One Good Reason

Chapter 1

It had been a very rough day at the office; I had been bitten, smacked, spit on, sworn at and kicked, and all before the clock had struck ten. 

 But I had one last thing to do before I could go home, strip off my work clothes and turn my brain into vegetable mode; I had to provide some sort of sustenance for myself and my husband. 

So there I was, standing second at the eight items or less line, my dinner encased in plastic sitting on the barely moving conveyer belt, counting aloud along with the beep beep beep of the UPC scanner. “Twelve, thirteen, fourteen…”

The woman in front of me, a soccer mom princess with no sense of decency or consideration for others turned and glared at me. “Do you mind?”

I returned the scowl. “Oh, I’m sorry, is my counting bothering you?”

“Uh, yeah. Is it really necessary?” The bitch asked. Her kid, of indeterminable age and gender was packed into a red snowsuit and sitting in the front of the cart staring at me blankly. 

I looked from the child to the woman. “Well you know, I would have been out of here ages ago and well out of earshot if this truly was the express line it’s purported to be.” I pointed at the ‘8 items or less’ sign and then glanced down at her items still moving down the belt. She had to be up to twenty yogurts alone by now.

She turned back toward the cashier, but that didn’t me she was done with me. “Bite me.” I heard distinctly.

“Don’t tempt me.” I hissed back.

“MOMMY!” the kid in the snowsuit screamed in a tone and decibel level which caused my ovaries to clench. “MOMMY, I want some ice cream!”

Glancing at my watch, I wished I were anywhere else. Anywhere would be better than here. Hell, lying in an alley having my kidney removed by organ poachers with a rusty scalpel would be better than here. I looked down at the prepared chicken and store-made wedge fries, wondering if I should just sacrifice the meal and bolt from the store. I could always phone for pizza. 

But before I had the chance, a yuppie couple pulled their cart up behind me. I was trapped.

Mr. Yuppie had a pouch like a backpack hanging from his chest with a baby stuffed into it. Mrs. Yuppie began to unload their cart: a wide assortment of organic baby foods and a tray of sushi. 

I was stuck; blocked in by soccer mom from hell and yuppie newbie parents. 

“MOOOOOOOOMMY! I want ice cream, NOW!”

Yes, kidney surgery would be very preferable; at least my brain would be swimming in adrenaline from the shock, sparing me this horror. 

“That’s twenty-six-fifty-four,” the cashier said to the woman, a fake smile pasted onto her face. 

Soccer mom ignored her but turned to her screaming, crying child. “Spencer, now what did I tell you? We do not scream for things in stores, Spencer.” 

“Excuse me, can you just pay and discipline your child after?” I suggested, eager to get my chicken and get the hell out of there.

Apparently instead of getting things moving, I had inadvertently turned up the bitch volume on Soccer mom from hell.

She whirled towards me. “Who the hell do you think you are, telling me how to discipline my child?”

I glanced at the cashier whose smile was frozen in place, although her eyes were widening to huge fried eggs. 

All I wanted was a chicken and some fries. All I wanted after a brutal day working at my husband’s pediatric dental practice, was a Goddamn chicken and fries to take home and shove onto the table. I wasn’t asking for a gourmet dinner, or a private chef: just a ready-to-go chicken with some starch on the side. Now my punishment for being a terrible wife who can’t cook worth a shit was having to endure this.

“Lady, I’m not telling you how to discipline your kid, I’m telling you to get out of the way, you’re holding up the line.”

“You know,” Yuppie dad sparked up behind me. “A child’s development and how you handle their outbursts is of the greatest importance. You may be traumatizing him.”

I was about to applaud until I realized he was talking to me.

What the fuck was wrong with these people? Did the maternity ward give out mandatory lobotomies to new parents? Have a kid, get a lobotomy free of charge? Either way, there was no way I was going to win this one.

I stared at the cashier. “Can I just pay for my fucking chicken?” I rolled my eyes so she would know I wasn’t angry at her.

A collective gasp from all those around me, except for the cashier (who just nodded at me, her eyes still wide), told me my choice of language was scandalous. I didn’t care; I just needed to get out of there. And anyway, it worked. Apparently unwilling to subject her child to more profanity, soccer mom dumped her grocery bags into the cart and hauled ass out of there.

Thank God.

I paid for my chicken, and was shoving it into a bag when Yuppie mom approached me. “Do you have any kids?” she asked, as though it were any of her business.

I stared at her for a second to see if she were seriously waiting for an answer. Apparently she was. “Do I look like I have kids?”

A wistful smile crept across her face. “You should, you know. They are just the most wonderful things you can ever imagine. We had Sarah just four months ago and our life is just so much better, it’s just beautiful. The second Brad cut the cord...”

“You’re kidding me, right?” I asked, still incredulous that this perfect stranger felt she had the right to tell me what I should do with my life. I looked at Yuppie dad who was nodding as he stroked the baby’s head. I snorted. “I’m not into kids, in case you didn’t pick up on that.”

Yuppie mom chuckled, making me want to hurt her that much more. “Oh no, you could never hate your own child. You’ll see.”

“Not likely.” I said, grabbing my bag of chicken and fries. I almost broke into a jog to get away. Fucking new-agers. Who did they think they were, telling me I should have a kid?

 I jumped into my SUV, hoping my blood pressure would return to normal for the ride home; add a dose of road rage to my non-reproductive fury and I had the potential to really hurt someone. 

#

Even with chicken in my mouth, I laughed out loud at Joey’s stupidity. A Friends rerun always marked the dinner hour in the Blumenfeld house, no matter that dinner consisted of Dave and I sitting on our respective sofas staring at the television, our plates perched on tv trays. It was a typical evening, and just the way I liked it.

“Peter called me today,” Dave said from his couch. 

