“Fuck.” He ran his hand down his face, the way he did when his gears were turning. “All right,” he said. “We’ll handle this. When’s your next appointment?”
“I haven’t made it.”
I hadn’t realized I’d crossed my arms over my stomach until he took my hand. “We need to, baby. No question.”
“My gynecologist wants to do a laparoscopy—it’s minimally invasive surgery. It’ll tell us more.”
“Surgery,” he repeated.
“It’ll most likely be outpatient and I’ll recover within a couple days,” I reassured him, the memory of my visit returning. I was pretty certain I’d only begun to regain composure because I couldn’t quite believe we were having this conversation.
“We’ll call her to schedule in the morning,” he said. “Did she mention our options?”
“Options?” I asked. “There are no options. We just have to keep trying.”
“IVF?” he asked. “Is that what people do next in our situation?”
Breaking this news to Manning hadn’t gone anything like how I’d imagined. I’d thought discussing our options would come much later. “What do you know about IVF?”
“Not much,” he said, “but enough that it concerns me.”
“I haven’t really thought about it,” I admitted. “I didn’t think you’d be ready to hear any of this.”
“Not crazy about the idea of involving drugs and needles and labs.” He brought my hand to his mouth, kissing my palm. “After all, I vowed to protect every inch of this body. If it’s what you want, I’ll support it, but . . .”
I frowned, my cheeks tight with dried tears. “But what? The money?”
“No. This is why I work hard—to give us options. I don’t want you to rule out adoption, though. There are babies and children out there who need the love of a good mom and dad.”
I couldn’t handle it. I started bawling all over again, shivering so hard that Manning had to bring me back into his embrace. He rubbed my back, shushing me, trying to calm me down. My tears weren’t sad. They were shock—that Manning would even consider adoption, and so quickly. They were guilt—that I’d assumed he’d never be open to it. And they were relief—this wasn’t a deal breaker for him, and I could finally start asking myself what I wanted. Maybe our destiny was to give another child a safe and loving home. Maybe a son or daughter whose parents wanted better for them—or who didn’t deserve them, the way Manning’s hadn’t deserved him or Madison.
“You’d really be okay with that?” I blubbered.
The words must’ve been unintelligible in my state, but of course Manning understood me. “This is our life, Lake. We can do whatever we want. We’ve never followed the conventional path. If we aren’t meant to have a biological child . . . I mean, I can’t lie. Yeah, that’s hard news to take. I know how much you want that. I do, too. But it isn’t the end of the line for us. Not even close.” He tilted my face up with his knuckle. “Even if we have to make the difficult decision that it’s just going to be you and me for the rest of our lives, I’ll continue thanking the heavens. Every day. Won’t you?”
My muscles loosened, and I finally let myself melt in his strong arms. It would be easy not to believe him, or to go on doubting what we had, but deep down I knew the truth. Manning wouldn’t lie to me about this. He was enough for me—why shouldn’t I, alone, be enough for him, too? Any other blessings fate sent our way were only more reasons to be grateful.
“Every day,” I agreed.
I let Manning hold me in a nursery that might never be. I wasn’t sure how to be okay with that yet. Tonight, I’d perch on my great bear’s back and let him carry me around the universe until I was ready to open my wings again. We were two stars forever locked in a triangle that only seemed to hurt us. But at least we had each other. I didn’t know how long it’d be until I was ready to soar, only that Manning would support me when I was—and that I’d one day find the strength to do it.
Summer Triangle
Fall 2012
18
I slid my hand up Manning’s shaft, palming the leathery knob. “Like this?” I asked.
Manning stared as I stroked his stick shift. “Nice try,” he said.
“What do you mean?”
“Sex won’t get you out of this.” He nodded at my feet. “Now, release the clutch smoothly as you feed in throttle.”
With a sigh, I made my fourth attempt in fifteen minutes to drive a stick shift. Manning’s truck jerked back and forth before I hit the brake. “I suck at this,” I said.
“You’ll get the hang of it.” He started in again on downshifting and listening to the engine and friction points. The sun shone through the windshield, showing the crow’s feet around his eyes, the two lines that formed in his forehead whenever he spoke about something that mattered to him. Like driving a manual.