Title: A Dream Life
Author: Andrea (CarbyLove@aol.com)
Rating: R
Summary: Previously in this fanfic: Carter returned from saving the world to find that Abby had decided that she wants a baby. Various incidences of possible baby-making ensued. Then Susan showed up and managed to freak Abby out by mention things like schools, daycare, and buying a house. So Abby went into total meltdown mode and streamed out of Doc's like her ass was on fire. Nevermind about how Doc's burned down. This is a couple years down the road, it's obviously been rebuilt by the Carter Family Foundation money as a token of Carter's love for Abby. And some fucked up charitable reason too, I'm sure.
Author's Note: Yeah, so it's been a while. Do you want speed or quality? The good news is chapter 6 is already underway. So hopefully that one will be up soon.
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A Dream Life
Chapter 5: Waiting
She said she had to check on a patient. That was the excuse she used for bolting out of Doc Magoo's like the place was on fire. But I saw the look on her face. She looked scared and confused. And somehow I don't think she was biting her lip in worry over whether or not Mr. Johnson's IV had run dry. My first thought had been to run after her. But that's not always the best approach with her. She does hate it when I push her. She told me to stay here. So maybe she just needed some time to sort out whatever it is that's bothering her. Or maybe she really was just worried about the patient.
I'd asked Susan if she had any idea what it was all about, but she just shrugged. She told me that she and Abby had discussed some of Abby's concerns about having a baby, but that Abby hadn't seemed unduly upset until she announced, in an almost panicked voice, that she had to get back to the hospital. Of course, it was news to me that Abby was still bothered this much by whatever fears she was harboring about becoming a mother. I decided that it was obviously something we needed to talk about. Since I'd suddenly lost my appetite too, I just tossed some money on the table and headed back to the ER, hoping to find Abby.
Of course, that proved to be difficult. I wouldn't go so far as to say she was avoiding me, but she suddenly seemed to get very busy. Too busy for anything more than the most superficial of exchanges. Once the traumas started rolling in, she had an even better excuse to avoid any prolonged contact with me. Then her shift ended a couple hours before mine, and she came to me only long enough to get the keys for the Jeep so she could do some errands on the way home. Which is how I came to be sitting here on the El now, mulling over the events of the past day.
Twenty-four hours ago, I was on my way home from Guatemala, thinking about nothing more than how happy I would be to see her again. Babies, aside from the ones Abby had helped to deliver during her stint as a pseudo-midwife, were the farthest thing from my mind. Certainly I wasn't thinking about any potential Carter babies. I really wasn't sure if the day would ever come when I would be contemplating fatherhood beyond the theoretical. I knew when Abby and I got married that this was a difficult issue in her life, and I knew she might not ever get to a point when she would be ready for us to have a baby. I'd always hoped that day would come, but if not, I knew I could live with it. As long as I had her.
But then I came home last night and got the shock of my life. Abby sitting on my lap, saying those four magic words, "I want a baby." You could have knocked me over with a feather, I was so shocked. Honestly, I think I would have been less shocked to find out she was already pregnant, than to hear her say that she would like to be. Because, I think, in the back of my mind, I always assumed that if was ever going to happen for us, it was just going to happen. A surprise. One that I would welcome, and one that I suspected, when push came to shove, Abby would too. Well, maybe in the beginning she would have been apprehensive, but I figured it wouldn't take long for her to come around and realize how much joy a child could bring to our lives and that, in spite of all the risks, it would be the best thing that could ever happen to us. But here she was, telling me that she'd realized this on her own, without the reality of a pregnancy, that I'd always expected it would take, forcing her to make this decision. Stunned would be a good word to describe how I felt at that moment.
