Page 31 of Remember Me

My daughter!

CHAPTER 20

Skye

Six Years Earlier

“Mmm,” hums my husband, kissing the ticklish area just beneath my chin. This hypersensitive spot always gets to me. My head lolled back, I close my eyes and moan.

“We’re going to make a baby tonight,” he whispers in my ear.

A baby. How long have we been trying? I’ve lost track. Finally, this past month we gave up on fertility treatments. Not that I couldn’t afford them. I had enough. The days of recording my cycle; counting the days to ovulation; running home from the office to have sex; those countless shots of Clomid, something my husband had to do for me because I couldn’t bear injecting the long needle into my thigh; the clinic visits; the egg retrievals; the IVF procedures. Then, the wait. The hope. The disappointment. The tears. Not to mention the stress it’s put on our marriage.

“I’m sorry. We don’t understand why you can’t get pregnant. Your husband’s sperm are healthy, strong swimmers and your eggs are top-notch A-quality.”

The same story over and over again.

I’ve given up on having children. Convinced myself that not everyone needs to have them. That for us, it’s not meant to be. Maybe in light of my all-consuming career, it’s better this way. I don’t need the added stress of a child. It’s a sign. My defenses go only so far to mask my grief.

“Where are you on your cycle?” my husband asks.

“I-I don’t know,” I stammer. Actually, that’s the truth. Since the fertility treatments, my periods have been irregular. They come and go, and I’ve stopped counting the days in between.

“It doesn’t matter. Tonight’s the night.”

“How do you know?” I murmur, my arousal making it increasingly difficult to talk in full sentences, let alone talk at all.

“I just do. I feel it in my gut.”

For once I just want to make love with my husband and not worry about the consequences. Not feel the pressure. By the time we explode together, swimming in blissful ecstasy, I’ve shoved the word baby to the back of my mind. It’s the best, most fulfilling sex we’ve had in ages.

Recovering, Finn traces the outline of my face with his forefinger. “That was amazing,”

“Yeah,” I breathe out, running my hand through his damp hair.

“I bet we made a baby.”

No matter what, it all comes back to that. Not showing my true emotions, I humor him. “Bet what?”

“Bet your sweet ass.”

“Fine. I bet yours we didn’t.”

A wicked glint lights up his eyes. “We’re not done. And the bet is on.”

***

In the days that follow, I feel different. I can’t pinpoint exactly what’s different. For a lack of words, I’d call it an inexplicable lightness of being.

Two weeks pass. Finally, today’s the day. The test. Okay. I’m lying. I’ve been doing a pregnancy test every day since that night. So far,nada.I knew I would be right. I’ve begun to accept thefact that a baby isn’t in my cards.Our cards. And I’ve resigned myself to winning the bet I secretly want to lose.

The bathroom door is closed. I sit on the toilet, my legs pressed together, the pee-stick in my hand. It’s the last one I have, and after today, I swear I’m never going to buy another box. Good. I’ll save myself some money. I push and a hot stream of urine pours from my center. Midway, I spread my legs and put the strip part of the stick under the flow for a few seconds. God, I’ve done this so often I could do a YouTube tutorial and explain everything. Done emptying my bladder, I wipe and then flush the toilet. The roaring whoosh of the water makes me feel like I’m flushing down all hope. Standing, I pull up my leggings and then set the magic stick on the tile counter. The window side up. Anxiously, I wash my hands, lathering them more than usual with the fragrant soap. I dry them off with a soft towel, avoiding eye contact with the stick. My heart ticks like a clock. My skin prickles. Straightening the magazine rack to pass the time, I try not to think about the outcome. Then, I glance down at my watch. Exactly three minutes have transpired. I pivot toward the stick, my eyes focusing on the narrow window in the middle. A distinct blue line appears. My heart skips a beat. In disbelief, I blink my eyes several times, thinking this will make my vision clearer. No longer batting my lashes, I stare at the window again. The line is darker. Thicker. My heart rattles, my chest constricts. I carefully lift the stick between my fingers and hold it up to my eyes. The results are loud and clear. Oh my God. This can’t be. I need to do the test again. Gripping the stick, I hurry over to the wastebasket and dig out the box of pregnancy detectors. I shake it madly, hoping another stick will fall out.Nada.I toss the box onto the floor.

A loud rap sounds at the bathroom door. Along with a quizzical voice.

“Baby, what are you doing in there? We’re going to be late for your awards dinner.”

The doorknob twists, and on my next frantic heartbeat, the door swings open. Finn, dressed in one of his few suits, strides in.

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