Part II "Icarus Flying"

So its sort of heady, we look for houses, and find something we both love, with a small garden like she wanted. And she's on me day and night, it's like a teenage boy's dream. Which is fun for awhile. But I'm not a teenager, and frankly she's scaring the shit out of me. There's a desperate quality to her at times. I remind her that biologically speaking, ejaculating upwards of four times a day is not the best way to procreate. My complaints annoy her, and she's not pleased when I used the term "stud bull", but you know a guy's got feelings too. I don't want this to feel like a project, we're supposed to be making love after all. She backs off then, but it's almost like she wants to hurry up and conceive before either of us can change our minds, and that's not particularly comforting.

I feel a sadness begin to emanate from her every month when she's not pregnant. And it scares the crap out of me. Is she doing this with me or for me? I thought I knew, but now sometimes I don't. There are moments she looks at me like she can't believe this is her life, the house, us, as if she doesn't deserve it, and then I get the feeling that she thinks somehow not getting pregnant would be some kind of justice. Divine retribution, but for what I'm not sure, her drinking, her abortion, a life half-lived, whatever. She's learned to forgive me, I wish she'd learn to forgive herself. Frankly I'm not worried that it's taking time, neither of us is a kid anymore, it hasn't been that long, and I tell her that. But I worry for her, if it doesn't happen. And I worry for us. She pulled out before, checked out, let it die, and I'm afraid she'll leave me again, you know, without moving out. It's not easy, the battle to be close to Abby. I don't want to lose it, not again, not now.

I try to keep her busy picking out colors for the house, furniture, whatever. I try to keep myself busy planning the garden. When I was little, we had a beautiful garden. My mother planted bright red and yellow flowers in planter boxes in the windows, and then more flowers, trees and vegetables outside. I loved to play there as a boy. When she died, my father didn't have the heart to keep it up. Damir and I tried, but we didn't make a very good job of it. It withered, like it had lost its soul, and it had. When we moved to the apartment in Zagreb, I was grateful. I didn't want to watch it die. I want a garden like my mother's, for the baby, for Abby and for myself. I get a book, because I don't know what translates from Croatia to Chicago and I make plans, and try not to worry. Its hard though, I feel like I'm watching her confidence slip, like she's coming off balance out of center. I want her to know that I don't need her to do this for me, but it's hard to find the words. She wants it so much, maybe too much, she's not really thinking clearly. Maybe I'm not either. I know I should talk to her, but I just keep hoping things will get better on their own. That the damn stick will turn pink. I don't want to drive her away, and I don't want to put more pressure on her, she does a pretty good job of that herself.

It's funny, I had put aside the whole idea of children and then I let it back in, and now it feels like life might screw me over one more time. I know I'll be okay if it doesn't happen, I mean, I was in the right place before. I wasn't kidding myself when I said Abby was enough for me. Sometimes she's more then enough, it's like having a roller coaster in your backyard, exciting yes, but it can make you queasy too. Still, I like that she keeps me off balance, somehow it works, We both have baggage, but in a lot of ways we balance each other out, like complementary emotional baggage. Wouldn't Tata like that?

But suddenly it feels like, er, when you go on vacation and you pack way too much stuff and you're in the airport desperate for a porter. I could use a porter right now, I'm afraid we both could.

One of the toughest things about a second language is the little phrases everyone knows but you. One seems exceptionally apt right about now, "the elephant in the room". Funny, I think Abby told me what it meant. I had this image of a huge elephant taking a crap in someone's kitchen, and the people are just talking and cooking and eating like its not happening. Well our elephant wasn't in the kitchen, he was in our bedroom. I thought having Carter hanging around was annoying the first time, but at least I had Abby to myself in bed, the elephant is worse.

So we skirt the issue for awhile which is really what we do best. But then the inevitable happens . . . . .we fight.

We're making the bed in our new house for the first time, and naively I think that I've given the elephant the slip by moving so I'm feeling pretty good and I ask her if she wants to break the sheets in, and she says

"It's not — I mean next week, we should - "

And right then I understand that the elephant has moved right along with us, and this thing has taken a life of its own, like her recovery, this is her new project, and I'm angry, because our baby should not be on her list of things to do to prove she's okay. So I pick a fight.

"We should what? Are we fucking to a schedule now?" It feels good to open the door to all I've been feeling, but kind of scary too, cause you never know what's lurking on the other side of those doors.

"Are we what?", and I know she's pissed, I've unleashed her tiger too,

"You heard me"

"Look you know the best chances of — "

"I know all about making babies, Abby, but the rest of the time we're making love, aren't we? Or does that not matter any more?" There, part of its out. She says nothing and I sit down, sighing with fatigue that it's all so hard, I can't look at her, but I know its time to mention the elephant.

"Why are we doing this?"

"Fighting?"

"No" There it is does she see it?

"You mean —I-you mean-" No she doesn't want to do this, she's come a long way, but not that far, it's my job to finish it up.

"Starting a baby is what I mean."

