The setback, p.3
The Setback, page 3
And yet, I can’t help it.
I’m wondering whether it’s possible that Mom actually saw the YouTube video, tracked me down, and drove everyone out here, just because she missed me. Does she actually love me? Could she regret ignoring me my entire life?
Could she actually be proud of me?
I mean, I have done a lot of pretty neat things. I have a famous blog. I’m getting my wedding—a dream wedding—for free. All I have to do is post a few photos of each of the big-ticket items, and they’re mine. On top of that, I have friends and family here, and a smoking hot, generous, smart, kind fiancé. And I’m developing a new resort.
Why is it so hard for me to believe that they’re proud of me?
Maybe it’s not Mom’s damage that’s getting in the way this time.
Maybe it’s mine.
“Look, I’ll call the hotel right now. Once your car’s ready, we can reevaluate whether you should stay or go. Okay?”
Mom and Dad both smile then, broadly, and it makes me happy.
I really hope I’m not turning into a complete chump.
3
Donna
In movies and television shows, when they show someone sitting at the doctor’s office, you know it’s bad news. But in real life, most of the time spent in a doctor’s office is boring. Waiting, waiting, and more waiting. In fact, sitting here isn’t even the stressful part. No, that was yesterday.
Since I’m working for my boyfriend’s mom, it’s a little harder to get time off to actually drive over to sit at the doctor’s office. It’s not like Manila’s large enough to have a really nice OB, so I’m stuck driving into Green River. That makes it an even bigger ask.
Although Mrs. Earl is the nicest boss anyone has ever had, she’s a little chatty, and chatty easily starts to feel like nosy. So when I told her I needed to take a few hours off today, she asked why. And when I told her it was private, she got concerned. Not, like, wanted-to-hire-an-investigator-to-tail me, but more like, worried-my-ex-was-up-to-something-and-wanted-to-help.
Which is a really nice thing. It’s a sweet thing.
But it made it awkward for me to explain where I was going. It’s not like I could really say, “I’ve had this persistent pelvic pain since my divorce, and I’m worried my ex gave me an STD. Now that I’ve said I love you to your son, well. I want to make sure the old car is ready to take out for a drive whenever that happens.”
Oh my word. Even thinking about saying that to Mrs. Earl makes me blush. But it’s not like I really want her worrying about what’s causing me to take off work, either. Overall, I really like working with my boyfriend’s mom, but nothing’s perfect.
“Donna Ellingson?”
“That’s me.” I stand up so forcefully that the nurse holding my chart steps backward.
Her brows draw together.
“Sorry,” I say. “I got a little anxious while I was waiting.”
She nods. “That’s not uncommon. Come with me.”
After waiting in the lobby for nearly forty minutes, I’m almost shocked when the doc shows up moments after I’m shown to an exam room.
“Why are you here today?” She asks. “It looks like. . .” The doc scans the chart. “Just a checkup?”
I swallow. “The thing is, I got divorced a while back, and I wanted to make sure. . .nothing was wrong.”
“STD screen. Got it.” She checks a box on my chart. “And?”
I blink. “Isn’t that enough?”
“You said a while ago. In my experience, people usually suspect STDs right away, or they experience symptoms that lead them to come in if they do have them. Since you’re not reporting any, I’m assuming something else prompted you to make a visit now.”
“Oh.” I look down at my feet. “Well. I’m also dating someone new, and I really, really like him. I have a son, but having him wasn’t exactly easy.”
“Easy?” The doctor raises her eyebrows.
“I lost three babies—two before and one after having Aiden.”
This time, it’s the doctor who looks a little surprised. “I’m so sorry.”
“I have really heavy periods, and I have endometriosis, and while you were getting my pap smear and STD test and whatnot, I thought you might just kick the tires a little and make sure everything’s alright.”
“What did the doctors say when you miscarried?”
I shrug.
“It would be really helpful—”
“I don’t know,” I say. “My husband didn’t want any more kids, so he didn’t want me to go see any.”
“You had three miscarriages without seeing any doctors about why?” There’s the judgment I expected.
“I saw an ER doctor each time,” I say. “But they always referred me to specialists, and we never went to see any of them.”
The doctor walks across the room and sits down on the chair next to me. Her eyes are kind. “What other symptoms have you had?”
I really don’t need kindness right now. I’m already fighting my hardest not to cry. I inhale sharply to try and stave off any tears. “I filled out the form.” I sniffle.
She nods, releases my hand, and flips through the chart again. “Erratic periods. Intermittent heavy bleeding during periods that lasts up to nine days?” Her eyes widen. “Significant discomfort during and after periods?”
I nod.
“Alright, well, while you’re here, I’m going to suggest a real workup. We had two patients cancel this afternoon, so I should have time. Do you have insurance? Or will that—”
“Just do it,” I say. “I’ll pay whatever.”
The doctor stands up, her eyes meeting mine. “Alright.” Her smile isn’t very enthusiastic, but it’s genuine.
That’s when I discover that waiting in the doctor’s office is the stressful part. Those miscarriages during my relationship with Aiden’s dad were sad. They were devastating, really. But since my marriage was such a wreck. . .they were also a relief. I wanted another child, but I didn’t really want another child with Charles. So there was always an element of anxiety that went along with any possible pregnancy.
