Josh and Gemma Make a Baby(62)

“Thanks for today, I’m going to head home.” I pause when he looks up at me. His eyes are so dark that I can’t read the emotion in them, but his lips curve into his usual laughing smile.

So, maybe the entire dirty talk thing was just a joke. The near kiss was just momentary madness brought on from the emotions of the situation. If Josh can laugh it off, brush it off, so can I.

“Who’s the date with?” he asks. Okay, maybe he’s not brushing it off.

I bite my bottom lip, then say, “Ian.”

Josh gives me a look almost like I’ve disappointed him.

“He’s a good guy,” I say defensively, which was a stupid thing to say. So I add, “The worth of a person is measured in the fruit of their actions.”

Josh stands up and puts his hands into his pockets. “True. Another Ian quote?”

“Yeah.” Then, because I don’t actually want to go, I ask, “Do you want to stay for the day? We could get lunch? I mean, I do owe you a meal or three. And I can’t ever…I can’t ever express how thankful I am to you.”

Josh reaches up and tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. I shiver as his fingers trail along the sensitive edge of my skin.

I stare at him as he concentrates on smoothing my flyaway hair down. Finally, he pulls away and catches my expression.

“Your hair was all…” He makes a messy gesture with his hands. “From me carrying you around the city.”

My heart thumps. “Do you think she’ll stick?” I ask. In less than two weeks we’ll know whether or not the transfer worked.

Josh pauses, thinks for a long minute, then, “Whether she does or not, she was loved.”

I put my hand to my belly and nod.

Right now, there’s a day five embryo knocking around in there, and if I’m lucky, someday I’ll get to meet her.

“Come on,” Josh says, “you’re right. You owe me some pizza.”

So, we walk out of the park and head toward the nearest hole-in-the-wall pizza joint and then we spend the day together just walking around the city, messing around, taking in the sights, being friends.

When I climb into bed that night, I stare at the ceiling and try to do one of Hannah’s fertility meditations. I imagine my uterus as a fertile garden, ready to nourish and provide life. But halfway through the meditation I open my eyes and stare at the far wall.

It’s dark, so I can barely make out the painted quote, but long ago I memorized what it says. Love is the best gift I’ve ever had the privilege to give.

I hold my hand to my abdomen and stare at the wall, at the words.

It’s funny, I haven’t truly let myself love anyone since Jeremy. The cheating, the divorce, the infertility diagnosis, it all broke something inside me, and I’ve never trusted myself to love again.

I thought if I had a baby, that I could love her without fear, but that’s not true. Love always involves risk. It involves risking hurt.

No mother is guaranteed that her children will always love her, or that they’ll never hurt her. In fact, I think the one thing they’re guaranteed is being left behind. And being left behind hurts, even when you’re happy that they’re grown, it still hurts.

So, I guess loving is accepting that it’s about giving and never about taking. If you expect something in return, then love becomes a transaction and it’s not love anymore.

Maybe that’s why I attached myself to Ian. There was never any chance of pain there. And maybe that’s why I never accepted any of my mom’s set-ups, or any other date, because I was too afraid. But now Ian wants more and I don’t know what to do.

Because when I close my eyes at night I don’t see Ian, I see Josh.

But I guess, in the end, I am a coward, because I’m too scared to admit that out loud. Or even really to myself.

Because what if I say something and instead of saying he feels the same way, Josh laughs. Because, ninety-nine times out of a hundred I think it’s guaranteed that that’s what he’ll do.

Carly said I’m brave, but I’m not brave, I’m a coward.

I rub my hand over my belly and try to think of a fertile, happy, pink-uterus garden.





22





Valentine’s Day is here. I spent the last week in a manic haze of symptom spotting. I told myself I wouldn’t do it, but somewhere between the day of the transfer and the next morning I became obsessed with every single tingle, sneeze, or itch.

I kept a diary of symptoms in my phone’s calendar. It reads like a hypochondriac’s wet dream. Slightly congested morning after transfer, symptom of pregnancy? Web search—definitely, yes. Dry skin, chapped lips, symptom? Maybe, yes. Gassy after lunch on day four after transfer, symptom? Possible, yes, but three-day-old fried rice could be culprit. Spot on my chin on day six, symptom? Web search—yes. Vivid dreams, restless sleep. Symptom? Yes. The list goes on…tired, irritable, more thirsty than usual, craving salt, tingling breasts…according to the internet, someone somewhere has had each symptom that I’ve experienced and yes…chapped lips, zits, hiccups, accidently placing your keys in the freezer, and craving watermelon are all a sign of pregnancy. Since I’ve had all these symptoms and more, then I’m definitely, probably, maybe pregnant.

Soon I’ll know.