Octavian woke early in the morning that Sunday to the sound of a hot shower running. That was where his wife went to cry. Especially on mornings as difficult as this one. He got up, wearing only boxers, and headed to the tiny kitchen to make up a small, friendly, quiet breakfast. Not big or flashy to seem like overcompensation. Just something he could keep warm while Rachel wept. He seemed a little worse for wear himself. It was a hard day for him as well. Because in his mind he could picture a construction paper card smeared with finger paint, with the word mommy, or mama or any other cutesy title that Rachel wholeheartedly deserved but was not allowed to wear written on the inside in poor childhood handwriting. Next to the card, a bouquet of roses. By the bookshelf, a high chair. That's what he wanted from today. But they were not allowed to have anything to celebrate.
There were no "Happy we're not allowed to have kids day" cards. No holidays to celebrate the empty ache of childlessness. No rose was the right color to obliterate the loneliness. No appropriate way to give a gift, and no gift that could possibly take away the pain. The only gift that she wanted that Mother's day was the ability to be a mother come next one, a hopeless but small wish list. While others brunched and opened cards and presents their husbands would claim were from the kids, while friends, her friends, got dressed up for photo shoots they'd flaunt proudly on Facebook, she and her husband were utterly alone. Her eyes were puffy and red. Octavian sat to eat a silent breakfast with her, drinking too much coffee then running the vacuum over their already spotless apartment. There had never been a lonelier day.
Morning stretched to evening with no check up phone calls or welcome distractions. Rachel and Octavian had long since given up on calling their own awful mothers, though Octavian found himself guiltily sending an impersonal card to Sacramento each year that he actually believed Rachel didn't know about. Rachel was simply too emotional to care. In her mind she could almost see Octavian giving piggy back rides and helping her give their squirming, messy haired kiddo a bath. She could hear him reading good night moon and Dr. Seuss in silly voices. Teaching their boy or girl about Pokemon and Wreck it Ralph and all the adorably nerdy things Octavian loved.
She ran another hot shower, bawling again. Her husband joined her, holding her as she cried, pressing his lips to her ear and whispering, "Let's break the rules. Let's have a kid." She sobbed. He meant well but...
"And get struck dead?"
"Dead but happy. We'd be happy. We'd have a little chance to be happy. And Rachel... I could take the fall. And maybe they'd let you live... You and the kid." He was trying to cheer her up the best way he knew how, but she only looked frightened in the scalding shower.
"Octavian, no... I could never be happy if you were gone. We'll make do... We'll be okay."
"Well yes, but... But there has to be another way, a better way. We'll find it! Rach... WE're not kids anymore! We're not even prophetic anymore! We are no longer the stupid pawns of the stupid gods, our restrictions should not apply if we just had a kid, fairly, they could not kill us or take the child away from us." She looked at him with tears running down her face.
"Stop it Ian just stop! Stop trying to give me hope that I cannot have! I cannot deal with this! Do you think the gods would ever be fair to us?! No! We're their pawns and we always will be. We can't have a child... And even if we could, what kind of parents would we be? Look at us..." She sobbed her ugly tears, and he held her closer.
"The best ones. We'd be the best ones..."
"With our pasts?" She laughed bitterly as he held her as tight as he could without slipping in the small shower.
"Especially with our pasts. We've already learned all the mistakes to avoid. We would know everything to do for them. We would be the best parents, and they'd love us so much. We would read to them and play tag with them and make them laugh until we're laughing too. Until we laugh so hard we're crying..." He was crying now.
"Stop giving me hope."
"We can have hope." She held him tight as well, looking sad.
"No, Ian, no..." He kissed her dripping face, kissing away tears and shower water.
"We could adopt." That took her breath away, she reached behind her back and turned off the water.
"Adopt?" She whispered, shocked and delighted.
"Yeah... Yeah."
"We could... We could have a real mother's day?"
"Yes. Yes of course!" He promised. She smiled and wept into his chest, tears of tired happiness.
They would be happy for real. They would be lonely no longer.
They would be cardless no more.