Inconceivable! (40 page)

“Oh, c’mon. Your slightly crooked smile was one of the first things I adored about you because it let me know you weren’t actually perfect. It helped me not feel intimidated by this amazing hair.” I reached up and touched his gorgeous locks.

He took my hand and kissed it. I envied his confidence, and tried not to be annoyed by his inability to wallow with me in self-pity.

The metallic clicks of the timer were the soundtrack of our wait. I’d left the pregnancy test on the bathroom counter to prevent myself from sitting and staring at it for three minutes. I’d become attached to this one brand of pee sticks that took only three minutes to show the result.

My superstitions around getting pregnant were endless. We were using a kitchen timer instead of my cell phone because I’d come to associate its sound with seeing a single line, and somehow I’d convinced myself changing the timing device might change the test result.

Ding!
The minute we heard the bell, we joined hands and walked from the kitchen into the bathroom. Panic dried my mouth and dampened my palms. I was a nervous wreck. I stepped onto the cold tile floor ahead of John.

A single line proclaimed another failure. All emotions evaporated, leaving behind only a husk, dry and empty.

“Maybe something’s wrong with this test. Could you do another one later?”

“I can. But when you do the test first thing in the morning, it’s your best shot because the pregnancy hormone is more concentrated and the urine is less diluted. That’s what I read online, anyway.”

“But what if you try again tomorrow?” It was the endless parade of “what ifs” that exhausted me. But he was right. I’d test again in the morning.

“Yes, I’ll do another test in the morning.” Who was I kidding? I’d do another one this afternoon.

I left the test on the counter and walked back into the kitchen. I scooped up my phone and sent Kendra27 a quick message because she’d been “crossing her fingers and toes” and “sending good vibes for a positive!”

I saw a new email from Plato. Sitting on a stool by the kitchen island, I opened it:

SAVE THE DATE! Saturday, August 15. We’re doing it! We’re getting married. I’m dragging Sam to Iowa to meet my family and we’re tying the knot. I know it’s an impossible thing to ask, but we want you guys to come. Puh-LEAZE! Also, remind John he’s on the hook to play with Jos in the charity rugby match. My cousin and the kids in Ethiopia thank both of you! By the way, I will get you to Ethiopia sometime in the next twelve months. It will straight up change your life. Love you, girl!

I hit reply:

I’ll see if we can come to the wedding. But only if you promise right now you guys won’t get pregnant before us. The game is on John’s calendar. I won’t let him wiggle out of it. Ethiopia’s on my radar, so we’ll see. OXOX

I looked up when I heard John walk into the kitchen.

“We’ve got to do more.” He held the test in his hand, his eyes wide―he looked shell shocked.

“Look, I’ll test again tomorrow. You do realize you’ve brought the urine-soaked test into the kitchen, right?”

“What are we going to do if you still aren’t pregnant?”

Helplessness filled his face, and relief overtook me because I sensed he’d hit rock bottom at last. Finally, we were in the same place at the same time on this journey, both of us falling into the pit.
Welcome to a whole new level of misery, honey.

I grabbed a napkin, took the test from his hand, and threw it in the trash can. “I really resent you coming so late to the game. You can’t sit on the bench for three quarters and then swoop in with five minutes on the clock and ask how to win. It’s like I’ve been doing this by myself.”

He approached me, pointing an accusatory finger. His nostrils flared; he was seething. “That’s a lie. You can do a lot of things on your own, Hatty, but you can’t get pregnant by yourself. I’ve done everything I can to make it happen, except agree to the laparoscopy. I still don’t want you to go through that kind of surgery.”

I stood toe-to-toe with my husband, not blinking. “‘You’ve ‘done everything’ you can? Oh, c’mon. This whole thing makes you so uncomfortable. You’ve just been phoning it in.”

His fist slammed against the granite island. “You can’t ‘phone in’ sperm!” he yelled.

“And by the way, there is no magic bullet. I don’t know how to fix this!” I screamed the final words into his face and threw my arms into the air in exasperation. I didn’t give a damn if Bernard and the other two Royal Guards heard us from their posts outside.

He took two steps back and blew out air, trying to calm down. “But you spend hours online trying to figure out how to get pregnant. What’s next?”

