He stares at me directly. ‘It’s not going to happen. Not any time soon. I can’t evensupporta kid.’
‘I’d have to go back to work,’ I say, feeling a pang at the thought of a horribly short maternity leave.
‘What? And I’d be a stay-at-home dad?’ he asks incredulously, getting to his feet.
‘We’re actually really lucky,’ I say as he paces the floor. ‘You work nights and weekends, while I work weekdays. One of us would always be with him. Or her.’ I realise I have a battle on my hands in convincing him. He doesn’t evenwanta baby, yet here I am suggesting he be its primary carer…
‘We don’t have room for a kid.’ Lachie waves his hand around our poky bedroom to make his point.
‘We’d have to move. Probably further out, but—’
‘I don’t want to move! I like it here!’
‘We’ll have to make some compromises.’
He comes to a standstill. ‘Bronte, I amnothaving a baby. Not yet. Not any time soon.’ His tone turns regretful with his last few words. ‘I’m sorry, but you won’t change my mind. Having a family is a long way off for me.’
‘How long?’ I ask stupidly, brushing away tears.
‘I don’t know,’ he replies heavily, sitting back down on the bed and staring at me forlornly. There are only a couple of feet between us, but it might as well be a chasm of Grand Canyon proportions.
Try as I might, I just can’t bury my head in the sand about this one.
The weeks leading up to my setting off to the UK are overwrought with tension and arguments. There is no compromise to be found.
I want a baby; Lachie doesn’t. It’s as simple as that.
We’re stuck. Stagnant. With nowhere to go.
What’s worse,Viviennegets a new editor who turns out to be a complete nightmare. She’s disorganised and indecisive and I end up working longer and longer hours. Although Lachie’s birthday gig at the bar turned into a fantastic regular stint, I’m lucky if I make it in time to see his last couple of songs.
But Fliss is always there, invariably. Lachie claims to have backed off from their friendship and has cut down the amount of time he spends with her outside of the weddings that they do together, but the message has not filtered down to her.
More likely, his signals are nowhere near strong enough.
A few days before I set off to the UK, Lachie and I find ourselves at opposite ends of the sofa, facing each other. The telly is muted and our dirty dinner plates are on the coffee table, but we can’t find the energy to get up and drag ourselves to bed. I rest my cheek against the sofa and look across at him, my knees up in front of me.
‘Will you think about everything while I’m gone?’ I ask softly.
He sighs.
‘I get it if you don’t want a baby now or even next year,’ I continue. ‘But can we come up with some sort of plan, agree to some form of commitment?’
He swallows and dangles his arm over the back of the sofa, breaking eye contact with me. ‘What if I can’t?’ he whispers. ‘Is this a deal breaker for you?’
‘What do you mean?’ I ask warily.
‘What if I don’t want to have children?’
My jaw drops. ‘Are you serious?’
He roughly drags his hand over his beard. ‘I’m just… I’m so far off wanting to be a dad. What if I never am?’
I shake my head. ‘I can’t bear to think about that possibility.’
‘We might have to.’
I stare at him with horror. ‘Thenyes, it’s a deal breaker!’ I can’t keep a lid on my emotions. ‘I want kids! I’ve always wanted a family. Are you serious? You might do an Elliot on me?’
