We get home. It’s barely past five but feels like midnight. She tosses a frozen pizza in the oven and heads straight for the shower. I set plates out on the coffee table, a bottle of wine—pouring two glasses—and queue up the next episode ofOne Tree Hill—our latest binge-watch. Megan’s choice, of course.
When she comes out, her hair’s wrapped in a towel, she’s in her favorite pink pajama set, and her pink fuzzy slippers drag across the floor.
I smile from the couch and her whole face softens. “Oh, honey, I love you,” she says, her voice half whine, half laugh as she steers her way over to me.
That makes me smile.
She sinks down beside me, tucking her legs under the blanket, the smell of her shampoo lingering in the air, and we eat in company of the TV playing.
But when the plates are empty and the wine’s half gone, she leans her head on my shoulder and lets out a deep sigh.
“You okay? Just tired?”
“Yeah,” she mumbles, and then picks her head up to look at me. Her eyes wandering everywhere but at mine.
“What is it?” I shift in my seat.
Her sigh is heavy, and then she looks at me. “I don’t know if I want kids anymore.”
I blink twice, waiting for her to say she’s joking, but she doesn’t.
“B-because of this weekend?” I stutter.
She shrugs. “Yeah.”
I rub my jaw, trying to find the right words. “Well, Meg—”
“I’m not sayingnever,” she says quickly. “I know how bad I wanted it. How hard we’ve prayed for it. Cried over it. But after this weekend… I don’t know, maybe God showed me why it’s not supposed to happen. At least not yet.”
Her voice is unsteady, her hands fidgety on the stem of her wineglass, like she can’t believe what’s coming out of her mouth.
I reach for her glass slowly, setting it down on the coffee table. My mind is spinning with what to say. When I look back at her, she’s holding her breath, her blue eyes wet. The woman Ilove more than anything in the world looks like she’s bracing for impact.
“That’s okay.” I reach for her, hand on her thigh. “You’re allowed to change your mind, you know.”
“But I feel crazy.”
“You’re not crazy,” I say. “What part from this weekend made you come to this?”
“The nights. Getting up like that with Gage. Him needingnothing. I thought only newborns did that. I didn’t think it still happened at his age. I mean, he’s almostone. And Emma? She…she’sthreeand she still got up too. You’re telling me for at least three years straight you’re not guaranteed a full night’s sleep?”
I laugh and shrug. “I guess not? I don’t really know. I’m sure every kid is different.”
“Okay, well, you switch to work nights every few months, which means you’re not going to be helpful. It would just be me. And then what? I have to go teach all day after getting three hours of sleep? No wonder she has depression; it seems exhausting and lonely. I can’t do that, Mason. Not right now.”
The living room goes quiet except for the TV still humming in the background. I reach for the remote and pause it, the sudden silence settling between us.
“Yeah,” I say slowly. “Then we don’t have to right now. We’ll take some extra precautions and—”
“You’re not upset?” she asks, voice small but hopeful.
“Of course not.” I turn toward her fully. “You’re not sayingnever…right?”
She shakes her head. “No. Just definitely not right now.”
“Okay,” I whisper. “Then right now isn’t our time. We’ll do our part and leave the rest to God.”
Her chin trembles, just barely, and a tear slips down before she can wipe it. I pull her into my chest, and she folds into me like she was waiting for permission to let go.
