Jamais Vu

Chapter 27

It's a bright day, the first really nice morning of spring. I breathe deeply, consciously drawing more air than normal into my lungs before turning to my wife to say, "Every year, I forget what this feels like."

"What?" she asks, the sun glancing off her chocolate hair as it peeks through the trees above our heads.

I gesture around park at everything and nothing. "The way the warmer weather feels after it's been so cold for so long. Like spring is something we rediscover, instead of remember."

Nessa nods, winding her arm through mine. "It's the same with everything when we can't see it. We more than forget; some things fall out of our range of concept."

Gus scampers ahead of us, our old dog who still acts like a puppy. He barks gleefully as he spots a butterfly, racing right over the top of a picnic blanket where a young mother breastfeeds a baby. "Gus!" I call out. "Sorry!"

The mom waves back happily. "No problem!"

Nessa stares with hollow eyes at the younger woman before saying, "Speaking of things dropping out of existence, do you know why babies cry when their mothers leave the room?"

My body stiffens involuntarily at the mention of babies, my natural reaction whenever children become a topic of conversation. Continuing to walk casually, I reply, "No. Why?"

A sorrowful smile tugs at her lips. "Because they don't realise that something still exists when it moves out of sight. At that moment, the baby believes mommy has disappeared forever, that she's ceased to exist. Isn't that sad?"

"Sad." I measure my words, as if they were volatile compounds and just a little too much could cause a city-sized explosion. "It's sad. But not as sad as letting fear hold us back from the things we really want. Nessa, it's not too late. If you want to have a baby-"

"Dan, don't." She holds up her hand, eyes flashing. "Not again. No more. We're not having this same old discussion again."

"It doesn't have to be the same old discussion! It could be a whole new discussion!" My voice is rising, and I try to keep it under control. It's the only topic we've ever disagreed on when it comes to major life choices; in every other way, we're so compatible, it's almost frightening. But over the last ten years, this is the sticking point for us both. She won't change her mind, and I can't seem to move on. Lowering my tone, I say, "You know deep down, having kids is something you want, Nessa."

"Don't put your feelings onto me, Dan," she says, pulling away from me. "I'm an adult woman in charge of her own body. I don't want kids. I don't want to lose traction in my career, I don't want to share you, I don't want the noise and mess and expense that comes with procreating. I like my flat stomach and drinking wine. So, as I've always said, if not having kids is a deal breaker for you, then maybe you should leave and find some girl with heaving ovaries and a burning desire to put them to use!"

Gus whimpers, approaching us with his ears flat, an expression of guilt on his little face as if he believes he's responsible for our shouting. I bend to pat him in reassurance, then attempt to reassure my wife. "Sunshine, I love you so much. You're my whole universe, and I would never leave you for any reason."

She's crying. I doubt she realises it; sometimes tears fall from her eyes and she'll be genuinely surprised her face is wet. With glistening cheeks, she looks at me defiantly. "I don't want to spend my life feeling guilty that I won't give you heirs, Dan. Love me for me, or let me go."

I hug her fiercely, trying to convey with my body what my mouth screws up so frequently. "I love you, Ianessa Marty, for exactly who you are."

She's rigid in my arms for a few more seconds, then she sags against my chest. "I love you too. You and me, we're everything we already need, aren't we?"