Even though I wanted to believe we’d get pregnant this time, I’d already been thinking about what we’d do if this month’s IUI failed. Developing Plan B was a critical part of keeping hope within reach. If this fails, then there’s this
.
Hope and despair were neighbors, coexisting with a quiet tension in my heart.

“Since we don’t really know what’s keeping us from getting pregnant, in vitro fertilization may be the best shot we have. From what I’ve read online, it has relatively high success rates.”

John rubbed his eyes, a gesture I knew so well because it conveyed his exasperation with this entire process.

“I’m so sorry,” I sobbed.

John wrapped me in his arms, and I pressed my head against his shoulder. “I feel like if I hadn’t slept with Jack, I’d be pregnant. This is a punishment, you know? It’s all my fault.”

“That’s ridiculous. You know that’s not true. There’s a way to fix this and we’ll do whatever it takes.”

s Duchess Hatty Really a “Barren-ess?”

By Clarence Watson

April 13, 2015

Duchess Hatty has been receiving fertility treatments, according to two sources who spoke to Xpress. They cited firsthand knowledge of the couple’s appointments with Dr. Hilda Dreesen, a highly regarded fertility specialist in Roeselare.

Though there are no details on what procedures the couple has undertaken, it’s clear they’re eager, and perhaps desperate, to get pregnant. At an appearance earlier this year, the Duchess told a young boy she wasn’t a mother “yet.”

“It would be highly unusual for a couple that’s as young as the prince and duchess to have problems conceiving. They certainly face a great deal of stress and as we all know, that can contribute to fertility problems,” said Dr. Heinz Baden, a gynecologist who does not treat the royal couple.

Representatives for the couple refused to comment for this story.

“The expectations are very high. They’ve been married for nearly a year and a half, and Prince Henri and Duchess Adela have already produced an heir. Maybe Prince John and Duchess Hatty could use some pointers from their younger rivals!” said Anna Fetke, a historian who writes about the royal family.

I stood in the tidy concrete hallway outside the locker rooms with my arms wrapped around John’s neck.

“Just be careful, okay?”

“I will be extra careful.”

I’d felt uneasy about the rugby match ever since John told Plato he’d play. I hated the game. It was so rough and they didn’t wear helmets.

“Am I interrupting, love?” I looked up at the sound of my ex-boyfriend’s voice. Jack swaggered toward us.

“Hello, Jack,” John said. I saw the telltale line on John’s jaw, so I knew he was clenching his teeth.

Jack looked right at me. “Hatty, what’s this I hear about you trying to get it up the duff?” A big smile spread across his face.

I cringed at his crude reference to mine and John’s attempts to get pregnant. I stared at him as I kept my arms around John.

“Maybe you just need a ride with a real man. You remember what that’s like, right?” Jack stood a couple of feet away.

John moved me aside, and rushed toward Jack. Grabbing the front of his jersey, John shoved him against the wall. They were about the same height and build, but John’s anger gave him the upper hand.

“Don’t you ever speak to my wife again,” John said quietly through his teeth.

Jack pushed back and John stepped away, coming over to me. “Save it for the field, Meinrad. You’re going to need it out there.” Jack walked away.

“What’s his deal?”

I turned at the sound of Jos de Haven’s voice. He came into the hallway from the locker room.

“Nothing,” John said. “Are you ready for this? It’s been a long time since we played together. I hope I can keep up with you and the rest of the guys who do this for a living.” John bent over to straighten his socks.

“So, how are things, Hatty?” Jos gave me a bear hug. “I keep meaning to get in touch with Astrid so Gabs and I can arrange a time to come see you.”

“We’d love it. How about sometime this summer?” Jos and Gabs were an adorable couple.

“I think that would work out nicely for us. There’s something we want to discuss with the two of you.” Jos looked around to verify we were alone. “It took us a long time before Gabs got pregnant with Alina. It was our first in vitro cycle that made it happen.”

“I had no idea,” John said.

“No one knows we got pregnant that way. Not even our family. But when I heard you and Hatty were getting help, I just wanted to say… well, it’s a lonely road, brother.” Jos’ eyes welled up. Was this hulking man on the verge of tears before what was sure to be a brutal match?