“So, how did they take it?” asks Hannah.
I look over at Carly. She’s the only one who knows about what happened on Valentine’s Day. So, I take a minute to describe what happened with Ian on our weekend away and then what happened in his office on Monday.
“I knew he’d turn out to be a dick,” Brook says.
Hannah frowns at her. “Well I didn’t. I had high hopes for him. I like his books. I read them all.”
Yeah, no matter how I feel about Ian as a person, his message of positivity is really good.
I shrug. “I guess it’s easy to think you know someone when you really don’t.” Then I frown, because that’s similar to something Josh said to me. That I didn’t really know him.
“How’s the FF?” asks Brook.
“Not the FF.” I scowl at her.
She grins at me while chewing on her straw. “That’s the man you need to be with. When you walked away from us at Carly’s party he watched you like he couldn’t wait to get you all alone, strip you down and donate some more sperm to the cause.”
Carly snorts indelicately.
I flush. That’s not the way Josh looks at me.
“That’s not how he looks at me,” I say.
Hannah shakes her head. “Sorry Gemma, but he did. He really did.”
I stare at them, then down at my hands. “It doesn’t matter. We have a contract. We’re not in a relationship and we’re not going to be. That would complicate everything. Can you imagine if we started dating and then realized we hated each other? Or if we got engaged and then he cheated? Besides he’s not really a dating and marriage kind of guy.” My chest squeezes painfully. “My relationship with Josh is best staying contractual and business-like.”
They all stare at me like I’ve sprouted two heads, and I realize that I just let out three days’ worth of pent-up frustration and justification in a thirty-second monologue.
Carly is the first to speak. “So your relationship with him is a transaction?”
“Exactly,” I say.
Then Carly looks at me with something like pity and shakes her head.
I stare back at her and realize what she must think. “No. It’s not the same. I’m not stupid enough to enter a relationship with him.”
Unlike you remains unsaid.
Hannah gasps and Carly looks up at the ceiling and blinks rapidly.
A flash of guilt rushes through me. I’ve made her cry. “I only meant you married your husband and you shouldn’t have, not if you’re too scared to tell him you love him. And you keep trying to have a baby with him. Why would you do that? A baby isn’t going to fix your relationship. It’s stupid. Like Ian says, you can’t get the right results from the wrong actions.”
Carly sniffs and I think my explanation just made things worse.
She wipes at her eyes. “You know, I don’t remember telling you my reasons for wanting a baby. I don’t think you have them quite figured out.”
Hannah sends me a reproachful look. “You shouldn’t have said that. My energy worker says any negativity blocks your fertility channel. You should apologize.”
I stare at Hannah and then at Carly discreetly wiping her eyes.
The thing is, what I said hurt, but it was the truth.
“I told the truth. I’m not going to apologize for telling the truth. For instance, somebody should’ve told you months ago, all of your crystals, and herbs, and woo-woo stuff, none of it is going to work. None of it.”
Hannah gasps.
“Wow,” Brook says. “I think you’re more like Ian than we realized.”
“What?”
Brook holds out her hands and shrugs. “He pretends to be a guru but he’s really a lying prick. You spout positivity quotes and pretend you’re courageous, but really you’re a judgmental coward. I’ve seen enough of human nature to know a dickish judgmental coward when I see one.”
When Brook stops speaking the room goes silent.
I look over at Carly, but she’s still staring at the ceiling, refusing to look at me.
Hannah looks down at her purse.
Brook crosses her arms over her chest.
There’s something inside me that’s whispering, she’s right, she’s right.
I shake my head no.
“You’re the judgmental one. You always blame your husband for being infertile. Well, how about you stop smoking? Don’t you think that has something to do with your egg quality? Maybe it’s more your fault than you care to admit?”
Brook abruptly stands up. The bag of beignets falls to the ground. “I think the meeting’s done.”
I stand too. “Fine. This is my last one anyway.”
No one says anything.
So I grab my purse and walk out of the pink room, down the long dark dirty hallway up the stairs to the darkness of the city.
I don’t need friends. I don’t need Josh. I don’t need Ian. I don’t need them.
I’ve got myself, I’ve got my baby, I’ve got my family.
That’s all I need.
It’s Monday.
I skipped babysitting on Friday and the post-Valentine’s Day pot roast on Sunday. I couldn’t face my family or the possibility that Josh would be at the meal. I couldn’t face it. I feel scraped raw. Plus, I’m exhausted and have constant stabbing cramps that make it feel like my period is on the way.
I looked up cramping in the fertility and pregnancy online forums and almost everyone agreed—cramps are a sign of early pregnancy.
The Live Your Best Life Virtual Conference begins in a few minutes.
We’re all set up with a large poster backdrop, lighting, cameras, microphones, the works. Ian is in a tall chair in the corner getting his makeup and hair done. The sound technicians have already done their checks and the cameras are waiting to feed to the live stream.