Chapter 3
NATE
“Dinner smells good.” I close the front door of our home behind me and stride down the hall towards the kitchen.
Nora spins in her fluffy slippers, the rubber soles squeaking against the tiled floor. Her arms wrap around my shoulders, and I bury my face into the crook of her neck and press my lips against my favourite spot.
She breathes me in. “I wanted to surprise you. I’m cooking your favourite pasta.”
“Anything you cook is my favourite.” I drop my laptop bag from my shoulder onto the worktop so I can wrap both arms around her, holding her how I’ve craved all day.
Her familiar scent surrounds me. It’s the smell of home comforts like freshly laundered bedding, her vanilla scented candles, and the sweet scent of baked goods.
She faces the hob and stirs the pasta.
I move her long curls to the side and kiss her neck.
“I need to talk to you.” The conversation I’m about to have has weighed on me all day, but I think it’s for the best and the sooner we start, the better.
I kiss her neck one more time as if this is the last time I’ll have her all to myself.
Because once we start this process, she’ll belong to someone else, another human who’ll depend on her entirely.
Squeezing her back against my chest, I soak the moment into memory. We’ve been through so much. More heartache than one couple should ever have to go through.
“Is everything all right?” She giggles as I pepper her neck with kisses.
I whisper against her ear, “Nothing is right, but I’m trying my hardest to make it so.”
She switches the hob off and takes the pan off the ring. “What is it?” Her brow wrinkles, her once vibrant brown eyes dimmed.
“Come into the living room, dimples. We can talk.” I lift my bag from the counter and take her hand, leading her into the lounge area.
“Nate, you’re scaring me. What’s going on?”
“It’s nothing to be worried about.” I shrug off my jacket and unknot my tie, throwing them onto the back of a chair. “Sit down.”
Nora perches on the edge of the sofa, her wrap dress flowing around her knees, a small nick noticeable on her ankle.
“What happened?” I nod to her foot.
“Oh, I broke a mug at work, no big deal.” Her hands clasp together in her lap. “So, what do you want to talk about?”
I pinch the front of my trousers as I sit next to her on the sofa, needing to be close to her. “When I left work today, I went to the city.” I rest my laptop bag on the coffee table and pull out a file.
“Yes, I know you had to meet a client.” She glances between me and the papers in my hand, a small crinkle between her brows.
“I went to the fertility clinic.” I hand her the file full of potential donors I’ve vetted. “We can try with a donor. They even do home insemination kits.”
She flicks through the files, tears swelling in her eyes.
“One of them’s an artist. Another’s a teacher. There’s even a pilot.” Bile rises in my throat, picturing my wife with some random bloke’s sperm inside her, but I swallow it down and put on a brave face for her.
As if she can read my mind, she drops the files on the coffee table. “You want me to use another man’s sperm?” Her fingers curl around her throat. Her other hand presses against her belly. “I don’t think I could do that, Nate. I told you already, I don’t want anyone else’s baby but yours.”
“You agreed we’d consider other options.”
“I thought you meant like adoption.”
“We’ll pay privately. We were gonna pay privately before we found out I was firing blanks.
” I fan the files out on the coffee table.
“No more crazy diets trying to fit into the NHS criteria. This is on our terms now. We pick a donor, and we can start the process next month. Whatever it costs. We’ll take out a second mortgage if we have to and go abroad. ”
She chews on her lip. Her hand trembles, hovering over the paperwork as if she daren’t believe it’s possible. We’ve given ourselves so much false hope over the years, it’s hard to imagine a world where we might actually have a child to bring home.
“It’s a nice dream, Nate.” She twists her body to face me, our knees knocking together. “But that baby won’t have your brown eyes.” Her fingers swipe the hair from my brow. “Or your dark hair.” Her fingertips move to my mouth. “Or your lips. Or this nose.” She taps me on the tip of my crooked nose.
“Maybe that’s a good thing.” I chuckle, trying to make light of the situation. This past week, I’ve made peace with it. All I want to do is make my wife happy, and if this is the only way, then so be it.
Tears drip onto her cheek. “Don’t do that.”
“What?”
“Make jokes and pretend you’re not dying on the inside like I am.”
“Nora, I have to laugh. I’ve spent the last week dwelling on this. I need to do something productive to make this right.”
“So you picked out a bunch of donors without discussing things with me?”
“I’m discussing it now.”
“You don’t have to put this right. It’s not your fault. I don’t blame you.”
“You think I haven’t heard you crying in the bathtub? Do you have any idea how that makes me feel?”
“Of course I do. Why do you think I lock the door? I’m sorry I’m upset. I’ve tried to keep my grief to myself.”
“That’s what hurts the most. I want you to come to me when you’re upset, but knowing I’m the cause of your pain kills me inside, Nora.”
“I’ve never blamed you. I’m just mad at the world for the shitty cards we’ve been dealt.”
A knock at the front door bristles my spine. “You expecting someone?”
