Chapter Thirty-One
Henry
“So,” Saxon says, “you’re gonna be a dad! That’s great news.”
We’re lying on the floor on each side of the twins, who are both on a mat, playing with the objects dangling from the arch he placed over them.
“Well, sort of,” I say. I glance over my shoulder to make sure the girls are still in the library, then look back at him. “I wanted to talk to you about that, actually.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah, about IVF. The chances of getting pregnant after the first cycle are around fifty percent, right?”
“Yeah, although we’re working on improving the selection of embryos, so between you and me, I think we can get that figure up a little higher.”
I nod, holding out a finger for the twin nearest to me. They both have Catie’s red hair, and Saxon’s mother’s bright blue eyes. “Which one’s this?” I ask as the baby grabs my finger.
“No idea,” Saxon says, and I laugh. He grins. “It’s Aidan. We try to dress him in something with blue in it, and Liam in red. But they also have different shaped birthmarks on the back of their necks.”
“Thank God for that. I bet there are stories of where twins have been mixed up for years.”
“Oh fuck yeah, we heard all kinds of horror stories while Catie was pregnant, so we were determined to find something to distinguish them when they were born.” He helps Liam sit up, and the baby plays with the teething ring he’s holding.
Then he looks at me. “Why did you ask about IVF? Are you thinking about doing it after this one’s born?”
“Maybe. I’d like to be able to give her a baby. But I went through so much with Shaz. Trying to get pregnant is a horrific process when it doesn’t work out.”
“Yeah, I see a lot of couples who are close to throwing in the towel.”
“Oh, of course, yeah, you must do.”
“It’ll be at least a year down the line, though,” he says, “so maybe you’ll feel differently by then.”
“I hope so. I thought that—” I stop as the girls come back into the room and smile. “Hey you two. Find some good books?”
“Mm.” Catie sits on the sofa, and Juliette perches next to her. They both look anxious.
I sit up. “Is everything all right?”
“Yeah,” Catie says. “We’ve just been going through Juliette’s dates.” She looks at Saxon. “Can I go through them with you?”
He obviously picks up their tenseness and frowns. “Why, what’s up?”
“Nothing bad… I just want to double check something. Can we sit up at the table?”
Leaving the twins to play with their toys, the four of us go up to the table. I sit next to Juliette and opposite Saxon, with Catie next to him. Juliette still won’t look at me. My heart rate picks up. What’s this about?
Catie is holding a printout, and she puts it on the table. “This is from the new pregnancy app I’ve been working on,” she explains to me. She turns it to show me and Saxon. The page shows the calendar months of December and January, one above the other. The days of the month are in blue, and then there’s a scattering of other highlighted days and numbers in different colors.
“Okay,” Catie says, “so we start here. This is the first day of Juliette’s last period.” She taps the fourth of December, which has a big red number one next to it. Then she follows the days forward. “An average cycle is twenty-eight days,” she says. “But Juliette’s is thirty-two. This means her next period should have been due on the fourth of January. To work out when she ovulated, we count back fourteen days from that day.” She counts back with her pen, and lands on day eighteen of the cycle, highlighted in yellow.
“And this is the fertile window,” I say, gesturing at the five days before, all highlighted in yellow. I know about this from when Shaz used to calculate ovulation.
Catie nods. “Because sperm can survive five days in the womb, right?”
“Yeah.” I glance at her, then at Juliette, who’s staring at the piece of paper. “So what’s the problem?”
Catie taps the page. “The problem is… I’m sorry to mention it, Henry, but the last day that Juliette had sex with Cam was the tenth of December.” She taps on the day. It’s day seven of her cycle.
I look at Juliette. “Your birthday.”
She nods. On the trivia night, she told me that was when they had last had sex, and they argued because he came inside her without a condom.
Catie’s waiting for the penny to drop. She looks at me, then at Saxon. “She slept with Henry here,” she says, and taps the twenty-first of December. Day eighteen of Juliette’s cycle. The day she would have ovulated.
Saxon stares at the calendar, then leans back.
I frown at him. “I don’t get it.”
“The chance of getting pregnant if you have sex six or more days before you ovulate is virtually zero,” he says softly.
