My favorite line is My little girl is sleepy, blessed is she, blessed is she.
Am I blessed? I know the answer is a resounding yes. I have more than most. I’m fed and clothed and safe with, not just a roof over my head, but an expensive roof that no one in my family ever believed we’d have. I’m married to the only man I’ve ever really loved, and he loves me back to near obsession.
And yet I sit here, stewing in self-pity and envy, feeling cursed. I’m struck again with the irony of Graciela and Zo, pregnant against every odd without even trying, and me consumed b
y the thought of having a baby and . . . nothing. Is this punishment for my sins? For cheating on Zo? Aunt Valentina would say yes. She’d hand me one of her rosaries and send me to confession, but even though I’ve been raised a good Catholic girl, that doesn’t feel right. “A La Nanita” was originally penned as a lullaby for Jesus. Surely there is grace? Forgiveness? I know it was wrong, what I did, but will I be punished? Is this punishment? Or is this just life? Indiscriminate destiny blindly serving up good and bad.
Even as the thoughts flit through my mind like acrid smoke, I know they’re not true. I’m not being punished. Truth is I have Polycystic Ovary Syndrome. PCOS makes it harder for me to get pregnant. Fact is that we haven’t even been trying that long. Truth and fact war with a desire I’ve held for as long as I can remember. I’ve always wanted to be a mother; to instill in my little girls the confidence it took me too long to find. To raise sweet little boys into powerful, respectful men. I have to believe those weren’t doomed dreams, but there is hope. Right now, I just can’t find it. I can’t feel it.
“Ban!”
Jared yells my name from the foyer entry. I open my mouth to answer, but tears clog my throat. I’ve been a ball of emotions all day, tearing up over nothing. I need to get my shit together if I don’t want a lecture from Jared.
And I don’t want a lecture from Jared.
“Banner,” Jared calls again, his voice accompanied by approaching steps. He’s checking our bedroom, but of course I’m not there.
“In here,” I manage, mopping the tears wetting my cheeks. My husband’s eyes are as sharp as his mind. I’ve been on the defending side of both more than once, and would rather not explain a sting he’ll only want to soothe. Sometimes you don’t want to be soothed. Sometimes you want to ache. You want to feel the pain because it’s attached to something so vital, so important, it’s worth the hurt because it will make the ultimate joy that much richer. I just wonder if joy is in store for me.
“Did I screw up?” Jared asks from the doorway, dark blond eyebrows pinched over weary blue eyes. “Was I supposed to grab dinner? I thought you said—”
“I did say.” I sink deeper into the cushions, deeper into the shadows filling the room now that the sun has gone down. “I planned to cook, but came up here and got, um . . . I lost track of time, I guess.”
He reaches toward the wall and flicks on the light. I squint against the sudden brightness, lowering my head so my hair covers my face. I’m reminded of our first kiss, of our first time making love in the dark. He wanted the light on, but I insisted we leave it off. I promised him and myself I was done hiding in the dark, but with the unreasonable ache in my heart on display and probably all over my face, I want to beg him to turn out the light. Jared narrows his eyes, the look he gives me sharpening. He crosses the room in a few strides to stand in front of me and tips up my chin.
“You’ve been crying. What’s going on?”
I turn my head a few inches to loosen my chin from his fingers.
“I’m fine.” I stand up and step around him. “Dinner will take no time.”
He catches me by the elbow, his touch gentle and firm.
“To hell with dinner. What’s wrong?”
I close my eyes against the bright overhead light and against his probing stare. He’s concerned. It’s mixing in his eyes with love and stubbornness, a recipe for Jared’s tenacity. I’ve tasted it firsthand for years. When the man wants something, he doesn’t let up until he has it. That was true with his dreams, his goals.
His wife.
Usually, I’m here for it. Ready to match him, toe to toe, but tonight, there’s no fight, especially when the thing he’s fighting for is me.
“Graciela’s pregnant,” I say softly, dropping my glance to the floor.
“Oh.” Jared lets me go and crosses his arms over his chest. “Congratulations to them.”
“They’re also engaged, by the way.”
“Even better for them. We can send a plant or whatever you send when people procreate. What does that have to do with you sitting in a dark room crying and losing track of time, which is bullshit, by the way, because you don’t lose track of time?”
“Don’t.” I run a hand through the hair tangled around my shoulders. “Please don’t tough love me right now. I can’t take it.”
“Then how should I love you?” He cups my face, tilting my head until our eyes meet. “Tell me what you think you need, and I’ll see if I agree.”
A humorless smile tips one corner of my mouth. He’s a bulldozer, but tonight I’m already flat.
“They weren’t even trying, Jared,” I whisper. “It just happened for them. For her, and the doctor said it was so unlikely. But, boom. He breathes on her and she’s having a baby. They didn’t even have to use the sperm Zo set aside before he started his treatments.”
“First of all, that’s a lot more than I wanted to ever know about Zo’s reproductive capabilities.”