Thrilled would be another one. Like a dream come true. Something wonderful and completely unexpected. I'm sure I looked at Abby and the depth of my shock was obvious. But I think she also knew how happy she made me. A baby. Our baby. She couldn't ever give me a better gift. The fact that I thought that it might never happen, made the moment that much sweeter. And suddenly I loved her even more. Not just because she was offering to give me something that I've always wanted, but also because I knew that this had to be scary for her. And she was going to do it anyway. And I was proud of her. For being willing to take at a chance at something great, no matter what the risk. And she was doing it for me. For herself. For us. I was happy. She was happy. We made love, tying to create a new life that would be a part of both of us. And it was beautiful. And special. It was like our first time all over again, only even more amazing. And all day today I've been almost giddy at the prospect of becoming a daddy. I spent a good portion of the day thinking about how we may have already gotten pregnant, and the thought, literally, takes my breath away. And of course if it didn't happen already, we'll just have to keep practicing until we manage to get it right. That's certainly a cheerful thought as well.
Of course after the way Abby was behaving this afternoon, I'm not feeling especially cheerful. Confusion seems to be the reigning emotion of the moment. I'm not exactly sure what's going on in Abby's head, but I figure it can't be good. Mostly, I'm afraid that she won't talk to me about it. If she would just let me in, I think I could help her in some way. I don't blame her for being nervous or worrying about the things that could wrong. I just hope that she's not gonna let her fears get in the way of something that could be absolutely wonderful. And make things better than they've ever been. I really think that having a child, becoming a family, could do wonders for us. Oh, we're doing pretty good on our own, but I can't help but feel that there's something missing. A piece of the puzzle that would bring the bigger picture into focus. Something to give an even deeper meaning to our lives.
And I can't help but think that a baby would help Abby to shift her perspective and see the world differently. As a happier place, where things don't always go wrong. That's already been happening, slowly, subtly … and I know a child isn't a magic balm to cure Abby's pain, but I think having a baby would go a long way toward bringing her the fulfillment that she wants. And the centeredness that we both need in our lives. Something positive to focus on for once. Something that would give us what I think we may still be searching for -- a family. A happy, normal little family. Of course, no one should have a child to fix problems in their own life, but that's not what this would be. We're dealing with our problems, they don't need to be fixed by some outside source. A child would just enrich our lives and make them even more full. And I really think that we would have a lot to give back to our kids. Love, first and foremost. A happy, comfortable, secure life with parents that not only love each other, but are also best friends.
So I really think this is the right thing to do. Now I just have to convince Abby of that, since, I suspect, she's having doubts about the wisdom of the decision. But I know it's what she really, truly wants. If I can just find the right words to make her understand that this is exactly what we need in our lives, I'm sure I can reassure her. It's just cold feet. Everyone goes through it. It's no big deal. Maybe it's already blown over by now anyway.
Suddenly I'm anxious, excited even, to get home to Abby. I'm sure she's probably realized all this on her own this afternoon and by the time I get there, maybe she'll be ready to work on the next round of baby-making. She had some errands to run, but she may be home by now. Maybe I'll walk in the door and find her scantily clad just like last night. I rush off the El and down to the street, hurrying home quickly. I bound up the stairs, happily anticipating the scene that I just sketched out in my mind coming true before my eyes. I open the door expecting things to be just like I imagined them. A happy Abby coming and jumping into my arms, pulling me willingly into a night just like the last. I've convinced myself that this is what's going to happen.
Wrong.
Abby's here all right. But she certainly isn't waiting for me. She's not dressed provocatively, and she definitely doesn't come bounding across the room to greet me. In fact, she barely glances up from the groceries that she's putting away in the kitchen. Okay, so she's busy. Maybe I got here sooner than she expected. I'll just play this like everything is okay. And maybe it will be.
"Hi, baby." I say as I walk into the kitchen and wrap my arms around her. I kiss her check and then rest my head on her shoulder. She doesn't pull away, but unlike this very morning, in this very kitchen, she doesn't exactly melt into me either. Maybe she's just tired.
"Hey." She says, turning and giving me a smile that doesn't quite reach her eyes. Well, I knew she was probably upset, but I'm sure once we talk it out, she'll be just fine. Probably she's just afraid of how to broach the subject of her fears with me. She still has such a hard time "burdening" me with her problems.
"You tired?" I ask.
She nods. "You?"
"I'm okay. Not bad for my first day back. Here, let me help you with these." I start unloading the nearest grocery bag. Bread, chips, cereal, condoms. Condoms. I just hold the box in my hand, staring uncomprehendingly.
