“You don’t look like a fucking whale,” Winter says, resting against the doorjamb and crossing his arms.
I ignore the way his gaze trails over my clothes littering the walk-in robe floor. “I do.” It’s true; the fertility drugs do it to me every single time I have to take them. They blow me up like a whale. Some days I feel like I’m frumping all over the damn place; some days I wonder how Winter can even look at me and still be attracted to me.
“You’re bloated from the drugs. That doesn’t make you a whale.”
My eyes widen and I stare at him. “So I do look fat?”
“Fuck, that’s not what I meant. I was just trying to—”
I hold my hand up. “Stop talking. You’ve already said enough and now I have to find something in the next ten minutes that doesn’t make me look as bad as everything else I’ve tried on.”
He watches me in the way he usually does when he’s trying to figure out how to say what he wants to say. In the end, he doesn’t speak again; he simply pushes off from the doorjamb and leaves. I’m not sure whether to be happy or whether to cry. I mean, I told him to stop talking, but I didn’t expect him to. And now my hormones are fucking with me over it.
God, you’re a bitch.
Why do you keep doing this to him?
He’s just trying to support you.
“Enough!” I scream at myself in my head. My thoughts are exhausting. I want to rip my mind out of my head most days and ask for an exchange. Either that or sedate it with alcohol. That’s off the table whenever I’m IVFing, which of course is when my mind is the biggest mess. It’s just one of the ways God laughs at me. Oh how that man fucking laughs at me. And yes, I’ve decided he’s a man; a woman wouldn’t be so cruel to couples wanting to bring a child into this world and
lavish love on it.
After searching through the closet and trying five more outfits on, I finally find a dress to wear for dinner. It’s not my favourite, but it’s all I’ve got. I would have preferred more notice for this dinner than Winter gave; something he now knows, because I was sure to make that clear to him when he picked me up from Claudette’s.
The doorbell sounds as I’m choosing some earrings to wear. King’s voice floats down the hall soon after, and then I hear Winter leading him into our home.
I take a deep breath and smooth my dress before making my way out to join them.
King’s eyes meet mine as I step out onto the back deck where they are. We’ve built a solid relationship over the past eight years, and while I wasn’t quite sure of him to begin with, I’ve come to respect him. He’s always had Winter’s back when we’ve gone through hard times with IVF, and never once demanded he put club stuff before me. King’s a hard man, but I like that he puts family first. “Birdie,” he greets me.
“Hey, King,” I say as Winter passes him a beer. Then, to Winter, I say, “I’ll get the salads ready.”
I leave them to do men stuff and head into the kitchen. I’m half way through cutting up the salad when Cleo calls.
“Hey, you,” I say, putting the phone on speaker so I can keep cutting. “Why are you calling me? I thought you guys were taking Christopher to the circus tonight.” Their son turned five this week and this was part of their celebration.
“We were supposed to, but he’s been vomiting all day. Mark’s with him now so I figured I’d squeeze a quick call in to see how you are today.”
I had a meltdown over the phone yesterday after Winter and I fought. It’s just one more in a long string of meltdowns, though, so I’ve pretty much put it out of my mind and moved on. I love that Cleo always follows up to make sure I’m okay. “How did I get so lucky to have you as my bestie? I’m good today. I’ve only lost my shit once and that was because Winter verified how big I look.”
“What did he say? That doesn’t sound like him at all, babe.”
“Well, he didn’t say I was big. Actually, he told me I don’t look like a whale, but he did mention my bloating, so in effect that—”
“In effect, that means nothing. It’s just a fact and you know that to be true. Don’t force a fight on him, Birdie. That’s not fair to him.”
I sigh, knowing every word out of her mouth is the truth. “I don’t want to fight with him.”
“I know.”
“God I hope this is the last time we have to do IVF.”
She turns silent for a beat. Then, tentatively, like she’s concerned about my reaction, she says, “I thought this was the last time ever?”
That was the agreement Winter and I had when I convinced him to go one more time at the beginning of the year. This is our tenth round and besides it being an expensive exercise, it’s a soul-crushing one that has placed more pressure on our relationship than I ever imagined it could. We took an eleven-month break after our last cycle. After I suffered another miscarriage. I needed those eleven months, but I think Winter needed them more. I know he’s deadly serious about this being our last shot—because he doesn’t want to watch me go through it again—but I want a baby and I’m not sure I can stop until we have one.
I switch the phone off speaker and put it to my ear. “It was. I’m not sure, though. I don’t know if I can accept that decision if something happens to this pregnancy.”