Chapter 12
Chapter twelve
Terry
Amy comes home from her latest competition high on life. She bursts through the front door holding the Most Improved trophy high above her head.
“I won! Kind of!” she shrieks. “Can you believe it? Open the bubbles, we’re celebrating.” Her eyes spark, and the huge smile splitting her face hits me square in the chest. Since our appointment with the consultant, she’s been down and brooding.
As I push myself off the couch, popcorn scatters over the floor. “Congratulations, honey,” I call as I head to the kitchen where late spring rain taps on the window.
My hand hesitates on the bottle neck. The 0% label mocking me, like it knows I’m about to start another fight. Amy didn’t know I bought the alternative bottle, and, hopefully, she wouldn’t notice when it’s in her glass. The clinic said limit. I heard zero. I’m doing this for both of us.
Taking two champagne flutes, I pour in the amber liquid. My wife appears behind me, wrapping her arms around my waist and dropping a kiss on my shoulder.
“That’s funny-looking champagne,” she says, scrunching her nose.
“It’s limited edition,” I mumble, keeping my eyes fixed on the glasses. Picking both up, I turn and pass her one.
“Thank you,” she says, raising the crystal to her lips.
Her face pinches. “Urgh! Terry, what is this? It tastes like sour fruit juice.” She lifts the bottle, and my heart sinks as she focuses on the label.
Not looking at me, she slams it on the counter.
Glass fractures, the neck snaps. Sticky bubbles race across the tiles, glittering with the shards.
The crack resonates in my ears like a gunshot. My fingers twitch to reach for her, but retract.
“Fuck off,” she hisses, storming from the room.
I find her sitting on our bed, head in her hands, bawling her eyes out. A pillow connects with my forehead.
“I said fuck off,” she snarls. “Just leave me alone.”
“I’m sorry. I’m trying to do the right thing,” I say, my hands up, useless.
“The right thing?” she wails. “Is you deciding what goes in my body the right thing, Terry? Do you know how much pressure I feel to give you this baby? And it’s out of my control.
” She rubs her face violently. “IVF may not work. It probably won’t.
Our odds stink. What then?” Her tear-streaked face turns to me.
Her eyes red, brimming. “What happens then?” she asks again.
I stare at the woman I love with all my heart, but come up empty. The silence is a void I can’t fill. If I can’t be a father, life seems pointless. It’s the one thing I’ve always wanted.
Even though a decade has passed since we started trying, my mind never considered that I wouldn’t have children. I assumed it would happen when the time was right. But now, it feels less likely, and the possibility of being childless becomes more realistic by the day.
“Terry,” Amy murmurs, and my attention returns to my wife. “Our cycle starts next month. I’ll do everything possible for this to work, but after this, it’s the end. I’m not doing this again.”
“You say that as if you already know it won’t work,” I grumble.
“In all likelihood, it won’t,” she whispers, and her tears fall again.
“I’ve come to terms with the fact I’ll never be a parent.
You’re going to need to figure that out for yourself.
If by some miracle I do fall pregnant with the treatment…
” Hope flickers, shame blows it out. “Perhaps all our issues will disappear.”
My heart rises and breaks simultaneously; the pressure in my chest having nowhere to go.
“But right at this moment, I feel like a complete failure as a woman. Reproducing is one of the most basic processes; it’s what we are created for, and I can’t even do that.”
I move without thinking, walking to the bed and lowering my lips to hers.
She submits willingly. “Shall we celebrate your big win?” I murmur, and she smiles against my mouth.
“Lift your arms.” She does, and I pull the crop top over her head.
Her breasts spring free, beautiful and full.
Standing, I take both her hands and pull her up onto her feet, slide her tight hot pants down her legs so she’s naked in front of me, then press her back to sit.
I drop to my knees between her legs and press my face into her chest. “You’re my everything, Amz.
Even after all these years, you’re the woman in my dreams.” Taking a nipple in my mouth, I tease until it stands to attention, then switch.
My wife’s fingers tug my hair, then soothe. Heat climbs fast; I ache for her.
