His face gets that stony look I’ve come to dread. “Jessica...”
My stomach plummets. Oh, God—it’s never good when he says my name like that. I force a light tone into my voice. “What?”
“I’m not ready to dive back into that again.”
“The appointment is three months away. Surely you’ll be ready by then.”
“We’ll just be getting settled and starting new jobs. It sounds like you’ll be super busy and traveling even more than you thought, and my job will require some travel, too.”
“So what are you saying? That you don’t want me to have a baby? Because I have to tell you, having a baby myself is the only way I can picture coping with this whole second-family situation you’ve got going here.”
“A situation thatyou...” He brakes abruptly for a stop sign, takes a deep breath, and rubs his temple. He turns to me, his expression contrite. “Sorry. I don’t want to be like that.”
I mentally finish his thought—A situation I created by going behind his back.He’s right.My bad, my fault.
He reaches for my hand as he proceeds through the intersection. “Let’s just take it one day at a time, all right? Today, I’d like you to get to know Lily and Quinn. Let’s just relax and have a good time together.”
I look out the car window and sigh. He’s avoiding talking about having a baby with me because he doesn’t want to do it. I can readthat clearly enough; what I can’t read is whether the reluctance is temporary or permanent. Either way, it won’t make it any easier to get through the day.
“Here we are,” Zack says, pulling in front of a large, white, two-story Victorian. We’re in a charming part of uptown, a section where I once thought Zack and I might live when we had a family.
“Nice house,” I say. “Her business must be doing well.”
“It is. But she bought the place for an amazing price because it was in terrible shape—a hoarder had lived here. Then she got deals renovating it because she used contractors she hires for her clients.”
It bothers me that he knows these kinds of details about Quinn’s life. Hell, it bothers me that he knows her, period.
He wants so badly for me to like her, but every fiber of my being rebels against it. She has his child and is pregnant with his baby, while I’m the infertile wife. What woman wouldn’t hate being in this position? I probably hate it more than most; I’ve always despised settling for second place.
My thoughts fly back to a conversation I had with my mother a couple of days ago. Before I left her house, Mom had pulled me into her bedroom and sat me down on her bed. “Do you want to divorce Zack, honey? Because your father and I will support you, if that’s what you decide. Zack is wonderful in many ways, but this is not what you bargained for. No one would blame you.”
Having my mother mention theDword made the idea... what? More palatable, somehow. More like a positive solution, less like a failure.
Not that I need my parents’ permission to make major life decisions; I’m way beyond that—aren’t I? Of course I am. My sister would disagree, but what does she know? Most adults still want their parents’ approval; there’s nothing really wrong with that. Still, having Mom be the one to mention divorce sort of gave me absolution to pursue it.
I decided to investigate my options. The following day, I asked Brett for the name and number of his divorce attorney. I made acall, and the attorney returned it. He answered most of my questions over the phone.
In the state of Washington, only one party needs to be a resident in order to file for divorce. Residency doesn’t require living there for a certain number of months; if you have a Washington driver’s license and address, you’re all set.
The attorney emailed me the paperwork. If I decide to file, all I have to do is fill out the forms, and he’ll put together the official document. He’ll hire a process server in Louisiana to deliver a divorce notice to Zack, then—bam! Three months later, it can all be over.
I like having this option in my back pocket. I leased Brett’s rental condo, then visited a Department of Licensing office and got my Washington driver’s license. I’ll need them anyway, since I’m moving there. No harm in getting a jump on things.
I know Zack believes that marriage is a lifelong proposition and that he wants to make things work, but then, he’s a natural negotiator. He chose his career because he believes people can adjust and compromise until everyone’s happy.
I’m more of a realist. I’m not a fan of compromises, because neither party gets what they really want. It might be a solution for some people, but others—like me—are just not willing to settle. On the plane ride here, I took Brett’s advice and seriously considered staying in New Orleans. I made a list of pros and cons—or at least, I tried to. I could only come up with one pro: it would make Zack happy. The con list went on and on. My bottom line: I’m not willing to do it.
I’m here today to see if I can accept life with Quinn, Lily, and the baby in the picture, or if it’s time to cut my losses. I don’t want Zack to move to Seattle if the situation is intolerable. That wouldn’t be fair to him, and I truly care about him.
But I can’t tell Zack any of this. If he knew I was even thinking about divorce, it would irreparably harm his perception of me.
And I like being married to Zack. Except for my infertility, his newly discovered donor family, the fact that we barely have sexanymore, and the way we can’t talk to each other about anything important, our marriage is wonderful.
I nearly laugh out loud at the ridiculousness of my reasoning. Our marriage has thepotentialfor wonderful, I mentally amend. We’ve had some wonderful times in the past. And we did have sex last night. It wasn’t epic sex—I didn’t feel emotionally connected to him, I had trouble getting my head into it, and I faked an orgasm so he’d just go ahead and finish—but sex happened, so that goes into the plus column.
Or maybe it goes in the minus column, because I felt lonelier afterward than I did before.
I gather up my purse and take my time getting out of the car. Zack comes around and puts his hand on the small of my back as we walk up the sidewalk to the door. I used to love that little gesture; I used to think it was masculine and chivalrous and possessive in a sexy, thrilling way, but now I just feel like he’s steering me to an unwanted fate.