"Abby?" She looks up at me. Then she sees the box of condoms in my hand, and her eyes slide away from mine.
"John, I …" her voice trails off, but it doesn't really matter. What explanation do I really need? You don't use condoms if you're trying to get pregnant. And since I doubt she bought them to hand out on the street or to use in a water balloon fight, the implications are pretty clear. The disappointment is more acute than I realized it would be. There's a lump in my throat, and I feel tears gathering in my eyes. For an instant I'm furious with her. How could she do this to me? Get my hopes up like that, just to dash them?
But then I look over at her. Standing there, staring blankly into the other room, biting her lip. I see the tears that are in her eyes too. And I know that this, whatever it is, isn't any easier on her. Tossing the box on to the counter, I move to Abby and put my arms around her. At first she stands there stiffly, wanting to refuse the comfort. But when glances up at my face, I see her crumble right before me. She turns in my embrace and wraps her arms around me. She buries her head in my chest and mumbles, "I'm sorry."
"Oh, Abby …" My voice is soft and broken. "It's okay. It's gonna be okay."
She shakes her head against my chest. "No, it's not. John, I'm sorry." She says again. "I didn't mean … I just … "
She can't seem to find the words, but her tears are telling the story. I lead her over to the couch, and we sit down. She wipes the tears away with the back of her hand and after a few shaky breaths, she seems to pull herself together.
"I wouldn't blame you if you hate me." Her voice is sad and thick with the tears she's stifled.
"I don't hate you. I could never hate you." I take her hand in mine, interlacing our fingers.
"You should. I never do anything but disappoint you."
"That's not true."
"Sure it is. Don't try to tell me you're not disappointed. I saw the look on your face."
"Of course I'm disappointed, Abby." I look at her tear-stained face, those big brown eyes that look at me with such sadness. "But not in you." She manages a tight little smile, before her eyes move away from mine once again. When she starts talking, it's in a whisper that I can barely hear.
"This isn't how I wanted it to be. I thought I was ready."
"Wanna talk about it?"
"Not really."
"Abby. Please? I just want to understand. I mean, last night … this morning … what happened?"
She shrugs. Looks at me. Looks away. "I just wasn't thinking."
"What do you mean?"
"I wasn't thinking about … all the practical stuff. I was just caught up in this fantasy. This romantic little fantasy about you and me and baby makes three. And they live happily ever after. I forgot things aren't that simple."
"They could be."
"Not for me." She shakes her head for emphasis.
"Oh, Abby … not this again. I thought we were past that whole doom and gloom thing."
"It's not gloom and doom, John. I didn't say it would be terrible. I said it's not simple. There's a difference between reality and fantasy. And the reality is … having a baby is more than just having a baby. There are so many things to think about. And I haven't thought about any of them. Work, schools, a house. This afternoon at lunch, Susan rattled off questions about all of that stuff, right off the top of her head, and I realized I hadn't considered any of it. There's a lot I haven't considered. And I lot more that I tried to forget. But just ignoring my fears and the risks isn't going to make them go away."
"Abby, I know you're scared. But all first time parents are scared. You'd be crazy not to be. You just can't let it stop you. And I know you have special concerns that don't apply to everyone else, but I thought, when you told me that you wanted a baby, that you'd worked through those."
"I thought I had too."
"And then one conversation with Susan changed everything?"
"No, of course not. It wasn't just that. It's just that when I was talking to her, suddenly I remembered all the things that had always made me think that I shouldn't be a mother in the first place. My crazy family, my screwed up childhood … and when Susan started asking me about all this stuff as if I should have already thought about it, I started wondering if maybe we'd rushed into this. We didn't talk about this. We haven't made any kind of plans."
"But Abby, we've got time to do all that. You said yourself it'll probably take some time until we get pregnant. And even once it happens, we'll still have nine months to figure out the details."
"Yeah, but don't you think we should consider some of this stuff before we decide to have a baby?"
"Only if you there's a chance you're gonna change your mind." She gets up and walks across the room to stare out the window. "But I guess that's already happened, huh?"
