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I grow impatient, angrily wiping the wetness from my face. “Could you hear me out before trying to shove rays of sunshine up my ass and saying you’ll give me the world?”
“Okay.” He removes his arm from my shoulder. “Explain.”
“What if you, O, and Aidy are supposed to be it for me? Having the three of you is far more than I’d expected when my life was a mess. Maybe you’re the people I’m supposed to cherish above all else? Maybe being clean and sober was the reward and having this family was the cherry on top? Why am I trying to push it? Think of all the things that could go wrong.”
I was considered advanced maternal age when I had Owen. Any pregnancy at this juncture is high-risk as are the chances of abnormalities. I gave up one child so they had a chance at a better life. That’s my peak of selflessness. I can’t lose another child. I won’t have the strength to make any choice other than to carry to term. And where my mind has painted a bleak picture of never conceiving again, all I can see is the further strain it would put on my marriage.
“Think of all the things that can go right.” He laces his fingers into mine.
“So you don’t think we’re finished?”
“If you’re done. I’ll be done. If you don’t want the risks having another baby brings, I can abide by that choice. If you’re worried about how long it’s taking, there’s adoption.”
“That can take years too. A home study could very well put us out of the running.”
“I can talk to Marie Grant, the woman who handled Hailey’s guardianship with Carver.”
“I can’t do this the wrong way by bending the rules, Trig. Not when it comes to an innocent child.”
His lips flatten to a line. “I know you can’t. It’s one of the reasons I love you. I just want to fix it, and I don’t know how else to patch the hole in your heart.” He sighs and his eyes water. “It was so easy giving you O and hoping it would fix all the hurt. And I love Aidy. The longer she’s been under our roof, the more I feel like because she’s a part of you, she’s mine. I can live with that. What I can’t live without is you.”
I nod, mouthing “okay” back in a less than convincing manner.
Trig drags me up the mattress to settle our head on the pillows. We lie on our sides, spooning. Tallulah jumps up, taking my side of the bed. She curls herself against my belly, keeping me warm.
“I’ve wanted no one but you since the day I saw you.” Trig reminds me in a hushed tone as exhaustion causes us to drift off. “You’ve always been enough. The one person I was searching for. My Love. I will do anything for you.” His voice cracks, growing hoarse. “Anything.”
Somewhere in the night Tallulah gets up. I hear her paws on the hardwood outside our door and have a vague awareness of the silence when she returns. I’m about to nudge Trig to see if she needs to go out when the dog winds herself in circles and lays down on a plush bed identical to the one in the living room.
My sleep broken, I glance at the image of my sleeping child on the video monitor. Then I get up and use the bathroom. The seam of my jeans has cut an imprint into my legs. I toss them to the hamper and tip-toe back in my t-shirt to slide between the sheets, finding Trig has done the same in my absence.
His front finds my back and his arm stretches over my thigh, caressing its way up to my breast and back down my stomach. Skimming his fingertips underneath the elastic of my panties, I clench my eyes shut, imaging us back at the mill and the pleasure Trig enticed from my body.
We twist. His boxers get shoved down somewhere in the blankets. My panties too. My husband hovers over me and I dare a peek at the sleepy softness in his expression and the concentration he has when he enters me.
Trig tucks his nose to my neck, rocking into my pelvis. His tongue traces my jaw and he kisses me with the same hesitancy and vigor he had for our very first kiss.
A few hours ago, I couldn’t have bared his hands on my body. The mechanics of sex. The timing of his release. The incessant thoughts that this could be it that plagued my mind.
Tomorrow I’ll have regrets over my breakdown. I’ll second guess my decision to stop trying to get pregnant. But tonight I allow myself to forget for a moment about sperm counts and ovulation and timing intercourse based on the refrigerator filled with synthetic hormones with side effects that make me the weepy, worst version of the woman I want to be for everyone I care about.
I feel cherished. My body is not a vessel in waiting, but alive with its own seductive heartbeat capable of fulfillment.
Trig coaxes me to the brink, conscious of each sound I make and the telltale pull of my physical responses to the push and pull of our hips. His orgasm follows mine, thrusting deep within me. He stills, staying between my legs and resting like a shield over me.
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6
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One of the fucking stupidest things I think I’ve ever heard—that on second thought makes a hell of a lot of sense—is when Kimber’s fertility specialist told me I couldn’t fuck my wife.
I bit back the desire to ask the doctor if they’d actually seen my wife. I watch guests at Sweet Caroline’s fawn over her and her ass-length red hair. Kimber can not say a damned word and they’re swallowing their tongues, sputtering to get their drink orders out.
That’s why I sit my ass on this barstool one night a week when either Aidy or Morgan babysit. Some of it is a throwback to before Kimber and I got married. I like being wherever my wife is. Always have. Some of it is pride; reminding men they can look but not touch. She’s mine. A lot of it? Well, I’m confident enough in myself to understand my wife flirts for tips and there’s an entertainment factor to their bumbling. Which, believe you me, is a helluva lot better than watching my wife taking her clothes off for singles.
Been there. Done that. Got the t-shirt. It’s oversized. Comes all the way to her knees when I pull it over her.
