Page 37 of The Best Worst Thing

How that was not what happened at all. How the surgeries only made things worse.

How scar tissue filled her womb like poison ivy, pesky and dense and impossible to cut back or keep at bay.

How Nicole’s first two egg retrievals yielded only three good embryos.

And before both transfers, Nicole’s body taunted her doctor like a game of Whack-a-Mole.

Every day, some new obstacle: a too-thin uterine lining here, a pocket of fluid pooling at her cervix there.

With every red flag, Dr. Williams whittled off another solution, each stranger than the last. The best reproductive endocrinologist money could buy, and Nicole would still drive home in tears, ready to tackle a to-do list whose tasks ranged from questionable medical advice to full-on quackery: daily acupuncture, Viagra suppositories, a massive orgasm, twenty minutes on an inversion table, a carefully brewed pot of tea made from wild raspberry leaves that had to be ordered over the phone, in cash, from the goddamn Netherlands.

Anything to make her womb warm and flushed out and fertile. Anything to improve her odds.

How with both transfers, Nicole managed to get pregnant. How both times, she’d bled within a week. That was when they found Valerie. That was when everything was supposed to change. But nothing changed, of course. Not until the afternoon Nicole’s entire life was turned upside down.

“So, yeah,” she said, staring into her mug, “that’s the whole story. That’s what I’ve actually been up to.”

Logan blew out a breath. “I had no idea what happened after you left. I’m so sorry.”

“What’s crazy is, it doesn’t even sound that bad to me. Like, when I talk through it, it’s just my life. It never felt like a choice. Every time something bad happened, I just pushed harder. I had to keep going, you know? Because if I slowed down, then I’d have to …”

“Feel something?”

Nicole flinched. “I …”

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I just want to understand, that’s all.”

“No, it’s okay. I like that you ask questions.

It’s just, nobody has ever really wanted to know about this part.

People are quick to give you advice. Ask if you’ve tried exercising less or fucking more or wanting it a little less desperately.

But they never want to know what it feels like.

Nobody wants to hear about pain they can’t make go away. ”

Logan squeezed his hand into a fist until that pod he’d been fidgeting with all morning burst open, sending a stream of milk down his stiffened wrist and onto the edge of their wobbling table. He wiped up the mess with a napkin, then pushed it aside.

“Do you want to tell me?” he said.

She nodded slowly while Logan refilled their coffees. Their server, who knew Logan by name, had left them a fresh pot over half an hour ago.

“It felt … hopeless.” Nicole clanked a spoon against the side of her mug, searching for a way to say something she’d never really put into words.

“Every time I thought it might be over, that was actually the worst part. Because deep down, I always knew it was only a matter of time. I’d finally get what I wanted, and then every morning, I’d wake up in terror.

My body was a ticking time bomb. I’d just sit around, waiting for it to break my heart again. ”

Logan frowned.

God, did it feel good for someone to just listen to her.

To just sit there and hold her pain and not tell her how to feel or what to do or how to channel that sadness into a new hobby like pottery or horseback riding or learning French.

To just sit there and take her past few years for what they were.

“Thank you,” she said. “I know I’ve said it a thousand times, but I really mean it. Thank you for never making me feel like an idiot.”

He smirked. “Thank you for the exact opposite.”

“For making you feel like an idiot?”

“Yeah,” he said. “Every damn day, since the very beginning.”

Nicole rolled her eyes while Logan slid her a menu.

“Come on,” he said. “Let’s just eat until nothing hurts anymore, okay?”

She nodded, chuckling. He laughed too, and then Nicole ordered a mushroom omelet and Logan ordered enough pancakes, bacon, and eggs to feed a small family, plus a hunk of coffee cake and a slice of chocolate peanut butter pie, just because.

For the next hour, they talked and ate and talked some more.

About Logan’s big pitch at the end of the month, how happy he was to only have one trip on the books these next few weeks, and the race he was training for in Santa Barbara this fall.

When there was no more toast to pick at or lukewarm honeydew to push around their plates, they settled the check, dumped the dregs of their desserts into a couple of cardboard containers, then rose to their feet and walked out of the restaurant.

As their eyes adjusted to the cloudless sky, they meandered through the alley and into the parking lot, making small talk about diner culture until they’d arrived at Nicole’s car.

She reached for her door—and then she felt it again.

That tug. That ache.

She didn’t want to say goodbye, did she? And the more they talked, the more she looked at him, the more she let herself unravel, the less she knew. About what she wanted. About what came next. About what was right.

“Thanks again for meeting me,” she said, reaching for the handle of her car door. The hot metal burned her fingertips. “I’m glad we got to talk.”

Logan just stood there, looking at her.

“Come on,” he said, outstretching his arms. “Get over here.”

Nicole inhaled, reminding herself of every last reason she had to drive away.

But it didn’t matter. It was too late. She’d already dropped her grip, taken the five steps toward him, burrowed her face into the soft, thick cotton of his T-shirt, and closed her eyes.

He wrapped his arms around her, dropped his nose into her shoulder, and held her tight.

For a minute, they just stood there, connected.

Their chests, rising and falling.

Everything else, standing still.

She listened to his heart beat.

She breathed him in.

And then, right when she decided she wanted to hold on a little longer, she let him go. It just seemed like the thing to do.

“That was, um …” She rubbed the sleeves of her dress. The asphalt was cracked and faded beneath her feet. “That was really nice.”

“Nicole,” he said. “I don’t want to stop seeing you.”

“What?”

“You think I’ve never dated a woman with a kid before?”

“I don’t know, I …”

“I’m thirty-nine years old,” he said. “This is not a deal-breaker for me. Once, I even went on a date with a kid. There was a childcare mishap. We went mini-golfing. I let him win, and the little shit repaid me by eating all my ravioli.”

This warm and fuzzy glow stretched across Nicole’s chest. By the time she let out a laugh, it had made it all the way to her toes. She curled them, then raised an eyebrow. “I’m pretty sure if the mom wasn’t there, you were babysitting. That’s not a date, Logan.”

He grinned. “The mom was there! Fuck you!”

Nicole bit her lip and took a step closer to him. Her stomach fluttered and her heart raced.

“Can I tell you something?” she said.

“Anything,” he said.

“I think, maybe, I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want to stop.”