She shrugs, then turns to look at me. "I just think maybe we rushed into things, that's all. Maybe we just need some time … maybe I just need some time to make sure this is the right thing to do."
"But if it's what we want …"
"That doesn't necessarily mean it's for the best. Is it fair to bring a child into the world, just because it's what we want?"
"Well … yeah. I mean, Abby, this is a child that would be wanted, that would be loved. How is that unfair? Isn't that the way it's supposed to be?"
"But what if I can't do it?"
"Do what?"
"Be a good enough mother. Love my child enough. Make sure my child knows how much I love it. This whole interpersonal relationships thing isn't exactly my strong suit, you know. I mean, look how many times my inability to share my feelings came between us. What if, no matter how much I love the baby, I can't ever find a way to let the baby know?"
"Abby, that's not going to happen." She's biting her lip and looking at me circumspect from across the room.
"How can you be so sure?"
"Well, for one thing, it's a baby. And the love between a mother and child is one of the simplest, purest loves there is. It's uncomplicated. It's unconditional. The baby will love its mommy no matter what. And you'll fall in love with your child. What's the risk in that?"
"There's always risk."
"But don't you think it's worth it?"
"Maybe for us. But what about for our kids? What if we screw them up in some fundamental way?"
"Gee, you have a lot of faith in us, don't you?"
"I just realized that there are so many ways that things can wrong. What if they all go wrong?"
"I can't guarantee you that nothing will go wrong. In fact, probably the only thing I can guarantee you is that something will go wrong. But I think we can handle it. Together. We won't let things fall apart. We just won't let that happen." I really believe that. If we want this enough, and I think we do -- I know that I do -- I'm sure we can work through any of the obstacles that are guaranteed to come along. If I could just get her to trust me on that. If there was just a way to make her see that things really will be okay. As long as we have each other.
"I'm sure that's what everyone thinks. But things go wrong. It happens all the time. And we see the evidence of it every day. Today was no exception." Ah, so maybe something happened this afternoon at work. If I can convince her it was all just a fluke, maybe …
"So it was something that happened with a patient that's got you so upset?" She comes back over and flops down on the couch, despair written all over her.
"It's not just one thing. I mean, it started with my conversation with Susan. It made me realize that all my old fears are still with me. Maybe not as strong as before, but they haven't exactly disappeared either. And I think the thing I'm most afraid of is being a bad mother. So when Susan asked me about all those things I hadn't even thought about, it freaked me out. I mean, what kind of responsible parent am I going to be if it hasn't even occurred to me that having a baby is going to change our whole lives? "
"But everything isn't going to change overnight. We'll have plenty of time to adjust. And you're gonna be a great mother."
"Am I? What if I can't handle it, and I fall apart?"
I reach out and take her hand. "I won't let that happen."
"What if you can't stop it? I'm sure no one thinks they're going to be a bad parent, but I saw nothing but evidence of bad parenting all afternoon. Maybe I was oversensitive to it after talking to Susan and realizing all over again all the risks … but it just seemed like everywhere I turned there was another example of a great way to screw up your kid. First there was the mother who thought it was appropriate to leave her two-year-old alone while she went to the corner store for some beer. And the kid comes in with a concussion from God knows what kind of injury. Not to mention that the poor kid looked like he hadn't had a bath or a decent meal in weeks, or maybe months."
"You're not really worried that you're gonna go out and forget to take the kids with you are you? Or forget to wash and feed them?"
"No. But … it wasn't just that. Remember the little boy with broken ankle?"
"Sure. Cute kid."
"Yeah. His brother brought him in."
"Yeah, he said he was baby-sitting or something?"
"Uh-huh, except it's Monday and he should have been in school. So I pressed him a little bit about it. Asked if one of his parents could come stay with the little brother so he could get back to school."
"And?"
"And it turns out Dad's a drunk who doesn't come home much anymore. And Mom's 'sick' -- whatever that means-- and stays in bed all day. My God, John, it was Eric and I all over again. And I just don't ever want to put another child through what I went though."
"You wouldn't. Abby …" I trail off, finding it hard to believe that she's done such a complete turn around. Less than twenty-four hours ago, she was sure she wanted a child. Now it seems that every fear she's ever had, large or small is looming over her. I want to think this is just a colossal case of cold feet. But I worry that there's more to this than just the usual fear that comes with making any major life change.
