When it’s my turn for lunch, I go to the bakery on the corner, take a table outside, and order a coffee and a dozen cinnamon buns. I’m surprised to find a gourmet pasta salad and an individually wrapped piece of carrot cake in the lunchbox Leon prepared for me. I’m still not sure how to handle this radical turn of direction.
Before my hour break is up, I call my mom to check on her. To my relief, she sounds upbeat and present in the moment. Whenever her demeanor turns dreamy, I know something is going on. We agree to have lunch on Saturday, and when she’s assured me she’s doing well, we say our goodbyes.
Leon sends me a text message to say he’ll pick me up at six when I sign off, but since it turns quiet in the afternoon, Vero sends me home at three. Not wanting to bother Leon, I order an Uber and text him on the way home to let him know he doesn’t have to fetch me. It was kind of him to drive me on my first day, but I prefer to be independent.
At home, I freshen up before going over to Zelda’s with the cinnamon buns I picked up at the bakery. She opens the door wearing pajamas with a blue airplane motive. Her eyes are red and puffy.
“Hey,” I exclaim, shutting the door behind me. “Is everything all right?”
Sniffing, she hugs herself and walks to the center of the open-plan living area. “Yeah.” She huffs a laugh and wipes her eyes. “Don’t mind me.”
“Zelda.” My stomach tightens with concern. “Are you ill?”
She bites her lip and shakes her head, her eyes brimming with tears.
“You’re not okay,” I say, going over. “Do you want me to call Sam?”
Her chest expands as she takes a deep breath. “There’s nothing he can do.”
“Please. You’re scaring me. At least let me try to help.”
She stares at me with a quivering bottom lip. “It’s Sam. We had tests done. He can’t have children.”
“Oh, Zelda.” Dropping the bag of buns on the table, I take her into a hug. “I’m so sorry. I know how badly the two of you want a baby.”
She breaks down with heart-wrenching sobs, her whole body shaking from the violence of her grief. Not knowing what else to do, I hug her until the worst of the breakdown abides.
“Sorry,” she says, sniffing again and pulling away. “I guess I just haven’t dealt with the news yet. We only got the results yesterday.” Taking a tissue from a box that stands on the table, she blows her nose. “Sam is devastated too. I told him it’s not his fault, but he feels guilty.” She shrugs and says in a nasal tone, “You know how men can be. He’s not handling it well, but he’s bottling it up, thinking he has to be strong for me.”
“What about adoption? Have you considered other alternatives?”
“Sam doesn’t want to adopt.” Her voice falters. “He said he wanted a child because the baby would’ve been a part of me.”
“What about a sperm donor?” I ask, offering her another tissue.
She takes the tissue and blows her nose. “I can’t even raise the subject with him. It’s too soon.”
“You’re right. You both need time to deal with the news and come to terms with it.” I squeeze her shoulder. “Come on. Let me make you a cup of tea. Have you eaten?”
She shakes her head.
“Then it’s a good thing I brought cinnamon buns,” I say with a smile, trying to lighten the mood.
Zelda sinks into a chair in her bright yellow kitchen while I put on the kettle. She’s playing with the crumpled tissues, her gaze fixed on her hands as she shreds them to pieces.
“Here you go,” I say, putting a mug of tea in front of her. “I know it’s tough, but you and Sam love each other. You’ll get through this.”
She blows out a shaky breath before meeting my gaze. “What about you?”
I sit down opposite her. “What about me?”
“Have you and Leon discussed babies?”
The question catches me off guard. For a couple of beats, I can only stare at her. No, we haven’t talked about children, but I saw the way Leon looked at me when Josh made that comment about me having a baby. I’ve never thought about having children because I wanted to escape, not get caught in marriage. The idea of falling pregnant terrifies me, which is why I’m religiously taking my contraceptive pill. But I can’t tell her that. I can’t tell her that my husband forced me into marriage and that I don’t want to bring children into a life where men who steal from you are carved into pieces and shot in the head.
I can’t tell her that Leon is a dangerous man and that clandestine programmers don’t make good parents, so I only say, “We’ve barely been married for two weeks.”
She nods. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to pry.”