Page 68 of Because of Her

Grabbing my menu, I notice that despite the bottle on the table, Madison doesn’t have a glass of wine.

“Are you not drinking, Madison?” I ask.

I cross my hands over my churning stomach, hugging myself. My hands link, a thumb pressing against my ring. Every movement hurts, and I can’t bring myself to spin it.

Oliver smiles, looking at his wife. She is beaming, and I sense what’s coming. I force my arm to the table to take a long sip of my water. I count my breaths, trying to swallow down the wave of panic rising in my chest.

Madison reaches out to touch my arm, and I look her in the face. And I know, instantly.

Like when she broke her arm after falling off her bike and I knew something was wrong before I even knew she had fallen. Or when I decided to move interstate and she called me asking what was happening before I’d told anyone. We’vealways shared an unexplainable bond. So somehow, right now, I just … know.

My sister is pregnant.

I’ve known for a while now they were trying to get pregnant. She told me as soon as they started, knowing a surprise pregnancy announcement would be hard for me to take. Still, the news forces a knife deep into my lungs and a hiccup catches on the rapidly growing lump in my throat.

“Congratulations.” I swat away the tears that risk spilling down my cheeks.

After Blake and I tried for a baby for over twelve months with no luck, we worked with fertility specialists to determine why it was taking so long. Months of blood tests and hormone injections and samples later, it was determined I have ‘unexplained infertility’. The title felt like a kick straight to the uterus.

Technically, everything is right with my body and my cycle. I have good egg reserves, the right hormones, and my uterine wall is ‘optimal’. But, for whatever unknown reason, I wasn’t getting pregnant.

We were told we should “keep trying” and I was given a host of vitamins and hormone supplements that were supposed to help. When I still wasn’t pregnant, they said to try artificial insemination. That didn’t work either, so we were told to try IVF. Thousands and thousands of dollars later, I was done. Physically, emotionally, and financially.

Blake wanted to keep trying, but I couldn’t handle the strain it was putting on our whole lives any longer. I failed. The joy and excitement about having a child had faded and the whole process had become such a chore.

Focusing on the ring spinning between my fingers, I wiggle my toes in my shoes, trying to force out the negative emotions. I need to be happy for my sister. She is getting everything she ever wanted. Everything I ever wanted.

She closes the gap between us, leaning away from her chair to wrap an arm around my shoulders, pulling me close.

“I don’t need you to act happy,” she says. “Take whatever time you need to feel sad and shitty and angry.”

The corners of my lips raise up as I pick up my wine glass.

“Thank you,” I say, before I down the whole drink.

“Woah,” my dad laughs. “I think it’s meant to be Oliver’s job to drink for two, not yours.”

The table erupts into cautious laughter. I stare up at my dad, who is trying not to let his humour show. When a waiter walks past, he catches their attention to ask for another bottle of wine.

Topping up the three wine glasses, he raises his own.

“To our little eggplant.” He tilts his glass in a cheers, but the rest of us lose it.

We can’t contain our laughter, erupting into fits that cause other patrons to glare at our loud display of humour. And my poor dad doesn’t understand.

“What?” he questions, eyes darting between us trying to clue in on the joke he missed.

“We are not nicknaming my child after penis, dad,” Madison wheezes out.

Dad goes bright red, scoffing because he clearly hadnoidea that an eggplant emoji is code for dick.

We eat lunch without any further mention of root vegetables or tiny humans. Despite our protests about it being his birthday, dad refuses to let us pay, and marches over to the counter to pick up the bill.

“So,” I say, turning to Madison. I glance down at her tummy unintentionally. Her flowy top hides any hint of bump that might be there.

It’s hard to believe a tiny bundle of cells is currently multiplying into a baby inside her belly. The fight I went throughfeels more unfair than it ever did, and I can feel a wetness in my eyes trying to escape.

I look up, attempting to blink away the tears but instead making it obvious they were there.

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