"No, " she says. "Not as long as I'm sober. But it's not like I've never fallen off the wagon before. And I know all too well what's it like to come home and find your mom passed out on the couch. I couldn't do that to my child. "
"So don't. Don't let it happen. It happened before, but it's not gonna happen again. You can make sure of that Abby. It's up to you. And if you have reason enough to stay sober, you will."
"Yeah, that's what I told myself when I started considering this. And with a child, I'd have even more reason to stay sober. And believe me, I intend to. But even without falling off the wagon, there are all kinds of other ways to mess it up. You've said it yourself before, we've got all this baggage. What if we get too caught up in our own problems to give the kids the attention they need?"
"We wouldn't do that. You know the kids would come first. No matter what."
"I'm sure that's what the parents of the girl who attempted suicide thought too."
"Attempted suicide? Today?"
"Yeah, the fifteen-year-old from the MVA -- stole her parents car and 'accidentally' drove into that tree. Turns out it was no accident. At first I thought she did it just to get their attention, which is sad enough. But it's worse. It was a serious attempt. She really thought they'd be better off without her. Said she was just a 'burden' … she saw no reason to live and couldn't imagine that she'd be missed."
I'm at a loss for words. I really don't know what to say to her to make her understand that things won't be like this with us. Sure, we've had are problems in the past, but we've always gotten through it. Yes, there was a time when I was afraid our baggage would weigh us down and rip us apart. But we're long since past that. I don't have any doubts that we are settled and stable enough to raise a happy, healthy child. Be a happy, healthy family.
"Abby, I just don't understand why you think everything is going to go wrong all of a sudden. Yesterday … hell, even this morning, this is what you wanted -- what we both wanted -- more than anything. Or so I thought. And now, a couple of patients with messed up lives and suddenly you decide having a baby is a bad idea?"
"I didn't say it's a bad idea. Or that I don't want it. I do want it. I just need some time to make sure that it's the right thing. I just need some time to think things through. Maybe in a couple months …" She's pulled away from me again, drawing in on herself. I feel the frustration mounting because I don't understand what she's thinking. She says she wants to start a family with me, only not right now?
"What's time going to do, Abby?"
"I don't know. I'm just … confused. Maybe if I can think about it for a while, I can figure it out."
"Maybe you'll just think about all the things that could go wrong and talk yourself out of ever having kids."
"Maybe I will. But if I do, then maybe that's for the best. I'm sorry I didn't think of all this before I said anything to you. Before we … but I guess it's better I figured this out now rather than later. Because I don't know what I would have done if … I mean, I just couldn't --" She stops abruptly mid-sentence. She looks at me with a note of alarm crossing her face before she quickly looks away. Almost like she was going to say something, but caught herself just in time. When she starts speaking again, I get the feeling there's something she's leaving out. "It's just, for a while there, I managed to somehow ignore all the bad stuff. But I was being stupid. I don't know what I was thinking. We can't just jump into this kind of thing. And maybe we shouldn't do it at all. God knows if we do, I'll find a way to screw it up."
"Why do you say that?"
"Because I always do. I always mess up everything somehow."
"Not 'us.'"
"Well, 'we' are the exception."
"Wouldn't the baby just be an extension of 'us?'" I ask hopefully.
"Only with a whole new set of rules. And with so much more at stake. I just … I don't want a child to suffer for my failures."
"What makes you so sure you'd fail?" She doesn't answer, just hugs her knees her to chest. Turning inward even more. I have no idea what's going on, but I can sense the tension. I can see it in her body. She's practically wrapped herself into a ball in the corner of the couch. Her eyes are big and glistening with unshed tears. I want to reach out and touch her, but there's something about her self-protective position that holds me back. "Abby?" I speak gently, unsure of exactly what's responsible for this latest change in her mood. "I really do think you'd be a wonderful mother. You're such a nurturer, Abby. You'd be a natural. I don't think you'd mess it up at all. What makes you think you'd fail as a mother?"
