Chapter Seven
CHAPTER SEVEN
I watch the lust fade from his eyes and wonder if I made a mistake.
For about half a second, before I remember what we’re talking about. Making another entire human life—a person. Growing it inside my body. No, thank you. Not yet.
I pull my robe back together and tie the belt, watching my husband slump in defeat from the corner of my eye. Part of me wants to take him into my arms, tell him it’ll be okay. But after what just happened, I doubt he’d find it comforting. And I need a little space.
“Look, I just...” I’m not even sure where to start. Obviously, he’s been struggling in the week since his mom passed, which feels like both forever and no time at all. I never expected him to pull away from me, which has been upsetting considering all we’ve been through the last few months. But also not totally surprising, given the circumstances. “This doesn’t seem like a good time to make that kind of decision.”
He raises his head. “It seems like the perfect time.”
I turn up my palms. “How?”
“You’ve got Henry at the Pooches now. The new location is launched. You even said he wants to consolidate the grooming. That would make everything even easier. ”
I bristle. If that’s what he took away from what I shared, he was not listening. But even that’s beside the point.
“So, all you mentioned there was my job.”
He hesitates. “Well, it’s one of the biggest factors.”
I force myself to breathe deep, trying not to sputter. “Did you ever think of asking if I’m ready to be a mother?”
His brows draw together. “But we’ve always?—”
“We’ve talked about it. And made plans for ‘someday,’ and it has been fun to think about the possibilities. But daydreaming and doing—to my life, my body—are different things.”
I’m not even fully aware of some of the things hitting my brakes until I hear them come out of my mouth, but they’re true. My focus has been more on management than it used to be, but my work is still very physical. I am constantly lifting heavy dog food, heavy dogs , working with animals that aren’t always predictable. I don’t know how pregnancy would affect my body, but I can’t imagine it would make any of that easier.
But if I’m honest, it’s not the physical part I’m most stuck on. It isn’t hard to picture myself with a giant basketball belly. But I draw a huge blank trying to imagine what happens after that. Even after spending the evening watching my sister dote over her son, I just can’t even conceptualize myself as a mom .
To his credit, Anton thinks over my words a long time. “You’re right. I can’t do much to help with the physical part. Pregnancy happens to your body,” he says carefully. “But I would support you, take on as much as I could for those nine months. And once the baby is born, you would never be on your own. That’s the part that happens to both of us—it would be our life.”
“Who’s taking off work for maternity leave?”
“We both will,” he says confidently. “Vesper has a generous leave policy.”
“And when that runs out?”
He shrugs. “We’ll figure out a balance. There are tons of working parents.”
Everything he’s saying ought to be acceptable, but somehow still falls flat for me.
“Look, Anton, I am not suggesting it’s off the table. I just want a little more time before we jump in and start trying. We can still think about it down the?—”
“When?”
I pause. “When what?”
His eyes bore into me. “ When can we try?”
“I don’t know... soon,” I say, trying not to sound flustered. “Just not tonight .”
I am suddenly exhausted by this conversation. I turn away, moving into the bedroom, hoping we can leave it at that. But he’s right on my heels.
“I’m going to need a real answer, Lydia. This—” He pauses, his voice growing solemn. “This is important to me.”
“Of course it is.” I soften, thinking of the look on his face while he was holding my sister’s child. I don’t want to deny him that. But my own reservations aside, I am also worried about him rushing into this right after losing his mom. “Why don’t we revisit this when things have settled more. Maybe we can talk it through again in another six months-ish?”
He shakes his head. “We need to set a date.”
I snort. “You want a deadline?”
“Sure. Because if we don’t set one, we’ll never do it. We’ll just keep pushing it to the horizon... until it’s too late.”
Something twists uncomfortably inside me when he says this. I open one of my dresser drawers, staring at my favorite old, blue-striped pajamas next to a couple of lacy nightgowns. Ironically, part of me wishes I could just slip into the negligee and distract him. I may struggle with desire, but I’d be more than happy to initiate sex and chase down my arousal just to end this conversation.
Except I tried that earlier and he pulled away. He had zero interest in touching me until he decided he wanted to knock me up. What does that even mean?
I frown, grabbing the unsexy pajamas out of the drawer and turning to face him.
“I can’t just set a date. I don’t know when I’ll be ready. ”
He looks at me, at the pajamas in my hands, fists tightening at his sides. “I thought this was something we both wanted.”
I open my mouth to answer, but now I’m not even sure. Is a baby something I want? I think of my sister, who clearly loves little Gabriel, but she couldn’t do a single thing, not even eat, without working around him. And then there’s our mother. Who paradoxically loved and resented us throughout our childhoods, depending on the moment. A lot of that was probably the result of our dad leaving, but not all of it. What if, like her, I don’t find out until after I have a kid that I didn’t really want one? I couldn’t bear for my own child to grow up feeling unwanted the way I did.
“To be honest... I’m not sure,” I say in a shaking voice.
The look of utter surprise on my husband’s face tells me we’ve been going about yet another aspect of life wrong.
“You’re not sure you want a family?” His voice breaks.
I shake my head, avoiding his eyes. “And I don’t know what could ever help me decide.”
He flexes his jaw. “That might’ve been good to know before?—”
He doesn’t finish the sentence, but it still lands like a punch in the gut.
“Before what?” My voice shakes, blood rushing through my body. “Before we got married? Wasted all this time together? Were our last ten years a total sham? Maybe you wish you’d started with some hot mama willing to pump out a brood for you instead.”
“Of course not,” he snaps. “But...” His pause beats between us like a failing heartbeat. “I don’t know if I can not do kids, Lydia.”
The room goes still. Maybe I didn’t hear him right, but that sure felt like the slap of an ultimatum. And now all I can do is stare at the look on his face. The tight jaw and uncompromising gaze that tells me, no matter what I might be envisioning about the future, he’s willing to consider a version without me in it. When I finally open my mouth, my voice comes out husky and raw. “Well. I guess this gives us both something to think about.”