“Mm hmm,” I responded, still watching Joey.

“Katrina’s pregnant.”

My chewing slowed so I could mentally masticate on where this conversation was going. A ball of dread joined the chicken in my stomach.

“That’s really great,” I said, popping a fry into my mouth to buy me some time. On one level, I was happy for Peter and Katrina; they’d been trying to get pregnant for about a year. But at the same time, their happy news was going to complicate my life significantly.

“When are you going to be ready, Vic?” Dave asked predictably.

“Huh?” I was stalling but I looked at him, my mind racing, trying to come up with a believable excuse.

“When can we start trying to have kids?”

I looked down at my half eaten dinner, suddenly losing my appetite. “I don’t know, Dave.”

“Vic…” I could feel his eyes on me. “Vicky?”

I looked up. 

“You know how much I want a family. You know how much I love kids…”

And it was true. Dave loved kids and kids absolutely adored Dave. It was almost magical the way he connected with them, making them laugh and giggle, overcoming their fears. And even though he was a dentist, kids never ever left his office in tears or bearing any hard feelings. It was like he was the miracle dentist; delivering his special magic one mouth at a time.

On another level, his popularity had caused problems of a different kind when single mothers saw how wonderful he was with their children. It was certainly no anomaly that a growing chunk of Dave’s full practice was made up of single moms who often wore low cut blouses and giggled too much during consultations. But Dave laughed it off, always managing to introduce me, his wife and office administrator to each and every new patient’s parent.

 “Vic, neither of us is getting younger. I really think we should start now.”

I dropped my gaze again, not able to look my husband in the eyes. He would be close to tears; we’d had this conversation a hundred times. “I’m just not ready.” It was a lie. I was lying to my husband. I knew I would never be ready. In the six years of our marriage, as my love for Dave had grown, so had my distaste for the idea of becoming a mother. Something had just turned off. It was like someone had removed the battery from my biological clock. 

And I didn’t know how to break it to Dave. 

The first couple years, I had been telling him the truth when I said I just didn’t feel ready; I had really thought the mothering instinct would kick in. But it just never did. And no amount of begging, cajoling or even deal making could convince me I wanted to have someone on this planet who would call me Mommy.

A few times, when his tears had become too much, I had almost given in. But I knew deep down my nagging doubt shouldn’t be ignored. For this one thing, I had to dig in my heels. 

“Will you ever be ready?” Dave’s voice was almost a whisper.

He’d figured it out. He had finally caught on.

“Just give me more time,” I said, not believing my own words: the words of a coward. He was giving me my chance to come clean and I was chickening out.

I put down my fork so he wouldn’t see my hand shaking. 

“I can’t wait any more, Vicky.”

My mouth went dry. I didn’t know what to say.

“I need a family. I don’t need ten kids, just a couple, Vicky.” He was pleading with me. 

I forced some saliva into my desiccated mouth. “I can’t, Dave.”

“I think if you had a baby, everything would change.”

And that’s exactly what I was afraid of. I didn’t want anything to change. I liked my life just the way it was. I liked being number one in Dave’s life and him being number one in mine. I liked having money left over at the end of the month. I liked being able to drop everything and go on a week long vacation without having to arrange for what to do with kids. I liked not having to waste my evenings driving little Johnny to soccer and little Janie to dance lessons. No, I liked my life just the way it was. It was perfect. And everyone knows you don’t mess with perfection.

Dave mistook my silence for contemplation. “You are such a warm and caring person; I see you with your sister’s kids and I know you’d be a great mom.”

I had my own serious doubts and I also suspected he was full of shit, lying just to further his case. “Dave, Ruby’s kids go home. And you know, even after ten minutes with them, and I want to run away. If it looks like I’m having a good time, it’s because I’m a good actor, not because I’m enjoying myself.” I rolled my eyes.

“But if it was your own baby, your own flesh…” His tears were flowing freely now. 

I turned away, afraid the tiny droplets of salty water coming from my husband would erode my resolve. “Dave, there are just no guarantees. I’m not bringing a child into this world if I am not a hundred percent sure I want it. I wouldn’t do that to you or a kid.” I shook my head, silently cursing my own tears. “Would you want me to have a baby just because you wanted it, even if I didn’t?”

His silence answered my question. 

“I can’t do it Dave. I just can’t.”

He took a deep breath and chewed on the inside of his cheek before he finally spoke. “Then I want a divorce.”

My lungs froze, my breath halting as I tried to process his words. 

“I’m sorry, Vicky, but if we can’t be on the same page with this, I think we need to be with other people.”

I forced air into my lungs. “Is there someone else?” I almost choked on the words. 

Dave shook his head vehemently. “No. No, of course not. How could you even ask that?” He looked at me, a pained expression on his face. “I’m just saying that we want such different things. This isn’t as simple as choosing where to go on this year’s holiday, or whether to have red or white wine with fish…this is a big deal, Vic.”

“I can’t be without you, Dave,” I whined, my life crashing in on me. 

“I can’t imagine life without you either, Vic. But if this is how it’s going to be, no matter which one of us gives in, they’re going to resent the other.” He stood up and came over to my couch, sitting down beside me. I threw my arms around him, squeezing him hard, trying to hold on to him as long as I could.

We sat there, crying in each other’s arms long past the end of the Friends episode. Finally, when I couldn’t imagine either of us having any tears left, we slowly pulled apart. 

“Dave, I love you so much, I can’t let it end over this.”

“I love you so much too Vicky. I almost wish I didn’t: it would make it so much easier to do this.”

I swallowed and tried to take deep breaths. “Is that it then?”

He nodded before he hugged me again. 

That night we slept in each others arms, both of us trying to gain comfort from the other. Both of us knowing that as close as we were physically, we were still a million miles apart.