She looks at me so long that I don't think she going to answer. When the words finally do come, her voice is soft and sad, just above a whisper, "I already did."
The tears slip slowly down her cheeks. She looks at me a moment more, before she buries her head in her arms. I watch her crying in anguish, hugging herself tightly and rocking slightly as if to provide herself some comfort. I sit motionless, unsure of what to do. Not only am I unsure if my touch would bring her any comfort right now, I'm not even sure I understand what she's talking about. Already failed as a mother? How? She can't possibly be talking about Eric can she? I know that in a lot of ways she was the one who really raised him, but she's not his mother.
"Abby, are you talking about Eric? Because you didn't fail him. You did the best you could. And you were just a kid yourself. I know how much you were like a mother to him, but he's your brother, not your child."
"I'm not talking about Eric." That same heartbroken voice.
"Well, then …" I'm sure she can hear the confusion when I speak.
"I … I was … I was pregnant, once." Pregnant? What? When? Why didn't she ever tell me about this? And she feels like a failure? A miscarriage? And she thinks it her fault? She's staring straight ahead, the tears still trailing down her cheeks. She doesn't look at me. Refuses to look at me. "I had an abortion."
She says the word tentatively, like it's something dirty, shameful. An abortion? Abby? Abby who spent all those years in OB? Abby whose face lights up when there are kids in the room? Abby who obviously wants to be a mother so badly that, at least for a little while there, she was willing to risk all the things she's scared of most? This doesn't make any sense. Except maybe it does. If her fears are this pronounced now, what must they have been like then? It's only recently that she's seemed to be able to see the happier side of things, and therefore been more willing to take some risks. On me. On us. On our marriage. And she's so much better now than she was in the beginning of our relationship. And if the thought of having child freaks her out now, what would it have done to her back then? And then a chill runs through me. When? Was it … mine? Surely she wouldn't have kept something like that from me. Would she?
"I know I should have told you sooner. But it's not exactly the kind of thing that comes up in conversation. And you never really seemed especially interested in talking about the downfall of my first marriage so …"
"It was ... when you were married to Richard?"
She nods slowly. Still she doesn't look at me. But she does keep talking. "He doesn't know. I never told him. I knew there was no way I could do it …and … and I didn't think he'd even want it. And I just felt so alone. And I was terrified. So … I sacrificed my child to allay my fears. See? Some good mother I am. Mothers are supposed to protect their children. I aborted mine, for my own good. I don't know why I think I deserve another chance."
"But Abby, you didn't do anything wrong. You made a choice. The only choice you could have made, right?"
"I thought so at the time. I mean, it just seemed like such a bad idea, you know?" Her voice is still a little weak and raspy, but getting stronger as she goes on. "There was still a chance that I could have become bipolar. What if having a baby pushed me over the edge? Or what if the kid was sick? I really couldn't imagine Richard sticking around either way. I mean, already the marriage had its problems. Bringing a child into it wasn't going to make things any better. And I could just see myself, a few years down the road, alone, struggling to take care of a child on my own when the phone rings. And it's Maggie. And she needs to be rescued again. And now I've got a mother that needs me to take care of her, a kid that needs me to take care of him, and it's up to me to take care of everything. And I didn't think I was strong enough. Assuming, of course, that I wasn't sick myself."
"So you did what you had to do, considering the circumstances."
"I guess. Still …"
"Come here." I pull her over to me and she settles against my chest, with a sigh. "Look Abby, if you'd done things differently then, you probably wouldn't be sitting here with me now. Your life would've gone in a different direction one way or the other. So maybe it was what had to happen."
"You're suggesting it was fate, or God, or some divine force that pre-destined it so that you and I would end up together." Her voice is dripping with skepticism, but I prefer that to the teary sadness.
"Well, I don't know if I'd go that far. But you have to admit, if things had happened differently, you probably wouldn't have ended up in the ER with me. You wouldn't have been there to catch me shooting up in the trauma room. Our eyes wouldn't have locked across a crowded AA meeting …"
"So you do think it was fate."
"Well, I do think we're meant to be together. Has everything in our lives been leading us to each other? I don't know. But I do know that you can't go back and change the past, so you might as well find the silver lining."
