t have frontage. Unlike my parents where you walk out the sliding glass door and you’re in the sand, here, you have to take a couple dozen steps or so, walk down a path and possibly wrestle some overgrown plants. Maybe if you’re lucky, you’ll run into some wildlife. Noah has a sign at the bottom of the path that says, Enter at Your Risk, mostly to deter people from coming up. I can’t recall a time when a beachgoer decided to take the path and the stairs to the property, which is probably a good thing.
Noah sits beside me. We’re sad, relieved, and angry. The barrage of emotions is overwhelming and I suspect they will be for some time. Of course, it doesn’t help that I have so many hormones pumping through my system right now I could cry, jump for joy, and beat the crap out of something.
I take a bit of the shredded chicken sandwich and hum in satisfaction. I’m not hungry, but I have to eat. The last thing the doctor said was to lay low and keep things as normal as possible. The normal part is near impossible. Noah and I are active, rarely sitting around doing nothing. If we’re not visiting my parents, we’re in the water, hiking, or having sex. The no having sex thing is going to unalive my husband. He’ll be a whiny brat for a week. Me too. Noah’s the best part of my day. My life. Being with him is like finding the answer to everything I question. It’s hard to explain.
Halfway through my sandwich, I look over at my husband. He’s relaxed with his head tipped back and his feet resting on the firepit. His plate rests in his lap. Noah’s already practicing the “I’m just resting my eyes” line the rest of the men in the family use.
“Hey,” I say, getting his attention.
He hums in response.
“I think we should start a foundation or something.”
“For what?” he asks without opening his eyes.
