The Romance Novel Cure (4 page)

All throughout the day at work, I kept thinking about Ben and positive interactions. I noticed how I was patient and encouraging with the toddlers.

“Jayden, Aiden was playing with that truck. Now he’s crying. Let’s give him the truck. It’s his turn,” I said during outdoor time.

“It’s really hard to wait, isn’t it?” I commiserated with Yasmin, who was crying at snack time.

“Breaks just don’t seem long enough, do they,” I empathized with my assistant when she came in, ten minutes late, apologizing.

I thought about how angry I’d been with Ben. All the time. At work, I’d be in control. At home, I was constantly feeling mad. He was such a great guy, but I’d zero in on the fact that he left dishes piled up instead of just putting them in the dishwasher the way I’d asked him so many times. So many times! I’d think that he didn’t remember what I asked him, therefore he doesn’t care about how I feel, therefore he doesn’t really care so much about me. I knew that was crazy but I’d just react so fast. Critical, complaining words would be flying out of my mouth before I knew it, and I’d see Ben start to look aggravated, guilty, and then just kind of distant.

When I got diagnosed with Premature Ovarian Failure (POV) (and yeah, who had the great idea to put failure right in the diagnosis?) I felt so stupid. I felt as though I’d been tricked. All along, I had thought how great it would be to have kids with Ben. Maybe two. I imagined saying, “kids, get in the car” when I was getting into the car with Ben, just imagining what it would be like to have them in the backseat. I’d daydream that we’d have to play kids music all the time, and we’d roll our eyes humorously at each other, Ben and I, remembering the days when we’d listen to whatever music we wanted. Ben loved to listen to National Public Radio, too, and I imagined him turning it off, looking in the back seat, shaking his head, not wanting the news to upset them. They started to feel real to me, these shadowy, what-if children.

My cycle had always been irregular, so at a routine check up, my gynecologist suggested sooner rather than later when I expressed some interest in getting pregnant. Suddenly, I couldn’t wait. I blurted out the idea to Ben and although he got really pale, he started grinning and said those words I used to love to hear from him:
you got it, Greta
.

Well, I didn’t. We didn’t. After several months, I went in for preliminary testing and I was shocked. At first, every month I thought I was pregnant. I’d take a pregnancy test and get disappointed, but there was always next month. I can’t even describe the impatience I felt. It was so powerful, the desire to be pregnant. Every day, surrounded by babies and toddlers and preschool aged children, I kept imagining that one day, hopefully soon, I could bring my own to work.

The diagnosis of POV meant for me and Ben that we’d never conceive naturally.  I could never conceive, never feel our baby growing within me. We were given a lot of information about how we could still become parents, but at that moment, all I felt was betrayed by my own body. I felt guilty, too. Ben was fine, there was nothing wrong with him. He could become a father just like that. But with me? No. No way. Ever.

It hurt. I hurt. At first, the hurt was something I could cry about, and talk about a little, with Ben. But then, I didn’t want to talk about it. I didn’t want to think about it. He wasn’t upset the way I was. Maybe that should have made it easier, but instead, I felt as though it made it harder for me. I felt so angry, but about stupid stuff.  I used to be a patient person, and I found that every little thing would irritate me. At work, I was patient. It was the only place I felt like me. I thought that maybe it would be too hard to continue working with kids. But, even though it was painful at times, I loved my job and I loved who I was when I was working.

I had this feeling that Ben would be better off without me. I think he settled too quickly on me, and he had to be regretting that. The thing about Ben is that he doesn’t know what a catch he is. He is kind, funny, so smart, and such a handsome guy. He is very talented, and hard working. He had extremely bad cystic acne as an adolescent, all through college. He was on all kinds of medications, including antibiotics. They hurt his stomach really badly, eventually, and he got sick. He started having all kinds of stomach problems. Later, he was diagnosed with celiac disease. Nobody had guessed that’s what was going on. Finally, after a year of being on a gluten free and dairy free diet, he started to gain some weight, and his skin began to clear. He was left with scarring on his cheeks and jaw. He got into the habit of ducking his head, and it is so adorable, he has no idea. So, he just had no confidence with girls, having such severe acne. Then, by the time he had graduated from college, I think he didn’t even know how to begin meeting someone and dating. He had gotten used to being the good friend, that’s all. When we met, all I saw was this handsome guy with a shy side. I thought his scarring gave him a kind of rugged appearance that I liked. Not only is he a sweet, hot, and smart guy, he has depth and kindness to him. That volunteer project where we met was only one of so many he has been involved in. He always has a volunteer project going on the side. He designs websites for programs that help people who are poor, all the time. When I found out about that, I praised him but he just shrugged and said, “
Tikkun
Olam
. It’s a broken world, we’ve all got to try to hold it together, fix what we can.”

I thought it was pretty crazy and awful that someone like me who lived and breathed romance would be completely failing at her very own marriage. I thought it sucked that someone who loved children the way I did couldn’t get pregnant. I thought it was pretty tragic that we couldn’t figure out how to fix our broken hearts.

Greta’s note changed everything.

I’d been feeling as though she would be better off without me. I seemed to make her mad or miserable, all the time. She could heal the rift between her and her anti-Semitic, racist, gun loving, knife collecting, conspiracy theories believing, family.

So, yeah:
no
.

I would do everything I could to be the man who made her smile again. To do that, I couldn’t go back in time and start over, so, I had to find a coach. I’d pick the one guy that seemed to spend the most time making her smile these days: Silas.

What Would Silas Do? That would be my question when it came to my wife. I had the Silas books. Every free moment I read. Every once and a while I’d highlight sections.

I was reading about Silas and Sera on the run from the bad guys:

* * *

“Here,” said Silas roughly, wrapping a wool blanket around Sera’s shoulders. “You’ll get sick. You know you get cold easily.”

