Say It's Not Fake

“Not that young, Kyle,” I laughed without mirth.

“You have all the time in the world to have kids. I was just asking if you wanted them. I shouldn’t have. Forget I said anything,” he backpedaled.

Silence.

I could let it go.

Let the dark secret remain where I had kept it all this time.

Buried.

Yet this time, I didn’t want to shove it away. I wanted to share the truth with this man who had opened up his life to me. I wanted to share with him the greatest pain I had ever endured.

So, I opened my mouth and let the truth fly free.

“I was pregnant once. About eighteen months ago,” I said softly. When Kyle didn’t say anything, I went on. “I had a miscarriage. The doctor said I had an abnormally shaped uterus if you can believe it. Apparently, it makes carrying a child to term impossible.” I wiped away the tears before they could fall. “So, no kids for me.”

“I’m so sorry, Whitney. I shouldn’t have brought it up—”

“No, it’s fine. But no one knows.” I looked at Kyle, hating and loving the sympathy on his face. “Not even Mom or Meg, so please can you keep this between us?”

Kyle scooted closer so that our knees pressed together. “I’d never tell anyone, Whit. That’s your business.” He reached out his hand and tucked a strand of my hair behind my ears. It was an instinct to want to move away, particularly when I was feeling so vulnerable, but I didn’t. “Thank you for sharing it with me. I really am so sorry.”

“Thanks.” My lips stretched into what was meant to be a smile. I felt as if I had been cut open, and Kyle could see my insides. It was alien but not entirely uncomfortable. I sort of liked Kyle being able to see me. To understand me.

Together we finished bathing Katie. When the water began to cool, Kyle lifted her out of the bathtub, and I wrapped her in a fluffy pink towel. He carried her to her bedroom, and I got out her pajamas. In between tickle battles, we managed to dress her. Afterward, Kyle sat her in the overstuffed armchair and began to brush her hair.

“No, Dada!” Katie shook her head, moving her head around when he tried to brush the tangled knots.

“She hates having her hair brushed. You’d think I was waterboarding her.” Kyle tried to take a swipe at her brown locks, but she screamed and tucked her head into the arm of the chair.

“Maybe you need to distract her,” I suggested, picking up a pig hand puppet from her dresser. “Hello, my name is Mr. Wiggles.” I flapped the puppet about and affected a deep voice.

Katie sat up and watched me, her eyes widening. “Pig!”

“Yes, I’m a pig. And what are you?” I danced around with the hand puppet, bopping her on the nose to make her giggle. The distraction worked. Kyle was able to brush her hair in record time.

“Mr. Wiggles says it’s time for bed,” Kyle said, scooping her up and flying her Superman-style to her toddler bed where he dropped her dramatically, but very carefully, onto the blanket.

Katie picked up the book of nursery rhymes on her bedside table and handed it to Kyle. I knew he read them to her every night. I usually stood in the doorway, not wanting to intrude, or I waited downstairs. I hadn’t wanted to force myself into their routine. This evening, Kyle handed the book to me. “You want to read tonight?”

“I’d love to.”

Thirty minutes later, we tiptoed out of Katie’s room and made our way downstairs. This was the time when we’d either turn on the TV or Kyle would go on to bed because he had an early start.

Tonight, things felt different.

“How about we sit on the patio,” he proposed.

“Sounds good.” I smiled, following him to the back of the kitchen and out the double doors that led outside.

I hadn’t spent much time in the yard since I had moved in. Of course, it was perfectly landscaped like the front. It was large for in town, probably close to an acre. Kyle had put up new fencing and erected a jungle gym and swing set that put the ones at the park to shame. It was leafy and full of blooming flowers that scented the approaching night air.

“Do you mind if I grab a beer?” he asked.

“Go ahead. Just because I don’t drink doesn’t mean you can’t,” I said.

He came back a minute later with a bottle of beer and handed me a glass of sparkling water, complete with a lemon wedge. He sat down beside me, stretching his legs out in front of him and staring out toward the yard. “I don’t spend enough time out here. Lord knows I spent enough time cleaning it up; you’d think I’d enjoy it more.”