And I feel her fury build she doesn't even like me in this moment, but that's part of love too, and I decide to just try and be with it whatever comes.

"Because it's what we both want."

Is it Abby? Is it really?

"Why? What changed?" I can't hold my doubts at bay any longer.

"Everything! Everything changed. I'm sober, I'm . . I'm . . I like my life, Luka, I like myself, I think I'm worth sharing now, I'm —"


I cut her off, I'm more scared then I thought I would be.

"You're desperate! You're scaring me!" I'm terrified that somehow her addiction and her recovery is driving our lives and always will and that what we both want has taken back seat to Abby's desperation, her need to give me what I had, to be good enough for me, and to somehow prove something to herself.

"No"

"You are" There it's said its out there, whatever happens we haven't made our old mistake, for whatever that's worth.

"I know what you're thinking"

Crap

"Sure you do"

"Yeah, sure I do, you asshole. Abby the addict, grab, grab, grab. Jesus Luka, my whole life is one long frigging balancing act, you know? Live in the moment, but learn to defer gratification. Learn from my past, but put it behind me, see things —"

"Abby" I try to stop her, she's right, and I've been wrong or at least blind, fear will do that to you.

"-from the outside and — "

"Abby, stop. I'm sorry."

She tells me that she's not desperate, but impatient, and why shouldn't she be, she's put her life on hold for years, waiting for it to be okay, and maybe now that it is, maybe it's too late to have what she wants or at least to have everything she wants.

I try to reassure her, but she asks me about Danijela. I can't believe it and I want to laugh, but I don't.

"How long?"

Who knows was it the first time or the fiftieth, Jasna was a honeymoon baby, but we were so desperate for each other, who knows when it happened.

I decide to err on the side of levity and brevity, and how do you say it? Get out of Dodge?

"Jesus, Abby about 10 minutes I guess — is that what you want to hear?"

Frankly, overall, I admire the way Abby handles the fact that I loved so completely before her, selfishly I'm glad the tables aren't turned, it would be harder for me I think.

Again I try to reassure her, she looks like she might cry and I get up and go to her and hold her. I tell her again that it will happen for us.

"What if it doesn't?"
I answer her the only way I can . . . with the truth.

"I don't care"

She pulls away from me and looks at me like I've just struck her a physical blow, I feel slightly sick.

"I mean I do care. I want this too, I do want it, But God, Abby, not if it means losing us." There I've said it, my truth. She's more important, no we're more important, she's my choice and now she knows it.

We make love then, and for the first time in awhile, we're alone, the elephant has left the room.

As we lie wrapped in each other I finally ask.

"What did my father say to you?"
"About having a baby?"

"Yes"

"Nothing I didn't already know. I don't know why, but hearing it again, it made me think, he made it seem , , , ,possible. He told me that some risks are worth taking, that there are never any guarantees, that all parents live in fear for their children . . . .and that you were made to be a father"

"He tends to exaggerate"

"He was right"

"There are other ways Abby"

"I know but, the risk, Luka, it's worth it to me now. I want to be a mother, I want to be the mother of your baby."

"And you will be."

"I don't know"

"I do"

"You would never have asked would you?"

"No"

"Why?"

"Because I didn't need it to be happy, and because some things aren't fair to require from another person, Abby. Love can't come with that steep a price tag."

She nods and reaches for my hand and we lock fingers

"I know we'll be okay if it doesn't happen, and really this is enough, more then I ever thought I'd have, but I want this Luka. I want it for me. I want it for you. I want it for us"

"I know. I want it too."

I was making coffee that morning. She never has really appreciated my coffee, she comes into the kitchen wearing one of my t-shirts, her hair is disheveled and her eyes are still squinting in the light. It's one of those moments, where I'm struck by just how pretty she is. And she says to me

"God, Luka, that stuff stinks did you switch to something even stronger you'll rot out your stomach I swear"

At first I dismiss it as "Abby before 9", but then I realize that it's the same stuff I've been using for months and she's never complained before. I glance at her sideways, she's edging towards the calendar, trying to be nonchalant, but her nose is crinkling like she's just walked into a barnyard.

I turn around and look at her again, I say nothing, but march her to the bathroom and hand her the test. I don't need it, I already know, but she needs it, the little pink line I mean.

When she comes out of the bathroom, she's aiming for cool "Congratulations, you're going to be a father".

It's her moment, so I follow her lead and shrug, "I told you so", and then I'm holding her and she's crying and I'm laughing, and its one of those moments in life that you hang onto for when things go the other way.

"I'm scared" she says

Of course she is.

"I should hope so. Me too"

I can't remember who says what next, but I bring up the wedding, I'm teasing her that it's the honorable thing, my duty, but really I want to feel that ring on my finger and see one on hers so badly I can taste it. I want everyone to know she, I mean they belong to someone. Belong? That's not politically correct is it? That's not modern. But frankly the older I get, the less I care about being correct.

" . . just us" she says meaning the wedding, and I can't help thinking it's just the three of us now, which makes me want to savor every moment I still have her to myself, and so I take her upstairs and savor away.