Sera tried to speak clearly, shivering, “Th-th-thanks. I’m not… too cold.”

The cold autumn wind made the pine branches creak and sway overhead.

He hesitated, then placed his large arm around her, and pulled her close. He took her two hands into his own, and blew warm breath onto them.

“How’s that?” he murmured. “You warming up?”

“Y-yeah,” whispered Sera, looking up into his eyes.

“Here, put your hands…” he held them.

“What? Where?” Sera frowned, feeling anxious.

“Here.” He placed her hands on his chest, inside his shirt, where they encountered his heat. “What, you think I’m going to try to flirt with you? At a time like this?”

“Yes, actually.” She couldn’t help smiling.

“Well, you’d be right…”

* * *

Silas was freakishly tuned into everything about Sera. If she had asked him to remember not to hang his wet towels on doorknobs, then he just would remember. Boom; you’re welcome.

Rule number one: Listen to Greta. Remember what she says! Pay attention.

I had to leave for work soon, but I had a little time. I looked around, trying to see our condo with fresh, Silas inspired eyes. We had a two bedroom place we moved into after we got married. It was small, but had an open floor plan that helped it feel a little more spacious. It also helped that we didn’t have a lot of furniture. We had a very small wedding at a Unitarian Universalist church, and had saved up to buy some things from Pottery Barn, plus the few things we’d each had, mostly second hand stuff. Greta was kind enough to want my art on our walls, paintings from college and after, when I used to paint in my live/work loft. I saw a towel on a doorknob. I grabbed it. Saw my shoes in a pile by the couch. Put them in the closet. Dishes on the counter. Put them in the dishwasher. I wiped the counter and table off with paper towels. I took the trash and recycling out. The thought that Greta would have less to do when she got home made me feel really happy. I’d been such a jerk. Sure, I did what she asked me to do around the house when she asked, and I always took care of the cars, and some other stuff, but I felt ashamed thinking of all the things she took care of in our home. I swear, I just never thought about it, never saw stuff piled up. Well, not anymore.

I thought of another thing I could do. I texted Greta that I would bring home dinner, if she wanted. I cringed, thinking she may have already told me she was making something, or that she had plans with coworkers. I had about fifteen minutes before I needed to leave, so instead of going online to check Facebook or something, I quickly Swiffered the bathroom and kitchen floors, and vacuumed. We have a small place, it didn’t take much time. I thought about how much Greta probably does at work cleaning up after the little kids, and I felt good that she wouldn’t have so much to do after work. Unless I was doing it all wrong, which was very possible. I sat down with my iPad, and read a little more until I was reading about when Silas and Sera had to escape from some dark siders who were after them:

* * *

“We’ve got to keep going, Silas, hurry!” panted Sera.

They’d been climbing up the rocky cliffside for what felt like hours.

“Hold on,” grunted Silas, as he lifted Sera onto his back.

“Wait, you can’t —!” she gasped.

“I can,” said Silas, as he resumed their ascent.

* * *

Rule number two: Take care of her.

I swallowed. I felt that tight feeling in my chest. I hated that I couldn’t fix the infertility for her. Honestly? I wish it had been me. My wanting to fix things, take care of her, didn’t mean I saw her as weak. She is the strongest person I know. But she’s my wife. She wanted to be pregnant with our baby. It wasn’t fair, that’s all. I wished I could make her happy.

* * *

“Silas!” shouted Sera in frustration, thumping his broad back with her fist. “Put me down!”

He paused, looking over his shoulder. His glance traveled to her bare leg wrapped around his waist.

“Hell, no,” he said, breathing heavily. “Any excuse to have these legs within touching distance.” His hand stroked a fiery line from her hip to her heel.

Sera felt that touch everywhere. She melted against him, propping her chin on his shoulder.

“Okay, big guy,” she sighed, “I’ll just ride you all day.”

He grinned and pulled her legs closer, his hands lingering on her calves.

“I like the sound of that,” he said, kissing the inside of her arm, where it rested around his neck.

Sera blushed. She tightened her legs around him, without realizing it, and blushed some more.

“Giddy-up,” she whispered, biting her lip.

“Sooner we get there,” said Silas, with a wink, “the sooner we get there.”

He resumed climbing.

Sera held on.

* * *

Rule number three: Swagger. Confidence.

What I think it came down to is that Silas is brave. He knows what he wants and he just goes for it. He’s bold. He says whatever he wants. He’s not afraid of what others will think of him. He just puts it out there.

(That’s what she said.)

(Sorry.)

When things started to feel all wrong between Greta and me, I kept trying to see if she’d want to sleep with me. I tried the whole compliment her, be affectionate thing, seeing where it would lead. But Greta just seemed sad. I’m not a complete idiot, I got that it would be really difficult for her to even think about sex after finding out that she couldn’t get pregnant. Especially after having so much fun, trying. She had been so happy, and excited, buying several pregnancy tests at a time. Every month. I hated to see her lose that happiness. She was so hopeful, and got ahead of herself, thinking of names for babies, and stuff like that. When she got diagnosed, I tried to talk with her about it, but after the first week of her crying in my arms, she changed. She got quiet. That freaked me out. I didn’t know how to handle it. So, eventually, I backed off. I seemed to be adding to her misery, every time I tried to get close. Like I said, everything I said or did seemed to make her angry. Or upset. On one hand, yeah, I got that this wasn’t about me. But after weeks and months? I admit, I started pulling away. I started getting up later, coming home later, because it felt so damn awful to be in the same house with Greta, and feel so far from her. It didn't even feel like home anymore.

Incoming text: “Yeah!”

My heart actually skipped a beat, I swear.