Chapter Fourteen
In a way, I blame myself for how our fight started, because I had spent the holidays planning how and when we would begin IVF treatments with Dr. Walker—without ever talking to Wes about it.
In my defense, I had wanted to give him the time and space he needed and not put any more pressure on him. For that reason, I didn’t mention my hopes, dreams and plans until after we returned to work in the New Year.
As it happened, for reasons of his own, Wes had decided not to bring up our fertility treatments during the holidays either. We simply didn’t talk about it. We just tried to have a good time and be like a normal married couple.
We went out dancing with Scott and Angie on New Year’s Eve, and drank lots of Champagne. We had a blast and I thought everything was on the upswing. I was simply biding my time until Wes and I could dive into the IVF treatments, full throttle.
I understand now that I had allowed myself to be blind—perhaps because the element of communication I had desired in our relationship was nowhere to be found. We were both maintaining a façade. We were pretending to be happy, and I didn’t realize that each of us was keeping our true, honest thoughts and feelings to ourselves. The “disconnect” between us was deeper than ever.
* * *
“I’m not going to ask my parents for money again,” Wes said as he stormed out of the kitchen and into the living room.
“But they have so much of it,” I replied, finding it ridiculous that he was resisting the idea. “Your parents want us to have children as much as we do. I’m sure they would be happy to help us out. Remember when your mom gave me your sterling silver baby cup last Christmas? I’m certain she’ll be totally on board. She’ll be thrilled that we came to her and disappointed if we don’t. Seriously, Wes, it would be pocket change to them.”
He shot me a heated look. “The fact that they have money to spare is not the point.”
“What is the point, then?” I asked. “Because I thought it was us having a child. I’m willing to do anything to make that happen. Aren’t you?”
He whirled around to face me. “The point is, Claire, that when I was young, my father pushed me to go to law school or medical school or whatever. He just wanted me to do something he could brag about—and I resisted just to spite him, and he knew it.” Wes threw up his hands. “I actually would have enjoyed law school, but I couldn’t bring myself to follow his advice or do what he told me to do. I was determined to prove that I had a mind of my own, and I wanted to disappoint him. It gave me great satisfaction.”
My head drew back in disbelief as I followed Wes from the living room to the bedroom, because I couldn’t see how his career choice and teenage conflicts with his father had anything to do with our struggles to have a child today.
“He was always controlling,” Wes continued, “and you don’t know how much pleasure he’ll take when we go to him asking for money. He’ll finally be able to say, ‘See? You should have listened to me, boy. If you had done more with your life, you’d be able to afford this on your own.’”
Wes strode to the closet and rifled through his shirts and jackets. I knew what he was looking for. Even though it was early January, he wanted to go for a late-night run over jagged ice and snow in sub-zero temperatures.
He found a running jacket and slipped it on, over his head.
“So it’s your pride that’s stopping you,” I said.
Wes glared at me for not backing off when perhaps I should have.
“Here’s the truth, Claire,” he said. “The cold hard truth, so you might want to brace yourself. None of this would be happening if you hadn’t fallen off that stupid horse when you were fourteen.” He exhaled sharply. “Fast forward almost twenty years. Now we need expensive medical treatments to fix your problem. But it’s not my problem! I’m fine. I can have a kid whenever I damn well please—for free!” He shook his head at me. “I’m not going to let you drag me into a bottomless pit of debt, and humiliate me in front of my family. I’m not going to ask my father to give me money to pay for IVF, and that’s that.”
I followed him to the front door. “Then we can just get a line of credit,” I suggested. “Or take a second mortgage on the house. He wouldn’t even have to know. We’d just show up one day and tell them that we’re pregnant. Easy as pie.”
Wes sat down on the bench by the front door to pull on his sneakers. “You would say something like that. But nothing’s easy about this. And you’re missing the point again.”
“Am I?” I felt a sudden rush of anger. “I don’t think so. And I have news for you, Wes. Life is tough, and sometimes things don’t work out exactly the way you want them to. Sometimes you get pushed down a hill, but you adapt, and you figure out a way to get what you want, even if it means making a few sacrifices.”
I paused as he stood up and dug through the front hall basket for a baseball cap.
“Honestly, I don’t care how we make it happen,” I added. “I’d be perfectly willing to adopt a child if you don’t want to pay for IVF. I just want to have a child with you and go back to being happy.”
Wes glared at me. “It would take years to adopt, Claire. And you know I’ve always wanted to have lots of kids. If we have to pay a fortune every time, we’ll be in debt up to our eyeballs. Besides, I’m not raising someone else’s kid.”
I blinked at him in disbelief. “It would be our child, and we would love him or her, no matter what.”
“Speak for yourself.” Wes whipped open the front door, went outside into the cold winter night, and jogged down the front steps. He stopped on the shoveled walk and turned to face me.
“I do want a kid of my own,” he said harshly, looking up at me under the bluish, foggy light of the fluorescent porch lamp. “But I don’t want to spend a fortune on IVF when I’m not even sure I want to start a family with you, Claire.”
I stood frozen, stunned and beginning to shake. “What do you mean?”
He spread his gloved hands wide. “Look, I’ve already said it. Don’t make me say it again.” He began to jog on the spot, his breaths puffing out of his mouth like little bursts of smoke. I felt sick to my stomach.
“I think we both need to accept it,” he added. “This isn’t what we thought it would be, so maybe we should just cut our losses and go our separate ways before we waste any more time or energy trying to make this work—because you’re not what I want.”
I shivered in the cold air as my once-loving husband turned and jogged away from me, down the dark, snow-covered street. Then I went inside and sat down on the sofa in a numb and sickening state of shock.