My tongue trails down her stomach. At her pussy, I wrap my arms around her and pull her closer. She opens, shuffling to the edge to give me more.
Her taste floods my mouth, grounding and intoxicating. She’s already wet, swollen. I nip at her flesh, and she groans. Greedy fingers push my face closer. I reply with long, slow licks.
“Terry,” she mumbles, “now, please.”
“Patience,” I say. Leaning over, I open our bedside drawer, which is filled with our toys, and take out the blue rabbit. It buzzes to life, and she whimpers, already half gone.
Sitting back on my knees, I drink her in—me fully clothed, her open and ready. “You look so fucking sexy.” I set the toy on her clit. She moans. Her legs try to snap shut. “Open,” I scold. “Take it.” With my free hand, I unzip and stroke my length; pre-cum beads.
“Lie back.” She obeys. I slide a pillow under her hips. Moving the rabbit from her clit, I line it up at her entrance and slowly ease it in. It finds her spot; she gasps and draws up her knees. “Do you want me to make you come, baby?” I whisper. “Or will I tease you some more?”
She opens her eyes, and we lock there while I work her with the toy. She lifts her legs, hugging them in. Her nipples are rock hard. I take one between my teeth, bite, and she wails, somewhere between pain and ecstasy, as I keep rhythm. “I’m going to come,” she whimpers.
“Let go,” I say, kissing her. She breaks apart, wet and shaking. I pull the toy free and drop my mouth between her legs, tasting the shiver. Once satisfied, I move over her and slide home.
We don’t talk after. We sleep. Breathing in unison, silent in comfort for the first time in months.
***
Amy dozes peacefully beside me as the summer sun cracks through the curtains. The single beam streaks across the darkness of our bedroom. Her chest rises and falls in perfect rhythm. Last night, everything clicked. Our bodies moved together, saying what our mouths wouldn’t.
Her question loops. What happens if it doesn’t work? My honest answer is, I don’t know. Though I love her completely, I’m not sure our marriage will survive not having kids.
We should’ve chased answers years ago. I told myself there was always a reason to wait. Now in my fifties, the clock ticks louder. Each tick closes the door on my dreams another inch.
If the treatment fails, what then? A life of flipping burgers while my wife lives at the gym? She has her people and her dreams. Do they include me? She said she accepted not being a mother―news to me.
I thought we’d restart trying once Bex was gone. Time passed. People change. But my hope remained.
“Morning,” Amy mumbles. Eyes closed. “What are you thinking about? I can hear the cogs from here.”
“Last night. You were amazing.”
She giggles, and my heart tightens again. Making her happy has been my job for years.
When we got together, no one was more shocked than me. I always found her attractive, with her hot body and witty personality. Never did I think she would want me. Even now, when she looks at me, I wonder if she’s considering who she could have had.
Back then, Bex was unravelling after another Ben fiasco. She’d gotten wasted, tossed from a club, then collapsed. At the hospital, they’d pumped her stomach. Amy was wrecked. I held her as she cried.
“I don’t think she’s going to survive this,” she said. “He’s ripped her heart out.”
“She’ll be all right,” I told her, kissing her nose. “It’s you I’m worried about. You’re not her keeper.” We’d both stilled, unsure what to do next. Then she kissed me, hard, pushing me back on the waiting room couch.
A throat cleared; we looked up at an unimpressed doctor. “There’s a time and a place,” he said, “this isn’t it.” He stalked off. We stared at each other, flushed, a little ashamed, a lot turned on.
“Sorry,” she whispered. “I’ve wanted to do that forever.”
I raised an eyebrow. “I don’t believe you, but do it again.” She smiled from underneath her dark lashes. “Anytime.”
That was almost twenty years ago, and we’ve been together ever since. That night, she became my lover, my partner, and my best friend. We’ve faced every issue together. I’ve never doubted she was right for me. Until now. Until this difference in opinion on how far we should go to create a family.
I can only pray that this one shot she’s given us works. I don’t have a plan for the version of us where it doesn’t.
Hope is the only plan I’ve got left.