The Mother's Promise(60)

The best thing about it was that, for a few minutes, Kate felt like they were them again. Without fertility issues or embryo discussions or ex-wives or kids. Afterward, in the postcoital glow, Kate felt a small burst of courage.

“David, can we … talk?” she said.

In her arms, she felt him stiffen. “Kate—”

“What? You said the other night that we should talk about it. Can we?”

Slowly David disentangled himself from her and sat up. “It depends what you mean by talk,” he said warily.

“I realize I can’t force you to try again for a baby,” she said, also sitting up. “But you can’t force me to stop wanting to. And until we resolve it, we have a problem.”

“You mean until we have a baby, we have a problem?”

Something about the way he said it irritated her.

“If you want to put it that way, yes,” she said.

David wiped his face with his hand. His face was a hard frown, his eyes sharp. It surprised her. “So that’s how you’re going to play it?” he said.

“I’m not playing anything, David.”

“Is this what this was all about?” He looked around the room. “The wine? The candles? The sex?”

“No,” she said, taken aback. “I can’t believe you said that.”

David stood. “Jesus. Are we really talking about this again? I’ve actually forgotten who we are when we’re not talking about a baby, Kate.”

“David—”

“I just … I can’t do this anymore.”

Kate’s breath caught. “What do you mean?”

“I might … see if I can get a ticket to Mexico after all. Go see the kids. I think some time away would be good.”

His voice was softer now, which somehow made it worse. It sounded as though he was making a thought-out decision rather than lashing out, saying something he’d regret later.

Kate couldn’t believe it. Four years of marriage, countless fertility treatments, and this is what they had come to. She knew she could end this now, once and for all. Just tell him, Okay, let’s forget about having a baby. If she did that, she’d have her husband back. She’d have the life she loved back. But she couldn’t bring herself to say the words.

“Have a good time in Mexico,” she said instead, and she stepped around him and headed up the stairs.





44

Zoe sat on the couch, looking at her phone. Emily had called twice, probably to laugh at her. Zoe didn’t want to speak to her. Speaking to her would mean news from the outside world, and news from the outside world, she was certain, wouldn’t be good. Eventually she put her phone on silent and shoved it in a drawer. She’d been back in her apartment for half an hour when her mom got home.

“Hi,” Zoe said. “How was chemo?”

She was surprised to see that her mom looked pretty normal. Much the same as she’d looked that morning, perhaps a little tireder. She dropped onto the couch beside her. “It was okay.”

“Did it hurt?”

“No. It was like donating blood.”

It was weird, but she seemed remarkably upbeat. Not the fake upbeat she did when she was trying to make Zoe feel happy but … actually happy.

“Was it boring?”

“Actually Paul came with me.”

Zoe stared at her. “Paul, Paul? As in, my uncle Paul?”

She nodded. “He showed up here this morning and offered to drive me. Weird, huh?”

“Really weird.” She looked at her mom. “Are you hungry? I can fix you something…”

“I’m fine, honey.”

“Do you want a—”

Zoe trailed off when there was a knock at the door. Their reaction, when Zoe thought about it, was comical. They both sat up, frowned, and stared at each other. Zoe could see her own thoughts reflected in her mother’s face. Had they ordered something? Had Dulcie had a fall? (She rarely came by after dark.) The idea that someone would come, unbidden, to their door was simply unfathomable.

“You get it,” her mom said finally, which was a surprise. Chemo must have had more of an effect on her than Zoe thought.

Zoe opened the door. Immediately she wanted to close it again.

“Hey,” Harry said.

Zoe’s humiliation came back like a punch. The debate. Peeing herself. Harry’s face, as he watched the whole thing. She wanted to die, literally, right here, right now.

“I tried calling,” he said, “but you didn’t pick up.”

Zoe stared at him. “How did you know where I lived?”

“Emily told me. She was worried.”

“Emily was worried?”

He glanced past her, into the apartment. “Can we talk?”

Zoe didn’t want to talk. She wanted to slam the door and hide—or better yet, move to a new neighborhood. But her mom had appeared at the door beside her and was staring at Harry with such amazement that it was almost funny. Almost.

“Um, okay,” she said.

She opened the door further, letting Harry in. Her mom continued to stand there, the three of them forming a weird triangle. Zoe tried to imagine what her mom was seeing. Harry—a guy!—arriving on her daughter’s doorstep. It was as ridiculous as if Santa himself had shown up.