But now that I’m free of him, now that I have an amazing boyfriend, now that I can get answers for what was going on, I’m really, really nervous about what the doctor might say. An ultrasound and a CAT scan later, it’s nearly dinner time. Will’s texted me twice.
And I’m still waiting.
When the door opens and the kind lady doctor finally walks back in, her face isn’t cheery. She looks downright stoic.
“Did a patient die in surgery?” Yes, my joke is lame.
But at least it makes her laugh. “All my patients are fine,” she says. “Also, there’s good news. You have no STDs.”
“But the bad news?” Because when someone says ‘there’s good news,’ there’s always bad news as well.
“You already knew you had endometriosis.”
For some reason, that makes tears well up in my eyes, but I nod.
“And you know that it can cause infertility in as many as fifty percent of the women who deal with it.”
“But I already had one child.”
“You did, when you were younger than you are now,” she says. “The scar tissue increases with age, making implantation increasingly more difficult.”
That sounds ominous. “I’m still young.”
She forces a smile.
Now I’m getting really nervous.
“The ultrasound also showed fibroids.”
“Is that from the endometriosis?”
She shakes her head. “They’re usually not too concerning. A lot of women have fibroids and never even realize they do. That’s why we got the CAT scan.” She frowns. “The three miscarriages was the tip-off for me. You have something called submucosal fibroids, which can cause infertility on their own, but when combined with the endometriosis. . .”
“What’s the treatment?”
She licks her lips. “The thing is, we can remove certain fibroids, but when they’re submucosal, the removal causes even more scar tissue.”
Which is the problem caused by the endometriosis. All the scar tissue already makes it hard for the fetus to properly attach. “Basically, my uterus is like the surface of the moon. Pitted and not compatible with life.”
She doesn’t even feign a laugh. She just sits down next to me again. “We don’t really know. Plenty of women who don’t seem likely to conceive and carry a child still do.”
Women who don’t seem likely to conceive or carry a child.
The words roll through my brain on repeat. Three miscarriages. “I guess this is where I’m supposed to be grateful that I have Aiden.” But the words feel like sawdust in my mouth. “And I am. I love him.”
“Some women aren’t able to have any children at all.”
“Are you married?”
I shouldn’t have asked. I can see the surprise and defense in the woman’s face.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “I know it’s none of my business. But I was married to a horrible jerk, and now I have the best boyfriend in the world, and things are going really well, and I want a big family. I came from a smallish one, and my best friend has four—soon-to-be five—kids, and I guess I wanted that too. And the guy I’m with, he would be the best dad.” And now I’m bawling like I’m on death row and I’m not getting a last meal. “I’m already this train wreck he inexplicably likes, and his mom had to give me a job, and he keeps having to step in to help me with my ex, and he’s amazing with my son, but I really, really don’t want to be the reason he can’t—we can’t—have any more kids.” The bawling has somehow evolved into heaving sobs, and tears are rolling down from my cheeks onto my pants, and I’m sure the doctor is regretting sitting next to me at all.
She turns toward me and pulls me against her.
And now I’m crying on the lapel of some doctor who isn’t paid nearly enough. She pats my back slowly. “It’s alright. It’s going to be alright.”
“When your doctor tells you that plenty of women experience miracles, basically, it doesn’t feel like it’s going to be alright.”
“You don’t have to deal with this right now,” she says. “You have plenty of time. Years and years, yet.”
But when I finally get home, when I pull up in the driveway of my adorable little house, the one that Amanda Saddler gifted Aiden and me, it doesn’t feel like I have all the time in the world. When Beth opens the door, and Aiden’s head pokes out above her, and I notice that Will’s truck is on the curb. . .it feels like every second I have is precious, and I’ve been wasting them.
If Aiden’s the only kid I’ll ever have, then every moment of his childhood means more, somehow. I think about how the toddler years are behind me, about how I’ll never experience my child learning to walk again, or learning to say ‘mama.’ I’ll never again change a diaper. I know people hate changing them, but I didn’t even realize that I’d changed my last when I did it.
Which is why I’m totally sobbing like a lunatic when Will taps on the window of my car. “Hey, what’s wrong?” His face is so concerned, and his eyes are so earnest. Eyes we’ll never see in a child of our own. Eyes I can never give him, not the way I want to.
I shake my head and keep on bawling.
He pulls on the door handle.
It’s locked.
He pulls again, and taps, and says, “Donna. Open the door. What’s going on?”
I can’t quite do it.
“Mom said you left and didn’t say why?”
Oh, no. He already knows something’s wrong. No wonder he’s worried. It’s not just Donna being Donna. He knows that I may have an actual reason to be this upset.
I hit the unlock button.
Only, now Aiden and Beth are right behind him.
“Is something wrong?” Beth’s face is cloudy, her eyes filled with concern.
Aiden’s voice is far too adult-sounding when he asks, “Mom? Why are you so sad?”
