“We don’t have the money.” I expect that to be the end of it, but I can tell by his expression that he has another suggestion. I can also tell by the way he’s not readily suggesting whatever it is he’s thinking that it must include my mother. I immediately shake my head and grab my plate. I stand up. “We aren’t asking her. The last time I spoke to her about adoption, she told me God would give me a child when I was ready. And like I told Ava earlier, the last thing we need is for her to feel like she owns a piece of our family.” I walk the plate to the sink. Graham scoots back in his chair and stands.
“It was just an idea,” he says, following me into the kitchen. “You know, there’s a guy at my work who said his sister tried for seven years to get pregnant. She found out three months ago that she’s having a baby. Due in January.”
Yes, Graham. That’s called a miracle. And it’s called a miracle because the chances of it happening are slim to none.
I turn on the water and wash my plate. “You talk about it to people at work?”
Graham is next to me now, lowering his plate into the sink. “Sometimes,” he says quietly. “People ask why we haven’t had kids.”
I can feel the pressure building in my chest. I need to be done with the conversation. I want Graham to be done, too, but he leans against the counter and dips his head. “Hey.”
I give him a sidelong glance to let him know I’m listening, but then I move my attention back to the dishes.
“We barely talk about it anymore, Quinn. I don’t know if that’s good or bad.”
“It’s neither. I’m just tired of talking about it. It’s all our marriage has become.”
“Does that mean you’re accepting it?”
“Accepting what?” I still don’t look at him.
“That we’ll never be parents.”
The plate in my hand slips out of my grasp. It lands against the bottom of the sink with a loud clutter.
But it doesn’t break like I do.
I don’t even know why it happens. I’m gripping the sink now and my head is hanging between my shoulders and tears just start falling from my eyes. Fuck. I really can’t stand myself sometimes.
Graham waits several seconds before he moves to console me. He doesn’t put his arms around me, though. I think he can tell I don’t want to be crying right now and hugging me is something he’s learned doesn’t help in these situations. I don’t cry in front of him near as much as I cry alone, but I’ve done it enough for him to know that I’d rather do it alone. He runs his hand over my hair and kisses the back of my head. Then he just touches my arm and moves me out of the way of the sink. He picks up the plate and finishes washing the dishes. I do what I do best. I walk away until I’m strong enough to pretend the conversation never happened. And he does what he does best. He leaves me alone in my grief because I’ve made it so hard for him to console me.
We’re getting really good at playing our parts.
Chapter Nine
* * *
Then
I’m on my bed. I’m making out with Jason.
I blame Graham for this.
I would have never invited Jason back to my apartment had I not seen Graham. But for some reason, seeing him there filled me with . . . feelings. And then watching him kiss his date on the side of her head filled me with jealousy. And then watching him grab her hand across the table as we walked past them filled me with regret.
Why did I never call him?
I should have called him.
“Quinn,” Jason says. He’s been kissing my neck, but now he’s not. He’s looking down at me, his expression full of so many things I don’t want to be there right now. “Do you have a condom?”
I lie and tell him no. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t expecting to bring you back here tonight.”
“It’s fine,” he says, lowering his mouth to my neck again. “I’ll come prepared next time.”
I feel bad. I’m almost positive I’ll never have sex with Jason. I am positive he won’t be coming back to my apartment after tonight. I’m even more positive I’m about to ask him to leave. I wasn’t this positive before dinner. But after running into Graham, I realize how it should feel to be with another person. And the way I feel around Jason pales in comparison to how I feel when I’m around Graham.
Jason whispers something inaudible against my neck. His fingers have made their way up my shirt and over my bra.
Thank God the doorbell rings.