Carly looks down at her sparkly, diamond-covered princess gown. “What does all the beauty and money in the world matter, if I can’t get the one thing I want most?”
I don’t know whether she means a child or her husband’s love. She turns to me and smiles and I imagine she knows what I’m thinking.
“No. I don’t think I will. It’s time I gave up. On a baby and on my marriage.” She crumples the dress in her hands. “Ever since you first came to our meetings, I’ve known I need to change. If you can face the world on your own, find your own way, so can I.” She tilts her chin up. “So can I. No matter if it hurts.”
I rest my hand on her arm. I don’t have any Ian quotes to give her about plucky futures and gold pots at the end of rainbows. Her IVF cycle has failed and she’s decided to leave her husband. What sort of thing do you say to that?
Except. “Have you tried telling him you love him? Maybe you should before you leave?”
She gives me another photo-shoot worthy smile. “That, my darling, would take more guts than I have. I told you I was a masochist, trying so many cycles and failing, but even I have my limits.”
I sigh and look at the shattered pottery strewn over the tile floor. “Should we clean up before we go back out?”
Carly nods. “Thank you. I’d rather no one know that I rage-threw the privy flowers.”
It doesn’t take long to scrape the large chunks of pottery and the flowers into the trash. I sop up the water as best I can.
Before we exit the bathroom, Carly gives me a swift hug. “Thank you. And good luck Saturday.”
I wrinkle my brow, and then I remember, Saturday is my transfer. The big day.
It’s only been twenty minutes when I make it back to Josh, Brook and Hannah. They’re still talking about Grim and Jewel. It’s as if the world outside stood still while the world for Carly fell apart.
I look back at her. She’s on the platform again, standing next to her husband. Except this time I look more closely. And I see it. She watches him when he isn’t looking. She leans closer when he speaks. She loves him, and he has no idea.
Hannah and Brook have stopped asking Josh questions. He takes the opportunity to lean closer to me.
“How you doing?” he asks.
I lean into him. The music is getting louder as the night goes on. “I’m alright.”
“You were gone a while.” He looks down at me and his eyes grow cloudy, “I was about to come looking for you.”
“I guess I’m just getting worried about Saturday.”
He studies my face and his brow wrinkles. “Do you want to go?”
I look over at Hannah and Brook, they’re busy arguing about some new supplement. They’ve completely turned away from Josh and me. That’s good.
“Maybe we could get some pizza?” I ask.
A slow smile spreads over his face. “And dessert?”
I give him an answering smile. A funny little feeling grows my chest. “Do you realize we have expensive foods and desserts right here, but we’d rather have street food?”
“And….?”
“I’m just saying, I’m glad you know what makes you happy.”
“That I do,” he says. Then he grabs my arm and steers me out of the “underworld,” back up the stairs, through the glass and marble lobby. We grab our coats from the security guard and walk into the night streets of Tribeca.
“Which direction? I’ll go where you go,” Josh says.
I give him a funny look. Because the way he said it reminded me of Carly. She loves her husband, but won’t tell him, because she’s not that brave or that masochistic. I study Josh’s expression. Does he…?
He lifts his eyebrows. “Well? Where to?”
No, I decide. He doesn’t.
There’s no way Josh Lewenthal’s been carrying a torch for me all these years.
I point in a random direction down a likely street, and we walk into the night.
“We’re friends, right?” I ask, just to make sure.
He looks down at me and scoffs, “What do you call this? Jeez Gemma. Sometimes I wonder about you.”
I shove at him playfully and he laughs. Then, we keep walking down the icy cold streets of the city. As friends.
In two days, I’m having my transfer, and maybe, maybe, if I’m lucky, I’ll get pregnant. But right now, all I need to worry about is finding a slice of pizza, and ice cream for dessert.
21
The scene at the doctor’s office is almost déjà vu. Once again the nurse called to remind me to have a very full bladder. So, on the way I chugged a bottle of water and a decaf latte. Now, once again I’m crossing my legs, feeling like if I don’t pee soon I’m going to explode.
So, all that’s the same.
But there’s one huge, massive difference.
I look at the seat next to mine.
Josh is here.
Before, I was alone. This time, Josh is here.
He’s drumming his fingers on his leg, but when he senses me looking at him he turns to me and gives me a weak smile.
“How you doing?”
“Good,” I say. I cross my legs the other way and shift in my chair. Unfortunately, I’ve been giving myself progesterone shots in the butt for the past five days and my cheeks are welt-ridden and bruised and sitting is majorly uncomfortable.
“Nervous?” Josh asks.
I shake my head. “No.” I squirm a little more.
He swallows and nods. “Me neither.”
“Uh huh.”
He goes back to drumming his fingers on his leg.
Jeez. This moment feels as awkward as Dr. Ingraham’s fictional high school dance.
It’s Saturday morning and we’re in the waiting room, about to be called back for my transfer. You know, that moment when Josh’s sperm and my egg, the day five embryo, gets placed inside my uterus.
It feels like we’re about to have sex for the first time (again), except…not.
I take another quick look at Josh, then look back ahead at the spot on the wall where the Georgia O’Keeffe painting used to hang. He’s still drumming his fingers nervously.
I bite my bottom lip and squeeze my thighs together.
“Thanks for coming,” I say, trying to break the awkward tension that has sprouted between us ever since we walked in this morning.
“Of course.” Josh shrugs. Then he clears his throat and goes quiet.
Okay, this is ridiculous.