Page 8 of Forever Christmas
I want a baby.
After our desert rock moment, Gavin and I agreed that we wouldn’t buy condoms after all, and I wouldn’t get on the pill. If there wasn’t enough sperm, there wasn’t enough. If something happened, it was meant to be.
But, here was this position.
If I got pregnant, the whole plan would collapse.
“Corabelle?”
I snap back to Professor White.
“What is your concentration?” he asks.
“North American Lit,” I say quickly.
“Good, good,” he says. “I’ll get that scholarship application to you.” He stands up. “I’ve never had more pleasure in firing someone.”
I pick up my backpack. “I’ve never been so happy to get fired. Thank you. I can’t wait.” I’m gushing, but my mind is elsewhere. I have to tell GavinI’ve changed my mind.
“You okay, Corabelle?” Professor White asks.
“Sure, yes, of course,” I say. I need to get out of here before I blow this. “Thank you!”
I hurry out, walking quickly down the hall and out of the building. My breathing is labored, and I suck in air. Did I just give up on having a baby? What did that mean?
The quad is quiet. I find a bench and sit down. I miss Jenny beinghere on campus with me, but she graduated a year ago. I haven’t made a friend like her on campus since I started my graduate coursework. It’s different. Everyone is focused and often juggling work and school, sometimes family too.
Family. What I don’t have. Won’t have.
Might never have.
My mind whirs. I can’t quite assimilate this new version of my future against what we had just decided. Iwant to rationalize why I don’t want a baby right now after all. Convince myself I’m making the right choice.
Would a baby even happen if I gave up this opportunity?
Gavin’s sperm count is low. And even if it wasn’t, I don’t know how likely it would be that another baby would have a heart defect.
Mom had four miscarriages. Why? Did those babies have bad hearts? Finn’s condition could be genetic.Or it could be environmental. Or just bad luck.
I hadn’t had a reason to think on pregnancy for a long time. It only just now became possible again.
A little bit possible. Or, at least, notimpossible.
I’mpossible.
I breathe deeply, trying to relax. I’m spiraling back into my old thinking, my old worries. I have a real thing going here. A real chance.
The job I’ve always wanted. The opportunityI’ve waited for.
A chance to move on.
It isn’t time for babies.
When I get to my car, instead of heading for home, I stop by a pharmacy and pick up a big box of condoms. Sixty count. Gavin will think it’s great.
At home, I head into the bathroom and move aside my boxes of tampons to unbury the ovulation kit I bought a few weeks ago, when I learned Tina was coming home to marry Darion and havetheir baby.
The machine is heavy in my hand. So recently I had held that hope close to my heart. It was a wonderful hope — the idea that I would have my baby too, and we three friends would raise our children together.
