Emily climbed onto the barstool next to Tara with a bright grin. "I hope you haven't started without me," she said, flagging down the bartender, "Because I need your sober brain."
Tara rolled her eyes. "I hope you're not starting this evening by trying to get me to break doctor-patient confidentiality."
"What? No! Never," she insisted. "I would never do that."
Tara scoffed. "Yeah fucking right," she said. "You forget I know you."
It was Emily's turn to roll her eyes. "You're so annoying – why am I friends with you?"
"Because you have no friends besides me," Tara said.
Emily just laughed. "Seriously, though," she said soberly, "How is she?" Tara gave her a pointed look. Emily held up her hands in self-defence. "You don't need to give me the specifics, I just need to know that she's alright."
She heaved a weary sigh, nodded once. "She's making progress," she said slowly. "I think she's more worried about herself than anyone else is worried for her. But I don't think there's cause for concern."
"Good," Emily said, nodding. "Good." Her tongue flicked out over her top lip. "I'm just... I worry about her. I want her to love this baby as much as I already do."
"She does," Tara insisted. "Maybe that's why she's so frightened. It's easy to be scared for someone you love so much."
Emily nodded, understanding, but still concerned.
"I know you understand her history," Tara continued, "Anyone who's been through the kind of trauma that is losing a child is going to be incredibly cautious to get attached."
Chewing her straw, Emily thought for a moment. Then, "I just wish I had some idea how to help her. I feel so useless watching her suffer like this."
Tara offered an encouraging smile. "You are helping her." A beat. "You just have to love her through this. That's all you can do."
"Thanks," Emily whispered, offered a faint smile.
Tara returned the smile, then added a playful wink. "I'll send you the bill for this therapy session, by the way."
Emily scoffed, gently shoved Tara. "Bitch."
"Al, I'm home!" Emily called out as she stumbled in the door, a little bit drunk. She didn't get an immediate response, but could hear a murmur of voice from the next room. "Al?" she called out again.
"In here," Alex replied, sounding distracted.
Kicking off her shoes and discarding her coat on the floor, Emily wobbled her way into the living room where she found Alex pacing and two people she didn't know... "Hello?" she said slowly, cautiously.
All three of them looked up sharply as if just realizing she was there. "Oh, hi," Alex said, offered a ghost of a smile; she crossed the room to kiss her cheek.
"Who...umm... Who are your friends?" she asked warily.
Alex glanced back at the guests. "This is Spencer – an insurance actuary. And Maeve – a geneticist."
Nodding, an awkward smile on her lips, she said slowly, "Okay... And why are they here?" Normally, she would've striven to be a better hostess, but she was momentarily struck by a lack of manners.
Alex plastered on a smile that said he knew Emily wouldn't like the answer. "They're helping me analyze the statistics of our child's genetics," she mumbled.
"What?"
Spencer excitedly gestured to the sliding glass patio door where he'd scrawled a series of equations. "These equations take into account all the statistics of..."
Emily held up her hand to stem the verbal tide. "Alex, I thought we'd discussed this..." she said gently but sternly.
"I know, but..." Alex started, trailed off with a helpless shrug.
Emily exhaled slowly, crossed her arms over her chest. Then, turning to their guests, said, "Could you two give us a moment?" Once they were alone, she turned back to Alex, shaking her head. "Alex, why..."
"I'm sorry, Em, I really am," she whispered, "But I just can't seem to help myself..."
"But I thought the point of doing the amnio was so that it would put your mind to rest," she said.
She nodded slowly, her expression tight but apologetic. "I know and I'm sure that when we get the results, it will. But I just can't shut my brain off in the meantime."
Reaching out to clasp her hand, Emily squeezed it gently. "I want to support you through this, Alex, I just don't know how. Is this helping you? Having people tell you how statistically likely it is that our baby will have Down's Syndrome or whatever...?"
She shrugged slightly. "I don't know..."
"Because it seems to me like it's doing more harm than good," Emily continued, "It seems to be driving you deeper and deeper into obsessiveness and fear."
"I don't know what else to do," Alex said shakily. "This just... I don't know, made me feel prepared. Like I could take control of things if I knew what might be coming."
Nodding, Emily smiled reassuringly. "I just think it's preventing you from enjoying this pregnancy."
With a little whimper, Alex collapsed against Emily's chest, fighting back tears. "I'm trying so hard and everything I do feels wrong!" she lamented.
"It's okay," Emily reassured her, "You're not doing anything wrong – there's no right way to experience trauma." She rubbed a soothing hand up and down her back.
"I hate that word: trauma... I hate that that's what Ethan's life has been reduced to."
Holding tighter to her, Emily said, "It doesn't have to be. We can remember him however you want. Change the narrative, so to speak."
"How so?"
With an encouraging smile, she explained, "I'm sure it's not that easy, but we start thinking differently about what happened... You didn't give him an illness, he had an illness and you loved him through it as best you could. Or forget the illness altogether; you had a son whom you loved very much for as long as you had him."
Alex nodded slowly, clearly not convinced.
"I don't know," she admitted helplessly. "Let's talk to Tara, okay? Maybe this is the opposite of helping."
"I know you're trying," Alex murmured. "I'm just sorry you have to deal with...this, instead of having a happy wife, happily preparing for a happy baby."
"No," Emily said firmly, cupping her cheek. "You are my wife and that's what matters, okay? You're my wife and I love you."