“And why are you on birth control if we’re trying for a child?”
Rebel takes a deep breath and takes a step towards me. “Carlos made me get the shots when we were together, and I -”
I throw the papers at her mid-lie. “This says you got it two months ago! Stop lying to me!”
“Dylan, I -” She starts to choke up, but I look away.
I can’t trust her tears. I can’t trust anything right now.
I'm overcome by such disgust and anger towards her that I can't even look at her lying face.
“I’m scared of getting pregnant again. The last time…”
“What happened last time, huh? You said you didn’t want to have a child, so we got rid of it, fine! I supported your choice! We weren’t ready, we were young, all that bullshit. But what about now? What’s the problem now? We’re in our 30s, married, we have a house, our own shop, I don’t fucking understand you!”
“I know, I know, I’m sorry,” she says between sobs.
It’s a gut-wrenching sight. She’s doubled over, clutching the part of her where our baby once was, and in a way, I get it.
I felt incredibly guilty when Marissa first became pregnant. Like I was betraying my first baby somehow by being excited and happy.
“Do you even want to have a baby with me?” I ask her quietly.
“I do, I swear!” She comes up to me and grabs my face with both of her hands. “I promise. The shots only last three months, so we can try for real in a month. I won’t get any more, I promise, okay?”
Her eyes search mine frantically, but I stare at the middle of her forehead as I think about how to proceed.
“You have to be more involved with Junior,” I say reluctantly, and she nods twice. “No more disappearing when he’s here. And you have to help plan his birthday party.”
“I will. I promise.”
I don't respond at first, uncertain of where to go from here. I've put all my eggs in the same basket, the MC one. My business, my friends, my wife, they all sprung from the same place, and now the fabric my universe is woven from seems to be slowly disintegrating.
I suddenly remember Marissa and Hawk walking up to me that first weekend I had DJ. How they moved in unison, like a team that’d been through shit together.
I want that for myself, for us. Always have.
“And I want us to start actually living in this house. To cook dinners and eat together at the table. I’m constantly constipated from all the takeout. I wanna sleep in clean fucking sheets and do laundry, not hang out at the clubhouse all the damn time like we’re teenagers again. And I want to do family stuff on the weekends.”
“If you cook, I’ll eat,” she smiles through the snot and tears.
“We’ll figure it out,” I tell her, but I don't think I believe it.
*
The week after that, my wife knows she's on thin ice, so she and I eat breakfast together every day, and then we ride to work on my bike. We go grocery shopping and she kisses me in the produce section like we're two teenagers in love.
“You won’t have that metabolism forever,” I tease her when all she puts in the cart are energy drinks and candy bars.
She laughs and says, “Then I’d actually resemble your baby mama. Ew, can you imagine?”
Whatever’s on my face startles her, and she backtracks. “Sorry. I’m still jealous sometimes.”
On Wednesday, she hangs out with her newly released brother before work, and I drive to the nearest toy store to get my boy a birthday gift.
“What does he like?” The saleswoman asks me, and I truly have no idea.
He’s one. He likes to eat, shit, and put stuff in his mouth.