“It’ll be Evan. I invited him for dinner.” She stomps towards the living room door, wiping away her tears.
Evan’s already in the house, meeting her at the doorway with a crate of beer under his arm and a bunch of flowers in the other.
“These are beautiful, thank you.” Nora takes the flowers from him, and he gives her a sympathetic smile as if he knows our fate.
I pace the room, rubbing my forehead.
He peers over Nora’s shoulder, his brows pulling together as he locks eyes with me. “I can go if this is a bad time.”
“No. It’s perfect timing. Maybe you can talk some sense into him.” Nora shimmies past him in the doorframe, cradling the bouquet as if it’s as delicate as a newborn, then disappears into the kitchen.
Evan steps closer, placing the beers on the coffee table on top of the papers littered over the surface. “What’s going on, mate?”
I rip open the paper packaging, needing a drink. Dropping back onto the sofa with a bounce, I pull the ring on the can and guzzle down the fizzy liquid. “What the hell is this?” I hold the can in front of me. “Nonalcoholic?” My lips skew into a snarl.
“I thought she had you on some health kick. Last time I was round, you were on a detox.” Evan sits opposite me in the chair and stretches for a can.
“Well, I don’t need to detox anymore.” I rise from the chair, needing something stronger, stomp into the kitchen, and open the fridge.
Nora stirs the pasta aggressively in the pan.
I grab the four-pack of real ales I bought from the farm shop while quoting a job this week.
She side-eyes me, her lips tight.
“What? I can drink as much alcohol as I like now. Come to think of it, we may as well throw out all the seeds and shit you had me take.” A huff of laughter leaves my lungs, but the situation is anything but funny.
I grab the seeds from the cupboard. “Let’s face it.
No amount of nuts and vitamins can help me now. ”
She snatches them from my grip, her eyes narrowing. “I’ll be needing these for the donor you choose.”
“Donor?” Evan leans against the kitchen doorjamb with a can of the shitty fake beer in hand.
“Want a proper drink?” I hold the real ale up, offering him one.
“Can’t. I’m driving.” He pushes off the doorframe and wanders towards us. “What’s going on?”
Nora waves a spatula in the air. “Are you going to tell him, or shall I?”
I scrub a hand over my face. “I can’t get my wife pregnant, mate.
In fact, I can’t get anyone pregnant. I’m about as useful as a chocolate fireguard.
” With my teeth, I pop the bottle cap off, toss it in the bin, and take a long pull of the ale.
It’s times like now I wish I still smoked.
Another vice I had to stop to help my sperm count. Load of fucking good that did.
“Why didn’t you say something?” Evan folds his arms, his white t-shirt stretched across his broad chest.
I drop my head, shame clawing up my neck. My skin itches. We usually tell each other everything, but I couldn’t bring myself to say the words out loud. Admitting it makes it all the more real, and when we do have a kid, everyone will know it’s not really mine.
His hand squeezes my shoulder. “You should’ve told me. I could’ve helped.”
Another laugh bursts from my lips. “What could you have done? This isn’t a broken car. You can’t just lend me your sperm. What would you have done, fucked my wife for me?” I bring the ale to my lips with another dark chuckle at the ridiculous thought.
But when I read the room, a flash of desire crosses Evan’s face as Nora’s mouth parts, gazing into his steel-blue eyes. Images of them together makes my cock twitch behind my zipper.
The fact that neither of them have contradicted me makes the idea seem less absurd. Has she thought about it, too? The man’s a chiselled god, even I’d fuck him. If I were a woman, I mean.
Silence crackles in the air. Glances between the three of us burn through the thick atmosphere.
Evan clears his throat, breaking the sizzling tension. “How long have you known?”
“A week.” My shoulders relax as I lean back against the cool fridge door.
Nora waves the spatula again. “So now he thinks it’s a good idea to use a donor. There’s a bunch of candidates on the coffee table.”
“How would they…” He clears his throat again. “You know?”
“Home insemination kits.”
Nora rolls her eyes. “That's not happening. I’m not having you squirt some random person’s fluid into me.”
“Then how—”
“IVF, but we’d have to pay privately, maybe even go abroad because I’m still overweight.” She spoons the pasta into three dishes, then shoves a salad bowl into my hand. “Take this to the dining table.” Her eyes narrow. She’s pissed. Thank fuck Evan came, or we’d probably have had a full-blown row.
Evan helps to set the table, and we all sit around to eat. “So I’m guessing you don’t want to use a donor?”
I lift my bottle, swilling the ale around inside. “It’s the only way.”
Nora’s fork clatters against her dish. “When I imagined having our baby, I always imagined it being a mix of both of us. I don’t want to have a stranger’s baby, Nate.”
“What if the donor wasn’t a stranger?” Evan says, and the crackling tension is back, making my dick twitch. Usually, any man who’d dare to touch my wife would be greeted with my fist right between their eyes, but picturing Evan with Nora excites something inside of me.