Every Last Secret(32)

A match was dropped into the center of the logs, and the kindling ignited, a crackle starting. As the flames licked up the wood, she glanced at me. “How many neighbors normally attend this?”

I propped my boots on the edge of the pit, anxious for the warmth of the fire. “Around a hundred. We have viewing stations set up on the upper balconies, but most families prefer the lawn. They’ll arrive around six, and the show is at nine.”

She studied the barbecue grills, which were set up to the left of the driveway, just past the golf-cart parking area. The caterers had been smoking meat since morning, and the smell drifting off their smokestacks was mouthwatering. “Do you have enough food?”

“Oh yeah. We’ve done this for eight years now. It’s one of our favorite events. You should see all the kids that show up.” My voice shuddered a little, my composure wavering, and I brushed a bit of ash off my jeans, hoping she hadn’t picked up on the slip.

She did, her next question hesitant as she extended the bottle of wine as if it might help. “Have you guys ever thought about having children?”

I took the merlot and topped off my glass. “Sure, at times.” All the time, especially on a night like tonight. Family events were both a blessing and a curse. A reminder of what we didn’t have, paired with the joy that children can bring. We had the perfect house for kids. I could host midwinter pool parties in the basement grotto. Movie nights in the huge theater. Constellation sleepovers on the massive balconies. I swallowed a deep sip. “What about you guys?”

She didn’t flinch. “Of course, early on. But Matt had prostate cancer just out of college, which killed that possibility for us.”

“I’m sorry,” I said. “You could adopt,” I suggested, sounding exactly like every nosy and insistent parent I hated.

“We didn’t want to. Honestly, we’re happy without kids.” She studied me, and this was it. My turn. She’d been open with me and would expect me to be the same way with her. “Are you?”

Of course we were happy. We didn’t need children to be happy. But William wanted children. I wanted children. And while he was building our life financially, it seemed as if I should be building it with babies—a job I was failing miserably at. “We’re not interested in getting pregnant right now.” The lie fell as smooth as the wine. “Like you guys, we like our life as it is. Kids . . .” I felt a frown pull at the edges of my mouth and hoped it didn’t come across as grief. “Kids would change everything in our life.”

Change everything. Inside my chest, my heart broke at the words, all the fantasies I’d ever had pushing to the forefront of my mind as if assaulting me with their strength. William, spinning our little girl into the air. A boy with his soulful eyes and my crooked smile, tearing across the deck and cannonballing into the pool. Sunday mornings, a pile of us in the bed, then chocolate-dotted pancakes.

“So, you don’t want kids.” She tilted her head, considering the concept. “It has nothing to do with . . .”

“No.” It had nothing to do with my scarred ovaries, their surface littered with cysts, their reception to sperm . . . what word had the doctor used? Hostile? It had nothing to do with failed surgeries or hormone treatments, my percentage of conceiving just high enough to keep adoption talks off the table. I knew what William wanted—a baby with his bloodline. A surrogate was the next option, and I’d put off that step for as long as I could, desperately hoping my body would give me this one thing. I wanted him to see me pregnant. Cup my swollen belly. Hold my hand during labor. I wanted to be a mother, and having another woman birth my child seemed like a broken equation for our future family.

“Huh.” That was all she said. Huh. As if she knew the truth. As if she saw my weakness.

I watched as William came down the ladder and fought the rising paranoia that he had told her about me.



“I’m sorry.” I apologized for the fifth time and frowned, my hand on my stomach. “I’ve just got to go lie down. But seriously, thank you guys for all your help tonight.”

“It was fun.” Neena stepped forward and wrapped her arms around me in a hug. I squeezed her back, then moved toward Matt.

“I hope you feel better,” he said gruffly, giving me an awkward side hug, then quickly retreating back.

“Sure we can’t send some of this leftover meat home with you?” William offered.

“Well . . .” Neena glanced at the buffet table, still piled high with food.

“He’s joking.” I stepped in before she had a chance to take William up on his offer and stretch out this night by another half hour. “We donate it to the homeless shelter. The staff are already packing it up for delivery.”

“Just don’t eat anything else,” she cautioned. “You don’t want to make that stomachache worse.”

“Thanks.” I leaned into William’s chest. “You guys have a good night.”

There was another round of goodbyes and well-wishes, and I fought the urge to slam the door behind them, waiting until they were in their new golf cart and halfway down the driveway before I closed the door. I glared at William. “Do you have to invite them to everything?”

He frowned. “You’re the one who asked them to come over. Remember? When we were at Morton’s.”