"And you're my silver lining?"
"Yeah. Me … and the babies that we could have. Maybe you were never meant to have Richard's baby, maybe you were meant to have mine."
She looks up at me, and dubious expression on her face. "Well, if that was fate's way of bringing us together, I have to say, it really sucks."
"I'm sorry."
"For what?"
"That you had to go through that kind of pain. That you had to go through it alone." She shrugs against me, as if to say it was no big deal. I wish I could have been there to help to her through it. Of course, that's stupid, because if I'd been there … well, like I told her, there's no changing the past. But I understand more clearly, now, why this is so complicated for her. I always knew she worried about passing on Maggie's disease. I thought her other fears were the same fears any potential parent would face. But now I realize just how deep those fears go. And I realize that it's even more complicated than that. Abby's not just struggling to work through her fears, but also to get past this layer of guilt or regret for a decision she made a long time ago. I wish I could make her see that that was then and this is now. "You have every right to ask for another chance at motherhood. If that's what you want. You don't have anything to feel guilty about, you know."
"Yeah. Except that Richard, apparently did want kids. And I denied him that."
"And you denied yourself, too."
"Yeah." Clearly she's not convinced.
"Look, Abby, if you could back and do it all over again, knowing what you know now, would you make the same decision?"
"I don't know." She stops for a moment. I run my hand up and down her arm, trying to soothe and relax her as best I can. "Maybe. Probably. I mean, I know my life would have been different if I'd … had that baby. And I wouldn't want to take a chance on not being here with you, today. And no matter what, everything that's happened with my mom and Eric these past couple of years still would have happened. I wouldn't have wanted a to drag a child through that. And I don't know what kind of a mother I would have been then, anyway. Or exactly how I would have juggled it all."
"So see? It was the right decision."
She shrugs again. "I guess. But if having a baby wasn't the right thing then, what's makes you think it would be the right thing now?"
"Because you're not alone now. You have me. You have 'us.' And you're a different person than you were then. You're not scared and miserable. You're not fragile and alone. You're stronger now. You've grown. And I would never leave you or our kids. No matter what. Even if our child was sick. Especially if our child was sick. Even though that's a pretty slim chance, if it did happen, we'd be sure to get the best treatment possible and somehow, we'd be okay. So you see, the circumstances of your life are totally different now. If a baby is what you want, there's no reason you shouldn't have one. You don't have to keep on punishing yourself for doing what you felt was right. Don't you think you've suffered enough already?"
"I think my years in OB took care of that."
"Oh, God, I didn't think about that. How could you stand it? All those years …"
Another shrug, as she looks up at me, "I felt like it was my penance, I guess. Watching all those happy mothers with their new babies. Knowing it was something I would never have. Of course, sometimes I would watch them writhing in pain and try to convince myself that it was a good thing that I didn't have to go through that. And it wasn't exactly torture all the time, it was fun too. And a chance to be a part something wonderful. Even if it was sort of a … bittersweet reminder … you know, of what I'd never have."
"But it doesn't have to be like that Abby. You can have it."
"I know." She sits up and turns to face me. Reaches out to lay her hand against my cheek. "I know. And there's a part of me that wants that more than anything. To have our baby. But there's this other part of me that thinks that it's totally unfair."
"Unfair? Unfair to who? Richard? A child that doesn't exist?" She pulls her hand away abruptly, a hurt look on her face, and I realize that my voice has revealed a layer of anger that I didn't even realize was there. Her head falls forward as the tears begin to fall once more. Immediately, I'm ashamed of my outburst. But I recognize, all of the sudden, that there is a part of me that's angry because she doesn't seem to be considering my feelings in the matter. Still, I feel a jerk for making her cry. I expect her to pull away from me when I reach out to her, but she doesn't. She lets me pull her back into my arms. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to be so … harsh. It's just that … well, it seems to me that the only person you're being unfair to is yourself."
"And you." I guess she is thinking about me after all. She looks up at me, wiping away the tears. "That's the worst part of it. I … I don't want to be what stands between you and something you want so much."
"But you want it too. Don't you?"
