Page 55 of Flirty Thirty

“Why?”

Her lips press together, and she sets her clipboard on the counter behind her. She starts slowly, medical jargon getting tangled among words that I actually understand. The longer she explains, the emptier I feel—emptier than I’ve felt in my entire life. Am I understanding her correctly? My fingers twitch against the hospital gown, tickling my stomach that not three minutes ago had the possibility of carrying something in it, but now…

“You mean… I can’t have kids?”

Her eyebrows push together, her eyes swirling with concern for me, just another patient. “It’s a very low possibility.”

A dull thud rings through my chest. “How low?”

“Under one percent.”

My world fuzzes around me. This wasn’t on my list of outcomes. I don’t know what the next step is. There’s this empty pit growing inside of me that I can’t explain. There is a black cloud over my head, a heavy onslaught of hail pelting down on my shoulders. My insides crumple and shatter, screaming out in a pain they can’t feel. I don’t understand, not one bit; I never wanted kids. I was sorelievedwhen I found out I wasn’t pregnant. How can I feel such crippling grief over something I never wanted?

I can’t find the words, only an empty joke on my tongue about how God just knew that I’d mess up being a mother. The doctor’s voice muffles through my fog about making sure with more tests, but I can tell it’s just a formality.

She leaves, and I dress in a fog. My phone is buzzing against the crinkle paper, Cooper’s face on the screen. And suddenly I’m no longer numb to the pain; it’s not dull or aching, but sharp and fresh, slicing through my chest and burrowing under my skin. I clutch at my stomach, curl into myself, and sob into my palm. Oh god, Cooper… If losing the idea of children hits me like this, it would kill him.

Would he leave me then? Would he leave if he knew that it’s not just that I don’t want kids, it’s that I will never have them?

Another sharp pain shoots through my chest, and I lose it right there on the gyno floor. An image of me telling Cooper I’m pregnant a year, two, even three down the road hits me like a dream that will never come true. His face lit up and his arms around me. He’s so happy to be a father that he’s already getting the measuring tape, he’s already kissing my belly, he’s already planning on which room to paint, which sibling to name god-parent, whether or not to announce on Twitter. I never saw it before, never thought there was a good, joyful moment to be had in the midst of morning sickness, up-all-nights, and terrible twos. Now that image is darkened, and all I see is the heartbreak down the road. Cooper’s holding a baby that isn’t his. We’re babysitting or at a christening or some random family event. He’s so content with the baby, but there’s an underlining sadness in his eyes that won’t ever disappear. The sense of loss that he won’t have one of his own because he fell in love with a broken woman.

I can’t do that to him. There is a difference between being unwilling to change your view on things, and forcing him to give up his views because youcan’tchange. It’s hope that the love that you have for each other will allow for some compromise. Therewashope for a future family. He nearly had me convinced. But now, there’s a “less than one percent” chance of that happening.

My butt hits the hard floor, and I hide my face in my knees. I know what the next step is now, but I’m not sure if I have the strength to do it.

23

Goodbye Cry

Cooper’s laughter jostles my head resting on his chest, and I sneak a peek at his face in the light of my TV, his smile lines beautiful, his five o’clock shadow dark and in such contrast to his blond mess of hair on top of his head. I won’t be able to look at him when I tell him. Those blue eyes have never been able to hide how he really feels—not to mention his mouth can’t hide it that well either. One of the many reasons why I fell so hard so fast.

The room darkens as the screen goes from show to Netflix menu, and Cooper starts flicking through the choices.

“You up for another episode, or you want to watch something else?”

I lift a shoulder against the warmth of his underarm. I can’t believe that I’ll miss this. A month ago I would’ve traded any of my other suitor’s just to cuddle with my cats instead.

My eyes drift to Tom who is givingmethe evil eye for taking up lap space when he hopped up on Cooper first.

“You’re quiet tonight,” Cooper says, selecting the next episode and setting the remote down. “You okay?”

No. “I… I have to talk to you.”

His brow furrows, and he shifts enough that I get the full blast of concern swimming in his eyes. “What’d I do?”

I bite away a laugh at his joking tone, an ache pulsing in my chest at the fact that this is the last time we’ll be light and fun with each other. I want to drag it out, soak it up before I have to break his heart.

“Lots of things,” I tease, settling back down on his warm chest and staring at the TV. “But that’s not what I need to talk to you about.”

“Care to fill me in?”

“I’m working my way up to it.” I snuggle into his shirt, smile turning upside-down as I remember him using the same line on me a few weeks ago. He was so nervous to ask me to stay with him—rightly so, I might add—but I bet he had no idea how hard I’d fall, how much he’d come to mean to me in such a short time, and how we should’ve walked away before it got to this point.

I can feel his grin through the kiss he places on my head; he must remember that day, too. “I’ll prepare myself for random word vomit.”

“I’m not as good at it as you are.”

“The ol’ Cooper bait and switch.”

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