I look at Juliette. “I didn’t realize,” she says. She looks bemused. “I assumed a woman ovulated fourteen days after her period, not fourteen days before her next one. I didn’t know my longer cycle would screw up the dates.”
I look back at Saxon. “So what’s the problem?”
“They had sex three days before her fertile window started,” he says.
“So?”
He just looks at me.
“Saxon,” I say carefully, “I can’t be the father. I’m infertile.”
He tips his head to the side. “I don’t like the word infertile. Men with low sperm counts can still father children. What was your sperm count?”
I stare at him. “Uh… fifteen million per milliliter, I think.”
“Okay, twenty to forty million is average, so that’s below, but not severe.”
“No,” I say, “I tried for two years to get pregnant with Shaz. It didn’t happen, not even once.”
He doesn’t reply, but he continues to study me thoughtfully.
“Henry’s right,” Juliette says. “It’s a lovely thought, but it can’t be the case. We used a condom.”
“Well, I know from personal experience that doesn’t matter,” Catie says sarcastically, and Saxon gives her an ‘eek’ look.
“Condoms are only eighty-seven percent effective,” he says.
“Ah…” My brain feels as if it’s working slower than usual. “We didn’t use a condom.”
Juliette stares at me. “Yes, we did. I remember.”
“We did in the morning. But we didn’t the first time, after the trivia quiz.”
She stares at me.
“We got carried away,” I say lamely.
Her jaw drops, and I can see her trying to think back. “But…” She trails off. “Oh…”
“But it doesn’t matter,” I say. For some reason I’m getting angry, and I stand up. “I’m not the father.”
“All I can say is that it’s very unlikely that Cam is the father if those dates are right,” Saxon says.
“But not impossible.”
He tips his head from side to side.
“Come on,” I say, “we’re told at school that you can get pregnant at any time of the month, even when a woman’s on her period.”
“That can happen if the girl has a very short cycle,” Saxon says. “In that case, she would ovulate much earlier, so if she ovulated on day ten, and she had sex toward the end of her period, the sperm could survive long enough for her to conceive. But Juliette’s cycle is longer than average, not shorter.”
“Okay, but surely it makes more sense that her having unprotected sex with Cam on the tenth resulted in pregnancy than if she had sex with me, with my sperm count?”
“On the day she would have ovulated? You want my professional opinion?”
“No,” I snap. “It doesn’t make sense.”
He holds up a hand and looks at Juliette. “I’m guessing you haven’t had a paternity test done?”
She shakes her head. “I didn’t think I needed one,” she whispers.
“Okay. Well then, let’s go and sort this out now.” He gets to his feet.
“Wait,” I say, “is it dangerous?”
“Nope. A blood test for Juliette. A cheek swab from you. And it can be done from the seventh week of pregnancy.”
“How long does it take to get the results?” Juliette asks faintly.
“Usually a few weeks,” he says, “but luckily you know someone in the business.” He smiles. “I’ll pull some strings, and we should hear today.”
I look at Juliette, whose eyes have lit up. “Don’t get your hopes up,” I say sharply. “It’s not going to turn out to be mine.”
Her smile fades a little, and she nods. Saxon looks at us, but doesn’t say anything. “Come on,” he says, “I’ll drive us to the hospital.”
Catie gives Juliette a hug, then stays behind with the boys, and Saxon drives us there. Sure enough, he takes us straight through to have her blood sample taken, and the nurse also takes a cheek swab from me. He gets on the phone to the lab and talks to someone there and tells us we should hear in a few hours.
“Let’s go home,” he says. “Jack will call me when he gets the results. I’ll make us some lunch.”
On the way back, Saxon chats to Juliette about pregnancy stuff, but I look out of the window, not speaking. I feel stiff with resentment, angry that he’s dangling the idea of this like a carrot under Juliette’s nose. She’s going to be gutted when she finds out I was right, and somehow the baby is still Cam’s. I can’t have gone through two years of trying with Shaz—who had her fertility checked, and she was fine—only to knock Juliette up literally the first time I slept with her. I’m not that lucky. I got the girl, and that was my luck used up for the next twenty years.
When we get back to Island Bay, Saxon talks to Catie in a low voice, presumably telling her what’s going on, and she gives us a bright smile and says we’ll have some lunch, then go for a walk. Saxon cooks us all a steak sandwich, which we eat sitting out on the deck, and then afterward she piles the boys into a dual stroller, and we walk slowly along the beach, looking out at Taputeranga Island in the distance, surrounded by choppy blue waves.
