Page 88 of Grown-Up Second Chance

The waitress came by, and we ordered another round.

The interruption, as well as the laughter, lightened my mood. Life with Larry had been miserable, but it was over, and by some miracle I was sitting here with my high school best friend.

“What went wrong?” Joe asked.

“He was all glitter and no substance. I’d thought he was going places, but he’d already reached his limit. In fact, toward the end of our marriage, they were easing him out of the company. I couldn’t do anything right, but his expectations of what I earned and how I kept house became more demanding.”

Joe nodded, but remained quiet.

Did I dare tell him the truth about children?

The waitress brought our beer.

“We tried for kids. I got tested. He got tested. We were both told we were fine, that it should be no problem having kids. At least that’s what I thought. That’s what Larry told me.”

Joe cocked his head.

“We kept trying, but it killed our sex life. Fights escalated. Finally, he demanded we stop trying so hard. I was worn out, so I agreed.” The wave of never having children of my own rolled over me again.

“I hate Mother’s Day,” I said.

“Sounds reasonable.”

I gave him a weak smile. My hands steepled, and I looked around the tavern to settle my emotions. It was typical for Montana: lots of beer signs and kitsch, including the famous Clydesdales, a few deer heads and one good-sized elk, and a tanned mountain lion skin. A small stage at one end would give a spot for a band on the weekends. Chalkboards announced daily specials and upcoming events.

“I was going through some papers,” I began, laying my hands back down on the table. “About ten years after we stopped trying. We were moving to a smaller house, closer to my business office. I was trying to go through things … downsize … you know …”

He nodded, then put his hand over mine.

I stared at it for a moment, but let it be.

After chewing on my lower lip for a few moments, I continued. “I came across an envelope with our names on it. I didn’t remember seeing it before, so I opened it.”

The stark white envelope hadn’t been sealed. Even as I’d held it in my hand, I’d known it was bad news. My finger had easily flipped the flap up, and the paper slid out. I unfolded it and read it, but the words and numbers didn’t make sense. It had taken several minutes before the meaning became clear.

“It was a report from the doctor. One Larry had hid from me. It had a bunch of scientific jargon, but the end result was Larry’s sperm count was so low that it would be nearly impossible for us to conceive in a natural way.”

I fought for breath as the pain squeezed my lungs.

“I’m so sorry, Di.”

“It was cruel.”

“It was.”

The warmth of Joe’s hand was a comfort. I concentrated on that.

My breathing slowly regulated. I looked up into Joe’s concerned face and kind eyes. He’d been my rock in high school. Even with a good group of kids, high school is emotionally fraught. Feelings get hurt, allegiances change, and no one is quite sure who they are from one day to the next. Back in the seventies, when we were in high school, there had been whispers of girls who liked girls, or the shy boy who never asked anyone out, but discussion of anything other than normal sexuality didn’t happen. Nerds were picked on by jocks, and fights erupted because someone looked at someone else’s “girl.”

And the word “dis” hadn’t even been invented.

The Vietnam War had ended, but we’d exited the conflict in shame. Soldiers came home to a country that didn’t know what to do with them. Carter was a president who couldn’t pull off homey sweaters and fireside chats the way that Mr. Rogers or Franklin Roosevelt had done.

But no matter what the country was doing, or how cliques changed, Joe had been there, steady and friendly. He’d been as truthful as a teenager was capable of being.

He’d always been my friend.

“I wasn’t sure what to do,” I continued, looking down at the table. “Did I even want a child with this man anymore, assuming I wasn’t too old to have that miracle occur? What was the use of confronting him? He’d have some excuse, or make it my fault, like he’d been doing for years.”

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