I swipe at my cheeks. It’s a wonder I have enough water in me to make any more tears after my ridiculous meltdown at the doctor’s office. “Nothing. It’s fine. Everything’s fine.” I force a smile. “I just saw you three waiting on me, and I got emotional. It happens to moms sometimes.”
Beth looks like she wants to call me out, but she just narrows her eyes and compresses her lips and takes Aiden’s arm. “Let’s go inside, buddy. The mac and cheese is almost done.”
Oh, good. I’m upset I won’t have any more kids while the one I do have is basically being neglected. Mac and cheese for dinner when I should have been making something. . . Not that this is abnormal. I regularly flake on dinner and we eat junk-food-adjacent processed trash. Maybe the unlikelihood of me having more kids is for the best.
And I’m spiraling again.
“Now that the peanut gallery has gone back inside, care to share?” Will wipes my face with his hands so gently that I can’t help thinking how careful he’d be with a baby.
“I can’t have kids.” Okay. Well, that’s one way to explain my afternoon.
“What?” His entire face looks confused. “What are you talking about?”
I stare at the steering wheel. It’s freezing cold outside, and we should go inside, but I can’t seem to move. “I spent the afternoon at the doctor’s office. I had an ultrasound and a CAT scan that I can’t afford, and I found out that between my endometriosis, my uterine fibroids, and the three miscarriages I had before and after Aiden, it’s very likely that I’ll never have another child.” My voice is so small at the end that I’m not sure whether he can even understand me.
“Donna.”
“I think we should break up.”
Will starts laughing. “Donna.”
I slam my hand against the top of the steering wheel so hard that the horn actually lets out a small chirp. “Why aren’t you listening?”
Beth and Aiden poke their heads out again, but Will waves them back inside. Beth looks annoyed, but she drags Aiden back.
“I am listening, Donna. I know you’re feeling particularly upset, and I know those were hard things to hear, but do you know what I just heard?”
I can’t even turn my head. This steering wheel feels like the only thing that’s real in my life.
Will carefully drags my chin toward him, forcing my eyes to go along with it. When I see his face, his beautiful, calm, somewhat amused face, my heart breaks all over again. “Will.”
“Donna, you’re healthy and strong, and you’re totally fine. You’re not dying. You don’t have cancer. You have a job and a boyfriend and a very healthy and strong and happy son. You have a niece who’s a delight whom you’re currently raising because your brother’s the worst, and you don’t even need to have more kids. We haven’t even talked about it. Maybe I don’t even want kids.”
“You do, though.”
“I have one already, as far as I’m concerned.”
“Aiden has a father.” I know it’s a mean thing to say, but it’s also true. “A crappy father, but he has a dad.”
“That little boy needs a decent dad, and I’m fine with being his fallback.” Will shrugs. “You know what I do want?”
I shake my head slowly.
Will sighs, and then he releases me, and he drops down on one knee in the dirty-snow-encrusted mud on the edge of my driveway. He pulls a ring out of his pocket.
“I’ve been carrying this stupid ring around for weeks. I didn’t want to do a big, huge, overwrought proposal. It always feels like those people are trying too hard. And I didn’t want to steal the thunder from Eddy and Amanda with their engagement.”
I can’t believe I’m looking at a diamond ring.
“I didn’t want to rush you, either. So I just waited, and waited, and waited. But for some reason, this feels like the right moment. When you’re sad, and when you’re worried, and when you’ve had a bad day. That’s the time for me to say that, Donna Ellingson, I have loved you for years, and now I want to love you in the broad daylight while holding your hand. I don’t care whether you have ten children with me or whether we just adopt the world’s cutest dog. Or eleven ugly dogs. Whatever you want, whatever God has planned for us, that’s what I want to do. As long as it’s with you.”
And now I’m crying all over again.
“Please, please, please take this ring and say you’ll marry me, you ridiculous, adorable, tenacious woman.”
I confess to Will that I’m even more broken than he knew, and his reaction is to propose, with a ring he’s been carrying around for weeks. “You think this is the right time?”
He stands up. “Yes, because loving someone means being there when they’re sad and scared. It’s not all flowers and fancy meals.” He looks down at his wet, muddy knee. “And maybe I’m not supposed to kneel in the mud, and ideally you wouldn’t be gripping that steering wheel like it’s a rope connected to a helicopter that’s going to get you out of a deep chasm in which you’re doomed to die.”
I laugh.
He leans against the side of my car, his eyes still intent on mine. “I don’t want you to think I didn’t give this any thought. Actually, I waited for years for the perfect moment to ask you out. You left for school and then got married before I ever asked. When you came back, I waited for you to get over the divorce and be ready to date. I’ve learned something in all that waiting.”
“What?”
He drops his head down until it’s right next to mine. “I’ve learned that there are no perfect moments, or at least, there never have been for me. So I just take the crappy, imperfect moments I get, and I do my best to make them as great as I can.” His mouth shifts closer to mine then, his eyes dropping to my lips.
Will always makes the regular moments we have pretty amazing by taking things slowly. When his lips finally close over mine, my heart swells.
This man loves me.
He loves me when I’m puffy and bawling.
He loves me when I’m complaining and angry.
He loves me when my niece is stuck feeding my kid macaroni and cheese.