Juliette holds my hand, and when Saxon and Catie draw ahead a little, she murmurs, “Are you okay?”
I nod stiffly. “I just don’t want to see you disappointed, that’s all.”
“I know,” she says. “We’ve got nothing to lose, right? We both know it’s likely to be Cam’s. At least this way we can put our minds at rest.”
I nod, then put my arm around her and pull her toward me. “It was supposed to be a relaxing weekend,” I tell her, kissing her temple. “I didn’t want you stressed out.”
“I’m okay, honey, really. I’m not getting my hopes up.”
But they’re just words, and she wouldn’t be human if she didn’t harbor a small amount of hope.
I do my best to fight it, though. I’m not going to give myself a second of hope that the baby could be mine. Even one second will mean feeling devastated when I find out it’s not, because I’d like so much for it to be the case.
It’s not, it’s not, it’s not, I tell myself like a mantra, all the way along the beach, and then all the way back. It’s not, it’s not, it’s not…
We’ve just settled down with a cup of tea in the living room when Saxon’s phone finally rings.
We all exchange a glance, and then he gets up and answers the phone as walks over to the window. “Hello?” he says. He listens for a bit. His back is to us, so I can’t see his face. “Yeah,” he says. “Right. Yep. Okay, thanks, see you Monday.” He hangs up. He waits a few seconds, then he turns to face us.
His expression is sad. “That was Jack,” he says softly. “Look, I have to point out that there is a very, very slim, 0.01 chance that it might be wrong…”
“Saxon,” I say gently, “it’s okay. I knew what the result was going to be.”
“…but there’s a 99.99 percent probability that you’re the father.” His eyes gleam. Then he gives me a mischievous smile.
“Saxon,” Catie scolds, and he grins.
Silence falls. I stare at him. Then I look at Catie. She gives me a happy smile.
Finally, I look at Juliette. She stares back at me, her eyes filling with tears.
I get to my feet. “No,” I say. “Nope. No. You’ve got it wrong.”
Saxon shakes his head. “It’s right, man. You’re going to be a daddy.”
“No.” Anger sweeps over me, hot and fierce. How dare he give me hope like this! “I tried for two years, and it never happened, not once!”
He shrugs. “I guess you were waiting for Juliette.”
“Don’t fucking make fun of me.”
Juliette stands and reaches out for my arm, but I rip it away from her.
“I’m not,” Saxon says, unperturbed. “I was serious. There’s more to conception than science, Henry. That’s definitely something I’ve learned from all this time working on IVF. I’ve seen couples who’ve given up get pregnant a month or two later. It happens more than you’d think. Stress is a huge factor in fertility. You weren’t trying to conceive with Juliette. You’ve loved her for a long time. And when you slept together, subconsciously you knew you were with the woman you’ve always wanted. And it just happened.”
I’m trembling now. “That’s all just New Age bullshit, and I don’t appreciate being patronized.”
He walks toward me and fixes me with a firm glare. “And I’d appreciate it if you didn’t talk to me as if I’m the fucking post boy. I happen to be a fertility expert. You’re not.” He claps me on the shoulder. “Come and have a whisky. You look like you need it.”
But I can’t stay there and look at him and Catie and Juliette all smiling as if this is some kind of miracle, as if Jack whatever-his-name-is isn’t going to call in five minutes and say he looked at the wrong results, or that he got his test tubes mixed up.
I turn and walk through the sliding doors, then stride away, across the road and down toward the beach. It’s not mine, I tell myself fiercely, my eyes burning. The tiny embryo growing inside her, the baby, it’s not mine. It’s not, it’s not, it’s not…
I stop on the edge of the sand. I can’t breathe. My eyes have blurred. Ah jeez… I sit down heavily and put my face in my hands.
It’s not mine… it can’t be…
I sob, years and years of pain and heartache finally pouring out of me. All those months of disappointment, of feeling like a failure, of feeling less than a man.
You’re going to be a daddy… Ahhh… it can’t be true…
Behind me, I feel a hand on my shoulder, and then Juliette falls to her knees behind me and loops her arms around my neck.
