The Man I Love (The Fish Tales, #1)(119)

“I can’t,” she said, looking a little green around the eyes.

“*,” Erik said, snorting. He took the syringe away and deftly took care of business. “So much for your career as a heroin addict.”

Once Melanie would have laughed. Now her smile died halfway past her lower lip and she sighed.

Banned from Needle Park, Melanie hovered over him with various homeopathic remedies, nagging about selenium, ginkgo biloba, Asian ginseng and Vitamin C. For the latter, Erik resurrected his old pineapple juice habit.

“Orange juice has more Vitamin C,” Melanie said, comparing labels.

“Pineapple juice makes your jiz taste good.” He nudged her side playfully, but she rolled her eyes, shouldering past to put the bottles back in the fridge.

“Only one place your jiz is going, baby.”

“Yeah, in a cup,” Erik muttered.

The months fell away. How quickly they passed when the sole purpose of life was trying to reproduce. You were either gearing up to get pregnant or in the business-like throes of the act. Or waiting to see if you were pregnant, or trying to console your inconsolable wife when she got her period. Then you geared up again.

Erik was growing weary of scheduled and scrutinized sex, conscious of Melanie evaluating every bump and thrust for optimal conception. He once offered to videotape their lovemaking for the doctors’ critique. Melanie was not amused. Without a sense of humor to play off, Erik soon stopped making jokes, robbing himself of the only outlet for stress. He kept his mouth shut, took his shots, downed the herbal remedies and dutifully jerked off by appointment. Always taking his trusty torn-out magazine page, cropped down to just legs and pointe shoes.





Topping and Tailing


“What is this?” Erik said.

Melanie was topping and tailing string beans at the kitchen table. She looked up at him, at the piece of paper in his hand.

“I was just looking around on the internet,” she said. “Throw it out if you want.”

Erik looked down at the paper, a printed list of names and addresses.



Byron Fiskare

4732 Pinnacle Peak Hwy

Phoenix, AZ



Byron E. Fiskare

49 Oak Street

Santa Monica, CA



Byron Fiskare

14975 Mann Street

Burbank, CA



“What do you think you’re doing?” The words were icy in his mouth. He felt violated. Worse—he felt pillaged. Sacked. She had trespassed in the most guarded room in his heart’s palace. A room filled with the soft white feathers of memory. A room kept quiet and still so as not to stir them. Looking down at the list of addresses, it was as though Melanie had gone into that room with a leaf blower.

“You can’t go here, Melanie.”

“Don’t you want to know?” she asked. “After all these years, isn’t it time?”

The HcG shots made him irritable. He knew it was one of the side effects and noticed both his patience and temper were easily lost these past months. Reining himself in from snapping at his students meant he often came home and snapped at his wife.

Tonight he didn’t just raise his voice, but got in her face and yelled until his voice cracked. “You try to get pregnant without telling me and now you go looking for my father without telling me. When did I become irrelevant to this marriage, Mel? When did I get thrown out of the decision making process? And when the f*ck did you decide you know what’s best for me?”

He crumpled the paper in a shaking fist and threw it at her. “Don’t you ever go looking for my father again, do you understand? He is dead to me. If he ever calls here, I don’t want to know. If he ever shows up here, I don’t want to know. If you go have coffee with him, I don’t f*cking want to know.”

He stormed out, the sound of her sobs dwindling away behind him as he swiftly clipped a leash on Harry and left. He walked for hours, muttering under his breath. He cooled off, and then he felt terrible. He still felt justified, but he felt terrible.

“I’m sorry,” he said later, carefully taking Melanie in his arms. “I’m sorry. The damn shots make me crazy but it’s no excuse. I should have walked out or…”

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I’m like a lunatic lately. I miss my mother.” Her face crumpled and she wept in his chest. Erik slid his hand along the back of her neck, rested his cheek on her head.

“I know,” he whispered.

“I miss my mother and I hate that she’s missing everything.”

“She sees you,” he said, swaying side to side. “She sees you. She knows.”

“But I don’t see her seeing me,” she said, her voice hitching. “And I’m thinking about my dad. I’m dreaming about him and…” Melanie picked up her head, touching her fingers under her eyes. “It just bothers me our child won’t know its grandfather.”

“I know,” he said again, helping with his own fingertips to stay the tears. “Sometimes that’s just how it is with people. My mom will be the only grandparent. It’s not ideal but it’s what we have, Mel.”

She nodded, and touched her fingertips to his necklace. “They say infertility can really bring the crazy out in people,” she said. “I guess I have more crazy than I knew.”