“No, I’m okay.” Vivian set her bag down by the couch. Her hands were shaking slightly. “Are you okay?” “Honestly, I have no idea.” She laughed, a nervous sound that broke some of the tension. “Yeah, me neither.” They stood there in the living room, the silence stretching out between them, and Adrian realized how absurd this was.
They’d spent months talking, planning, building trust, and now they were supposed to just go upstairs and make a baby like it was a task on a to-do list. “This is weird, right?” he said. “It’s not just me?” “It’s extremely weird.” “Okay, good.” He ran a hand through his hair. “I just wanted to make sure we were on the same page.
” Vivian smiled faintly. “We are.” They went upstairs together, and Adrian’s bedroom felt suddenly too small, too intimate. He’d cleaned it earlier, changed the sheets, lit a candle on the dresser because he’d read somewhere that it helped set the mood. But now the candle just felt ridiculous, and he wished he’d left the lights off entirely.
Vivian stood by the window, looking out at the street below. “I haven’t done this in a long time,” she said quietly. “Yeah, me neither.” “I mean, not since David.” Adrian walked over and stood beside her. “Rachel was the only person I’d ever been with, before her and after her. So, this is new.” “Yeah.” She turned to face him, and her eyes were wide, vulnerable in a way he’d never seen.
“We don’t have to do this tonight, if you’re not ready.” “I’m ready. I’m just” He stopped, searching for the right word. “Scared, I guess.” “Of what?” “Of screwing this up, of it being awkward, of it meaning something it’s not supposed to mean.” Vivian reached out and took his hand. Her palm was warm, her grip steady.
“It’s going to be awkward. We both know that, but we’re doing this for the right reasons. That has to count for something.” Adrian nodded. She was right. They were doing this because they both wanted a child, because they both understood loss, because they’d somehow found in each other something they couldn’t find anywhere else.
It wasn’t romance. It wasn’t a fairy tale. It was two broken people trying to build something whole. He leaned in and kissed her. It was tentative at first, careful, like they were testing the waters. But then Vivian’s hand came up to the back of his neck, and the kiss deepened, and suddenly it wasn’t careful anymore.
It was real and urgent and filled with all the things they hadn’t said out loud. When they finally pulled apart, both of them were breathing hard. “Okay.” Vivian whispered. “Okay.” They didn’t talk after that. They didn’t need to. They moved together with a kind of quiet understanding, shedding layers, finding their way through the awkwardness and the fear, until there was nothing left but skin and breath, and the terrible, beautiful vulnerability of letting someone see you completely. It wasn’t perfect. It was
fumbling and uncertain and punctuated by nervous laughter when Adrian’s elbow hit the headboard, and Vivian apologized for her cold feet. But it was real. And when it was over, they lay tangled together in the dark, neither of them quite ready to let go. “That was” Vivian started. “Yeah.” “Do you think” “I don’t know.
Maybe.” She turned on her side to face him, and even in the dim light, he could see the hope in her eyes. “What happens now?” “Now we wait.” Adrian said. “And we try not to lose our minds.” Vivian laughed softly. “Too late for that.” She stayed the night, and Adrian woke up at dawn to find her still there, curled up on her side with one hand tucked under her cheek.
For a moment, he just watched her, this powerful woman who’d built an empire, now looking small and fragile in the morning light. Then Eli’s footsteps sounded in the hallway, and Adrian slipped out of bed before his son could walk in and ask questions he wasn’t ready to answer. Two weeks later, Vivian took a pregnancy test. It was negative.
She called Adrian from her car, her voice flat and distant. “It didn’t work.” “Okay.” Adrian said, trying to keep his own disappointment out of his voice. “That’s okay. The doctor said it might take a few tries.” “I know. I just” “I thought maybe” “I know.” There was a long silence on the other end of the line.
Then Vivian said, “I need some time to process.” “Take all the time you need.” She didn’t call for 3 days. When she finally did, her voice was steadier, more controlled. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have shut you out like that.” “You didn’t shut me out. You needed space.” “Still, we said we’d be honest with each other, and I wasn’t.” “What weren’t you honest about?” Vivian hesitated.
“I was afraid that if it didn’t work the first time, it meant it wasn’t going to work at all, that I was being punished for wanting this too much.” Adrian closed his eyes. He understood that fear more than he wanted to admit. “You’re not being punished. Sometimes things just take time.” “Do you still want to try?” “Do you?” “Yes.
But I need to know you’re still in this, that you’re not just doing it because you feel obligated.” “I’m in this.” Adrian said firmly. “I’m not going anywhere.” They tried again the following month, and the month after that. Each time, the process became a little less awkward, a little more natural. They stopped treating it like a clinical procedure and started treating it like what it was, two people trying to create something together.