“E ipo,” she says, which means ‘darling,’ “ngakau reka,” ‘sweetheart,’ “it’s okay.”
“I’m sorry,” I say while I bawl my eyes out. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s all right.” She kisses my neck and hugs me tightly. “It’s a huge shock.”
“It’s not that I don’t want it…”
“I know!”
“I just can’t believe it.”
“I know, me either. When Catie first pointed it out, I was adamant she was wrong. I didn’t want to hope. But it’s nearly a hundred percent accurate.” She moves to my side, pulls my hands away from my face, then holds my chin to force me to look at her. “We’re having a baby,” she says, smiling, as she looks into my eyes.
I continue to cry, unable to hold back the tears.
She moves to sit on my lap and puts her arms around me. “Hey, come on, why are you so upset?”
I brush my hand over my face. “I was thinking about Shaz.”
“Ahhh…”
“I was unfair to her.”
“Why, sweetheart?”
“Because I lied to her. I said I didn’t have feelings for you, but I did. Right from the start.”
She rests her head against mine.
“Do you think Saxon was right?” I ask. “That there’s more to it than science? I wonder if a part of me didn’t want children with Shaz, and so my body refused to comply. I let her down, because it wasn’t her fault, and forced her to endure all those months of unhappiness when she discovered it hadn’t worked.”
“Aw, Henry. Come on, you didn’t do it on purpose.”
“No, but I think maybe I did it subconsciously.”
“Love, I think you have great discipline, but I don’t think even you could convince your own sperm not to swim upstream.”
That makes me laugh, and she grins.
“It’s really true?” I ask.
“It seems so! We made a baby. Oh my God, I don’t believe it.” She kisses my cheeks, brushing away the tears. “You clever, clever man.”
I give a short laugh and wipe my face. “I worked really hard at it.”
She giggles and throws her arms around me, and we have a big hug.
“You know what this means,” she whispers. “I can say goodbye to Cam properly.”
I bury my face in her neck, thinking of her ex, and feeling some pity for him. “Do you think he’ll be upset?”
“Honestly? Maybe a little. And maybe not. I think he’ll probably feel relieved once the shock wears off. It would have meant a whole lot of hassle for him and not much fun. He needs to meet someone else more suitable for him. He understands his issues more now, and he can look for a partner who’ll be able to help him.”
She moves back and kisses me. “And we can start together properly. With our baby.”
The warm summer breeze whips at our hair and blows sand across us, but we don’t care. I kiss her, and then we just hold each other, letting the realization sink in that, corny as it is, this is the first day of the rest of our lives.
*
When we get back to Saxon and Catie’s house, Saxon says, “I think you should stay the night and we should get drunk,” and I laugh and agree. So he pours us both a big whisky, and while the girls sip their lemonade and talk about babies, the two of us discuss being a dad, and our hopes and dreams for fatherhood.
Juliette and I sleep in their spare room, and then next morning we say goodbye with big hugs and promises to see more of them, and head up the coast to the lighthouse where we’ve booked to stay that night.
Later that day finds us sitting together on the sofa in the viewing room, watching the setting sun flood the sky and the ocean with blues and purples and oranges.
I’d already talked to the baby in Juliette’s tummy before we found out it was mine. I’d been determined to love it and treat it as my own. But knowing it’s mine makes it extra special.
I sit in the corner of the sofa, and she sits with her back to me, and I rest my hands on her belly as I kiss her.
“I can’t wait until you have a bump,” I murmur.
“And stretch marks,” she says. “Yeah, terrific.”
“I’ll kiss every one.”
She rolls her eyes. “You’re full of shit.”
“I mean it!” I brush up to her breasts. “And I look forward to seeing what happens to these, too.”
“Yeah, Catie gave me a few warnings about that.” She laughs.
I chuckle and kiss her cheek. “I’m glad we’ve got them to call on.”
“Yeah, me too. For the first time, I don’t feel scared about it. I mean, I know you would have been supportive and everything, even if it wasn’t yours, but I did feel kind of alone. Now, I don’t. I feel as if we’re in it together.”
“Definitely.” I slide a hand beneath her chin and lift it so I can kiss her lips. “Ka nui taku aroha ki a koe.”
“I love you too.” And she kisses me back, while the sun bathes us both in its caramel-colored light.