Chapter Eleven:

There was no putting off any longer. The doctor had confirmed the pregnancy. Now Wade and I had no choice but to make the announcement to our parents. That would make it all official.

"Do you think?" Wade asked. "That we should tell our parents in person?"

"Isn't that making too big a deal of it?"

"Well, it is a big deal."

"The pregnancy or telling? I think we should just tell our parents over the phone. We'll see them soon enough after that."

At least, I thought, we'll see Wade's parents. Mine aren't exactly the emotional sort. I used to wonder why they even had children. Then I realized that Mark and I were more than likely accidents. I wondered now if Wade and my announcement—that we were having an accident—would cause even a mild emotional response.

Reluctantly, Wade agreed to telling our parents over the phone. So one evening we called first my parents—Wade said that's the way it should be done—and then his. Here's what they said.

Mrs. Trufan: "Well, congratulations. When are you due, dear? Because your father and I have already booked a trip to Florida for late November and it's nonrefundable, so you'll understand if we're not around for the birth."

Mr. Trufan: "Have you started a college fund? It's never too early to start a college fund."

Mrs. Barrett: "That's wonderful, Wade! Oh, I have so much to do! I've got to call Aunt Aggie right away and tell her the good news that our little Wade is going to be a daddy! And I'll talk to Pastor Martin first thing tomorrow and see about booking the rectory basement for a party. But I'm jumping ahead. Oh, Brianne. Are you there, too?"

Mr. Barrett: "Good work, son. You didn't forget that meeting we have tomorrow with the auditors? Nine o'clock sharp."

When we finally hung up the receivers, Wade looked exhausted. "I'm going to pour myself a scotch." He said. "I'm sorry you can't have one with me."

"Me too." I said, patting his arm.

My sex life with Wade was undemanding, pleasant, and routine, and that was all right with me. I enjoyed sex as much as the next woman. I wanted to be wanted; when I met Wade I seemed to have met my perfect sexual partner. Undemanding, pleasant, and routine. And when Wade asked me to marry him I thought, so what if I'll never know really over-the-top passion? There' more to life than sex. There's certainly more to marriage every married woman I knew had confirmed that truth. And then when I got pregnant I thought, with a baby in the next room—or if Wade got his way, in a crib by our bedside—how could we possibly have a passionate sex life even if we were the passionate types? There was a good chance that with the baby's arrival our sex life would disappear entirely.

But the baby hadn't yet made an appearance and already our intimate life was a thing of the past. I've read that some men are turned on by their wives' pregnancy but that wasn't the case with Wade. After that first night of victory sex—in actuality there was nothing triumphant about it—he made no further sexual advances and repulsed the few I worked up the nerve to make.

The first time we were in Wade's fabulously expensive bed. It was about 10 p.m. Wade had just turned out his reading light. "So." I said nestling against his shoulder, "Do you, you know?"

Wade didn't respond; I knew he was awake but I thought that maybe he hadn't quite heard me. "Wade?"

"I'm not sure that's a good idea, Brianne." His tone made his answer final.

"Why not?" I asked.

Wade shifted away from me and yawned. "It's been a long day. I'm going to get some sleep. Good night, Brianne." He turned toward the door, his back to me.

"I'm not sick, Wade." I said trying to keep the annoyance from my voice. "I'm just pregnant. Wade, are you listening to me?" His answer was a slight snore. And within minutes, I, too, was asleep.

The next day I felt bad for being annoyed with Wade. I remembered reading that a father-to-be might be a bit nervous about sex. If Wade harbored fears of hurting the baby or me, it was my job to put his mind to rest.

A few nights later we were sitting in the living room of the loft. It was about eight o'clock. I was reading a copy of The Girlfriends' Guide to Pregnancy.

"This book is really informative." I said brightly. "It's really putting my mind at ease about so many things. For example, did you know that having sex won't hurt the baby? Unless the doctor orders me on full pelvic rest which would mean she thought I was at a particular risk for miscarriage, we can have sex without any worries."

"That's great, Brianne." Wade smiled at me fondly and then looked back to the magazine.

I waited a full five minutes before picking up another book. "This is reassuring. This book also confirms that sex can't hurt the baby. The baby's perfectly safe in the womb."

There was no response from my lover. He continued to read the magazine. "Wade?"

"Huh?" He looked up from the magazine, eyes wide and slightly startled. "What did you say? I'm sorry, Brianne, I didn't hear you. I'm reading this very interesting article."

"Nothing." I smiled and shrugged. "Just thinking out loud." Wade smiled and once again resumed reading.

Okay, I thought. Maybe my timing is bad. Maybe Wade is too tired to fool around at night. Maybe now that the baby is coming he's working extra hard at the office to build up that college fund my father is always talking about. So, I decided to abandon the idea of sex at night and apply my feminine wiles in the morning. Wade isn't a morning person but we all know what men wake up sporting. They can't help it. It just happens. Wade might be groggy, I considered, but his required effort would be minimal. I was sure he could handle the job.

The next morning Wade's alarm clock went off at seven o'clock. I'd been awake and ready since six. With a groan he turned off the pulsing machine. I rolled against his back and slipped my hand over his hip. And before anything at all could happen, Wade shot from the bed and was in the master bathroom, door close, shower running.

One more option remained. Afternoon delight. Admittedly, it was a long shot. Wade and I rarely—had we ever?—made love at odd hours. Sex was associated with bed, which was associated with sleep, and neither of us were big nap takers. But I was determined.

So, when one Saturday Wade and I found ourselves at loose ends because the architect had cancelled his visit at the last minute, I thought, perfect. Two hours before our next appointment, which was at high-end furniture store in the Back Bay, and nothing to do in the meantime but flip through decorating magazines together.

I looked hopefully at Wade. He was standing at the kitchen counter, ever so carefully peeling a grapefruit with a paring knife. His face wore a slight frown of concentration. Or was it distaste? Wade didn't like grapefruit. He was peeling it for me. I hadn't asked for a grapefruit but Wade said he wanted me to eat more citrus.

I opened my mouth. Wade flicked a grapefruit seed into the sink with a finicky flip for his manicured fingers. I closed my mouth. A girl can only take so much rejection.

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