“Would it be so bad? To have another baby? We always talked about having a girlanda boy.”
“And then we had two girls.” There’s a certain finality in my voice, and I can tell by the way he flinches that he doesn’t like it.
“All I’m saying—”
“I’m thirty-five.”
“That’s not too old.”
“I don’t want to—”
“But just think, we might have a boy!”
“Brian—” I make myself stop, swallow, wash down my food with beer. “I don’t want to do it again.”
“Have a baby?”
“Any of it.” I press my hands down on the table, lower my voice. “Waking up in the middle of the night, diapers, not having five seconds alone all day, every day—”
“Piper is around to help.” Brian smiles, as if that sorts out everything, as though she’s not busy with a life of her own, as well as completely ignoring the part wherehe’sthe other parent here. He raises his hand to signal for another round.
“But you’re not. And I don’t want to do it alone.” I try to say it kindly—try to not sound bitter, because I don’t hold it against him. I treasured those moments with my girls. Ichoseto be home with them. But it was also incredibly difficult, and the thought of doing it again—well, that’s a hardno.
The stricken look on his face tells me it was exactly the wrong thing to say, regardless of my tone, but it’s the truth. I take a swallow of my beer and look imploringly at him. “I love you, and I love our kids, but you work all day, and sometimes late, past their bedtime. You leave town for whole weeks at a time. You help when you’re home, but—”You’re not the one wiping butts. Or making every meal. Or playing taxicab, or—I sigh. “No. I don’t want to have another kid. And also”—I keep going, since he’s acting likeI’mtheone being unreasonable—“I want to do my job. I want to take on more work, not less. I can’t do that with a baby.”
“I’m just saying…” He stops, and we both fall silent. “Fine.”
We finish the evening in an awkward half silence, trading only necessary words. It hadn’t even occurred to me he’dwantanother child. Evie was born three years ago, and I assumed we were done.
Uneasiness opens up inside me, this new realization, this thing I missed. I watch him so carefully, wanting to understand his thoughts, his desires, what he needs from a wife, from our marriage. Trying to fit the mold of an ideal spouse. How did I not notice?
It dampens my excitement, and by the time we get back home, I’m relieved to find the girls already in bed.
Piper has helped herself to a glass (or three) of wine (“My date canceled, I’m a little tipsy, can I sleep here?”), and all I want to do is get to work.
“Of course,” I tell her. “You can sleep on the couch. Or there’s a daybed in my office.”
“I’m good here. I don’t have to move that way.” She splays out over the gray couch, her wineglass just barely upright.
“What happened?” I ask. “Wait, was this the second date from the other night?”
“You mean, what happened besides him canceling?” She sniffles. “And yeah. It was supposed to be.”
“Why did he cancel?” I sit down next to her.
“He said he had food poisoning, but you know that’s code for‘I never want to see you again.’ ”Her face screws up like she might burst into tears, and I realize she actually likes this guy. With Piper, it’s hard to know. Men are often entertainment to her more than anything.
“Maybe he just has food poisoning.” I pat her on the shoulder,find some crackers and a bottle of water, and tell her to get some sleep. “Besides, if he’s not feeling it, it’s not going to work regardless.”
“Easy for you to say. You just got back from a date withyour husband. With rings and shit.”
“Rings and shit?” I quirk a brow at her. She’d justloveto hear about the conversation we had over dinner. I can imagine her now, going on about howheshould try carrying a baby and being the default parent for a second.
“You know,rings.” She grabs my left hand, points to the sparkling diamond on my finger.
I open my mouth, then slam it shut. Once, Piper had who she thought would be a life partner. They’d looked at engagement bands and everything. He was perfect, she’d insisted, kind and considerate, and he showered her with gifts. Maybe she thought she could overlook the abuse, or thought it was her own fault, or that she’d change him once they got married. But men like that don’t change—they escalate. Killing him in what appeared to be a tragic accident was my only safe option. Even breaking up with people like him is dangerous, if I could have ever persuaded her to do so. I thought she’d be sad, then realize it was a blessing in disguise. I thought she’d get over it.
Instead, she lost all interest in dating. Or, more accurately, commitment. Come to think of it, shelovesdating and has turned it into her own personal sport. Don’t get me wrong—there’s nothing wrong with wanting to do life on your own. I just wonder if she’s chosen it because of what happened in her first serious relationship. Because ofme.
