Just like we planned.”
And we did plan. Two kids . . . that’s it. Two boys, two girls, one of each . . . didn’t matter. Two kids.
“You can’t plan everything,” Mike said.
“This,” I said, “I can.”
But I knew Mike was right. There is always a chance—no matter how safe you play it. I re-ally didn’t want a third kid, or a fourth, or a fifth. I was happy and wanted to keep it that way. I didn’t want to risk what I had. I didn’t want to regret anything.
XV.
“You do understand that this procedure is permanent? That once completed you will not be able to have any more children?” the doctor asked. He picked up a scalpel. “I have to ask one last time, you are sure this is what you want?”
XVI.
That first time, after the procedure—after the doctor gave me the all clear—that first time after sex—I slept without concern, worry, or guilt. I slept without fear. I just slept.
XVII.
I don’t usually dream . . . or I don’t usually remember my dreams. But this one I did. And it was the same dream three nights in a row. She came out of the bathroom, holding a powder-blue chunk of plastic.
“What’s with the cross?” I asked.
She smiled and said, “It’s not a cross, it’s a positive sign.” She held it up and I could see she was right, it wasn’t a cross. It was a giant “plus” sign . . . you know, the symbol for addition.”
I was confused. “A positive sign for what?”
She held it up again, but now it was pink. “This,” she said. “It’s positive.” I woke each time in an ice-cold sweat.
For days, this dream haunted me—made me think about our plan and what if. Then I re-membered Aaron’s dad from way back and wondered if he had been happy when he had just the two kids—one girl and one boy—I forget their names. I wondered if he loved them? They were in their teens when Aaron was born, so then I wondered if that was why he had hated Aaron—because he had to start over—because he thought he was done, and he wasn’t.
I explained the dream to the doctor, explained it had been more than five years since the big V. I said, “Call me crazy, but I need to confirm it’s still working.” I said, “I really need to know.”
She smiled. “I don’t think you’re crazy,” she said. She handed me a plastic cup tucked in-side a paper privacy bag and said, “We’ll need a sample.”