I chewed my lip. I hadn’t thought about having kids for years. I always assumed it meant something that I’d made it this far in life without an inkling of thought toward the subject. It meant I wasn’t meant to have children. I’d decided something at twenty-two, slapped a sticker on it that said DECIDED, and filed it away in the don’t-have-to-worry-about-it drawer.
I would have wanted them by now, right?
Kids made me uncomfortable. I didn’t know how to talk to them, they were weird, and they smelled funny. I hated baby talk, and I never went ass-over-apple cart when I saw a stroller go by, trying to peek inside. Isn’t that what women did when they wanted kids?
Not all women behave that way. That doesn’t mean you wouldn’t be a great mom. No one would be more entertaining.
Had I made a decision about this too long ago—not allowing myself to even consider a different life, a different path? Did I need to think about whether I wanted kids? Could I allow myself to think about it?
I was thinking about it…
Let’s timeline this. You’re thirty-three, about to turn thirty-four. If you want kids, and marriage, and that life—well, hell! Let’s pretend, just for a second, that you’re with someone other than Jack, someone who wants kids.
I flinched thinking about it not being Jack.
You’d need to get married, and that would mean dating for at least a year. Engaged at thirty-five. Then, depending on how long the engagement lasts, maybe married at thirty-six. You wouldn’t want to have kids right away—be a wife for a while. So, maybe Baby Number One at thirty-seven.
Baby Number One?
Wouldn’t you want more than one?
I flashed to a picture in my head that I didn’t even know I’d stored away. It was a family on the beach: a toddler walking in front of the parents, a little one in Daddy’s arms, Mommy smiling. A family of four.
Yes. Yes, I would. I’ll have two hypothetical children with my hypothetical husband. Mr. and Mrs. Hypothetical.
So Baby Number Two at thirty-nine, maybe even forty.
Fucking hell. Pregnant at forty…when did I get so damn old?
“I am thinking about it,” I finally responded. “Not in the sense that I want them, but in the sense that I need to consider things very carefully now. I’m not getting any younger. And neither are you, by the way,” I said slowly.
“Yes, but you look so much older than I do. It’s natural that you’d be there and not me,” she said, deadpan.
I stuck my tongue out halfheartedly, feeling the room begin to spin. “Seriously, Holly. If we want kids, we have to think about this. Maybe not now, maybe not next year. But it’s not like we have twenty years in front of us to consider this shit. We have a finite amount of time,” I said, surprising myself.
That Drawer is full of stuff you haven’t dealt with. You sure you want to shed light on all of it right now?
“Where does Michael factor in to all this?”
I smiled involuntarily, thinking of him with Abigail in his arms. Her questions and his patience. His good, good heart and his strong arms.
Holly caught the smile. “Where does Jack factor in to all this?” she asked.
My stomach clenched at the thought of him. I loved him so much. Did we want different things? Maybe. Maybe we did. Could I spend my last baby-making years with a man who was too young for babies? And didn’t want babies? Do I want babies?
“I love Jack. That’s not in question,” I stated firmly, and my body immediately betrayed me. Fresh tears rained onto my cheeks, and Holly watched in horror as I hunched over, my stomach now convulsing.
“What is in question Grace?” she asked, her voice a whisper.
“Whether or not what we have is enough,” I heard my voice say, and then my body took over. I made it to the sink just in time, my bagel and coffee rushing back up at the realization of what I’d said. My brain and my heart needed a moment to fight. Holly held my hair.
As I rinsed my mouth out, I heard the shower shut off. I could hear him moving in the bathroom, and he was singing. He was singing “People Will Say We’re In Love.” I wiped my face quickly, splashing water. Holly watched in silent resignation.
“Hey, sweet girl! Have you seen my jeans from last night?” Jack bellowed.
I looked at Holly with panic in my eyes, shaking my head furiously. I backed away and ran for the door. She walked toward the bathroom.
“You better have some clothes on, Hamilton. I’m coming in to help you find your jeans. Do you know how many women I could have here in two minutes to help you with that?” she said.
Then I heard the beginning of Jack’s protesting yell as she pushed her way into my bedroom.
I didn’t hear anything else. I was in my car and out of the driveway.
Chapter 12
When I got back to the house, Holly and Jack were holed up in what was supposed to be my home office. They’d turned it into Premiere Central. He was on the phone, she was on the phone, and they both looked up when I came in.
“Hey, love, where’d you run off to?” he asked, covering the phone and gesturing me over. I went to him, sinking into his lap as he sat at the desk. He was talking to his dad, making plans to meet at the theater tonight.
Holly was trying to get a seamstress over to the house to take up her hemline just a little bit more. The entire day was taking on the feeling of prom: heightened expectations, limo drivers, updos, and just-under-the-surface tension.
“I had to run to the drugstore, pick up a few things,” I lied smoothly. The thirty-minute drive I’d taken had put me in a strangely calm mood. I was very good at squelching things down, and after my breakdown and potentially scary realizations this morning, I was calling on all my squelch-down skills to keep things in check. Were these very skills part of the morning’s problem? Perhaps. But no time for that now. I was in meltdown-management mode.
Holly had one eye on us and one eye on her computer screen as she tried to manage every aspect of the day from this ill-equipped office. My house was not yet ready for someone to be in it on more than a temporary basis. No DSL. No wi-fi. And her air card was not working for some reason. It was driving her batty.
Finally, she’d had enough and threw her cell phone into her bag in disgust. “That’s it! I’m heading back to my house. That’s now the command center for this entire operation. Grace, you’re in charge of bringing your dress, your lunch, and your Brit to my house by noon, got it?” she yelled, getting that wild look in her eye that often appeared just before a big event.
“Yes. No problem,” I said, somewhat numbly. I was curled into Jack’s lap, his arms around me while he talked on the phone. I could barely feel him.
She rolled her eyes at me and waved at Jack. “I’ll see you at my house in a little while,” she said to him, then nodded at me. “Walk me out?”
I peeled myself off of Jack. He kissed me on the cheek as I pulled away, and I followed Holly out to the front door. Once there, she rounded on me.
“Now, look. Whatever you’re planning on doing, do not do it tonight! Not on his night. He’s nervous enough as it is. I’m not convinced of this anyway. You need to really sit down and think about all this before you say or do anything,” she added, hands firmly on my shoulders as if she were physically trying to ground me.
“I won’t. It’s fine. I’m fine,” I said.
“And, promise me you won’t talk to Michael today?” she said, slinging her bag over her shoulder.
“Not that he has anything to do with this, but whatever,” I said, rolling my eyes.
“Mmm-hmm, sure, Grace. I’ll see you at noon. Go take a shower. Remember, not tonight,” she shot back as she walked out to her car.