Page 204 of Lose You Twice

Endometriosis can make becoming pregnant more difficult for some people.

Many people with endometriosis conceive naturally.

Treatment is individualized.

Severity varies.

Fertility outcomes vary.

My brain ignores every reassuring word.

It finds infertility and latches on.

Of course.

Of fucking course that’s where my mind goes.

Not to whether I actually have endometriosis. Not to the fact that no doctor has told me a single thing about my fertility.

No, it goes straight to what this could mean when it comes to Kai.

He’s always wanted a family and has never shied away from it. Even when we were seventeen and adulthood sounded like a fictional place we’d eventually visit, he knew.

Four kids. That was his number.

I’d told him four was excessive; he’d argued that three felt uneven.

He wanted a noisy house, to teach his kids how to skate, a garage full of hockey gear, even though I’d mentioned we might end up with other sports, but he paid no mind.

There weren’t many things that excited Kai more than his dreams of being a dad.

And suddenly my brain is ten years ahead, sitting beside him in a fertility clinic while he tells me it doesn’t matter.

What if it does? What if he means it at first? What if loving me changes his whole future?

I slam the laptop shut.

My phone buzzes.

Kai: morning, gorgeous. survive drop-off?

I stare at the message, then I lock my phone.

I can’t talk to him yet.

At 8:45, I’m still in pajamas.

At 8:50, I email my professor, even though I’m already on thin ice after he let me make up the exam I missed when Daisy was sick.

By 9:00, I’ve decided I’m not going to campus.

I tell myself I’ll stay home and catch up on homework.

Technically, I do open an assignment.

I read the same paragraph seven times.

At 10:15, I’m back on Google, this time in the kitchen with chocolate.