“Lainey, are you happy?”
“Sure, Mike. Why?” Her response came quickly.
“I don’t want to take anything for granted, that’s all.” He felt her arm stiffen.
“We’re building a life, Mike. Good jobs, nice house…”
“Yeah, but sometimes I worry about your treatments. Are they hard on you?” Mike watched her eyes dance. Again, he couldn’t quite place the emotion he saw there. “If they’re bothering you, please tell me.”
Finally, his wife pulled her arm away, placing it in her lap, fully out of his reach. “I was going to talk to you about that.” Her gaze was focused on the half-eaten dinner on her plate. “I want to stop them.”
Mike struggled to not react to the mental sucker punch he’d just been given. For years they had talked about having children. For years he’d held his breath each month, hoping that she’d come to him with a smile and a box of cigars to hand out. “I-I don’t understand.”
“They make me feel lousy. I’m always bloated and crampy.” She still wasn’t making eye contact with him.
“Well, talk to your doctor about taking a break from them. Maybe if you go off it for a while your chances of getting pregnant will improve when you go back on.”
“Yeah, maybe so.” Finally, she looked Mike in the eye. The slight shimmer of tears he saw was yet another stab to his heart. “I’ll talk to the doctor about it.” Lainey stood up and collected her dishes, effectively ending dinner, and their conversation.
Part of him wanted to wrap her in his arms, to promise her that they’d get through this together. But the rest of him was glued to his seat, mentally frozen by what she’d said. Deep in his soul he knew there was something more to this, but he had too much on his mind to challenge Lainey to divulge the truth.
When he heard her feet scuff out of the kitchen and into the living room, Michael finished clearing the table. He stowed the leftovers in tidy containers, stacking them in the refrigerator. After rinsing the plates and serving bowls, he opened the stainless-steel dishwasher to load everything.
When all remnants of dinner were taken care of, he grabbed a beer and retired to the den—his version of a man cave. He gently closed the door before sinking into the soft leather seat of his Morris chair. His right hand held the beer; his left palmed a remote control. As he surfed from channel to channel, his mind flicked through his day.
Nothing he saw on the television could blot out the discussion with his parents until a commercial about dog food caught his eye. He watched the characters on the screen morph from young boys into men, always accompanied by a large dog. Mike got thinking about the dogs he’d had growing up. His father always referred to them as “sooners.” The one time he had asked his dad about it, the answer was simple. “They’d sooner eat than do anything else.”
Unknowingly, he gave up dog ownership the day he married Lainey. A week after their honeymoon he’d mentioned getting a puppy. Her reaction was explosive: “I will not live with some drooling, shedding, floor-pissing ox that needs to be walked every day.”
With his feet propped on the matching leather cushioned ottoman, Mike shot-gunned what was left of his beverage. He carefully placed the bottle on the side table, next to the base of the lamp sitting there. One hand pulled the woolen throw off the back of his chair while the other shut off the light. He knew then he wouldn’t tell her about his parents’ plan for the business. And he also knew he had no desire to sleep in his bed tonight.
“Sure, Mike. Why?” Her response came quickly.
“I don’t want to take anything for granted, that’s all.” He felt her arm stiffen.
“We’re building a life, Mike. Good jobs, nice house…”
“Yeah, but sometimes I worry about your treatments. Are they hard on you?” Mike watched her eyes dance. Again, he couldn’t quite place the emotion he saw there. “If they’re bothering you, please tell me.”
Finally, his wife pulled her arm away, placing it in her lap, fully out of his reach. “I was going to talk to you about that.” Her gaze was focused on the half-eaten dinner on her plate. “I want to stop them.”
Mike struggled to not react to the mental sucker punch he’d just been given. For years they had talked about having children. For years he’d held his breath each month, hoping that she’d come to him with a smile and a box of cigars to hand out. “I-I don’t understand.”
“They make me feel lousy. I’m always bloated and crampy.” She still wasn’t making eye contact with him.
“Well, talk to your doctor about taking a break from them. Maybe if you go off it for a while your chances of getting pregnant will improve when you go back on.”
“Yeah, maybe so.” Finally, she looked Mike in the eye. The slight shimmer of tears he saw was yet another stab to his heart. “I’ll talk to the doctor about it.” Lainey stood up and collected her dishes, effectively ending dinner, and their conversation.
Part of him wanted to wrap her in his arms, to promise her that they’d get through this together. But the rest of him was glued to his seat, mentally frozen by what she’d said. Deep in his soul he knew there was something more to this, but he had too much on his mind to challenge Lainey to divulge the truth.
When he heard her feet scuff out of the kitchen and into the living room, Michael finished clearing the table. He stowed the leftovers in tidy containers, stacking them in the refrigerator. After rinsing the plates and serving bowls, he opened the stainless-steel dishwasher to load everything.
When all remnants of dinner were taken care of, he grabbed a beer and retired to the den—his version of a man cave. He gently closed the door before sinking into the soft leather seat of his Morris chair. His right hand held the beer; his left palmed a remote control. As he surfed from channel to channel, his mind flicked through his day.
Nothing he saw on the television could blot out the discussion with his parents until a commercial about dog food caught his eye. He watched the characters on the screen morph from young boys into men, always accompanied by a large dog. Mike got thinking about the dogs he’d had growing up. His father always referred to them as “sooners.” The one time he had asked his dad about it, the answer was simple. “They’d sooner eat than do anything else.”
Unknowingly, he gave up dog ownership the day he married Lainey. A week after their honeymoon he’d mentioned getting a puppy. Her reaction was explosive: “I will not live with some drooling, shedding, floor-pissing ox that needs to be walked every day.”
With his feet propped on the matching leather cushioned ottoman, Mike shot-gunned what was left of his beverage. He carefully placed the bottle on the side table, next to the base of the lamp sitting there. One hand pulled the woolen throw off the back of his chair while the other shut off the light. He knew then he wouldn’t tell her about his parents’ plan for the business. And he also knew he had no desire to sleep in his bed tonight.