The Choices We Make Read Online Free Page B

drag, not coughing this time. “This really is like riding a bike, isn’t it?”
    I nodded and lit another cigarette right from the one between my lips, which had burned down to the filter. “Why no need?” I asked.
    â€œIt isn’t going to happen,” Hannah said, pushing my feet off the sill and coming to sit beside me. I didn’t comment right away. By now I was well used to her negativity when it came to all things infertility, and had learned jumping too quickly to the positive only pissed her off and shut her down. We rested our feet side by side on the chair she’d just vacated, and I commented on how nice her toenails looked, each covered with a fresh and glossy shade of lilac polish.
    â€œGrape Frost,” she said, wriggling her toes a little. We smoked in silence for a moment longer.
    â€œLook, I know it’s got to be hard to stay positive after everything, but—” I started.
    â€œThe embryos arrested.”
    I swiveled to look at her. “What does that mean? Arrested?”
    â€œIt means they didn’t grow. Which means we won’t be doing a transfer,” Hannah said, looking down at her feet again.
    â€œOkay, so next month, then.” I nudged her shoulder, hoping she’d look at me. She didn’t. “You’ve waited this long, you can do one more month.”
    Hannah shook her head and pulled on her cigarette. The office was filling with smoke, but it was still early in the day. I had time to air it out before the girls came home, and David was on a long shift. Though I had only ever been a fair-weather smoker—picking up the habit during particularly stressful times and dropping it when life felt smooth and easy—technically I had quit twelve years ago, when I found out we were pregnant with Ava. But I kept a pack hidden at the back of my underwear drawer, just in case.
    â€œWe’re done, Katie.”
    â€œWhat? No,” I said, placing my hand on her leg. “No, you are not done. Sure, take this month, take two months if you need to, but you can’t give up.”
    She jumped off the windowsill so fast I lost my balance, dropping her cigarette into my glass of water before I could stop her. Then she peeled back the plastic cellophane on the plate, grabbing a cookie and pacing while she ate it, frowning as she chewed. Someone who didn’t know her as well might think the frown was about the arrested embryos, but I knew she was contemplating the cookies’ texture and flavor, and how to make them better.
    â€œWe’re not giving up—we’re giving in,” she said, her mouth half-full of cookie. “There’s a difference. Ben said he couldn’t do it anymore. And I sort of agree.” She stopped pacing, swallowing the mouthful and staring at the half-eaten cookie left in her hand. “More salt, more butter, less vanilla.”
    I took the cookie out of her hand and had a big bite. “I say just add another cup of chocolate chips and you’re good to go.”
    Hannah started crying.
    â€œOr not. Maybe pecans?” I said.
    â€œI’m a mess. I look terrible. I’m exhausted. I feel like shit. I’m crying all the time. Like, all the time, Katie,” Hannah said. “And you know how I hate to cry. Plus, none of my clothes fit. I’m fat.”
    I shook my head. “You are not fat. You’re beautiful.”
    â€œTell that to my jeans and these zits,” she said, pacing again, still crying but less so. “All I do is think about babies. And hate everyone who has one. I can’t even stand going to Starbucks in the middle of the day anymore, because inevitably there’s some new mom sipping a latte and breast-feeding. Glowing in all her fucking new-motherness.” She looked at me pointedly. “And you know how much I love my London Fogs.”
    I nodded, watching her carefully. “I know your love runs deep.”
    â€œIt really