She nods. "But I don't want to do it for the wrong reasons."
"The wrong reasons? It's not an experiment in genetic engineering, so what do you mean, 'the wrong reasons?'"
"I don't want to do it just because I'm afraid of disappointing you again. And I don't want to do it for some selfish reason. "
"Well, I think it's always a little bit selfish. People have kids because it's what they want. You can't consult the potential children, so you just have to hope that they'll be glad to have been born."
"But I don't want to have a baby to make up for …"
"The abortion?"
She's biting her lip and looking down at her hands, resting in her lap. I think she's trying to decide whether or not to say what she's thinking. "Yeah. How can I be sure that I'm doing this for the right reasons? There's a part of me that's felt … empty. You know, ever since the abortion. Not that it consumes my life or anything, but it just feels like something is missing."
"I know what you mean. But maybe that emptiness doesn't come from any unresolved feelings about the abortion. Maybe it's just your desire to be a mother. And what's missing is a child for you to love and care for, to watch as she grows up. And if you're wishing you had that in your life already, and you're beating yourself up for giving up the opportunity that you had, well that's only going to make you feel worse. But there's nothing either of us can do to change the past. So we just have to go forward. We can't bring back the child that might have been, but there is something that can fill up that emptiness."
"A baby?"
"Yeah, a baby. I could give you a baby. You could make me a daddy. We could be a family."
"But I don't want to rush into having a baby just to fill up that emptiness. I just don't want to do it … to fix things. My mother had me and thought I would make everything right in her world. That's too much responsibility to put on a little kid."
"But we wouldn't be doing that. We're not trying to make ourselves healthy, or fix a failing marriage, or make up for other deficits in our lives. The only deficit we're trying to make up for is the missing piece of a child to love. And to share our lives with. And I think we're ready. Even if it's not something we've talked about, obviously it's something we've both considered.
"And I don't think you're rushing into anything as some sort of reaction to the abortion all these years later. I'm sure that experience is part of what makes you want a baby now. Now that you're ready. But every other past experience contributes too.
"We both grew up in somewhat dysfunctional families, and maybe that's part of what makes us want kids. To try and get it right with our own kids. To finally be a part of happy family. And I don't know if that's a good reason to want children. But what does matter so long as we want the baby. If the child is going to be wanted, and loved, and well taken care of … And I know that it would bring us so much happiness."
"That's what scares me."
"Happiness?"
"Of loving someone that much. So much that just being around them makes you happy. And being without them makes you miserable. It's bad enough that that's how it is with you. And it took me long enough to be willing to risk it with you. If we have a baby, it's twice as much risk."
"But it's worth it, don't you think? If we don't take the risk, we're guaranteed to be … maybe not miserable, but not exactly happy either. Because something will always be missing."
She nods, as if in agreement. We fall into silence, both lost in our own thoughts. I'm happy that we've talked this out, and at least I understand what she's thinking, what she's feeling. And I'm hopefu1 that maybe I've made some headway with her. Maybe she'll see that even though there are risks, the rewards far outweigh them.
It's Abby that finally breaks the silence. "But if we want it that much, we'll still want it in six months, right?" Six months? What happened to a couple months? I can't help but sigh deeply, thinking that six months is going to turn into six years and then it'll just never happen for us. She must register my disappointment. She looks up at me with sad eyes. "I'm sorry, John. I know you want this. I know you want it now. And I thought I did too. But I'm just not ready. I just need some time. I know that waiting is hard. But …. Please?"
"Okay, we'll wait." What else can I say, really? So I'll wait. But waiting is going to be hard. Waiting to see Abby round and full from our child growing inside her. Waiting to feel those little kicks against her stomach. Waiting to see what our child looks like. Waiting to hold our baby in my arms and watch her grow. Waiting to be a daddy. It's gonna be hard. But this isn't the first time I've waited for Abby. Last time, it was worth it. I just hope it will be this time too. "I'll wait as long as you need me to."
"Thank you." Her voice is soft and sad as she extricates herself from me and the couch. She stands over me a minute, giving me a sad little smile before she turns and walks into the bedroom, quietly but firmly shutting the door behind her.