Seasons (A Short Story) - Spring 2011
This story was written for an NPR 3 minute story contest. The idea was to write a story that could be read on air in 3 minutes or less. It was never submitted.
Steven glanced at me over the top of the New York Times that he was reading. It was early fall, our favorite time of year. We loved everything about the season – the gentle breezes that kissed your face out on a walk, the burst of color as the leaves on the trees begin to die away, the smell of spices that permeates everything. We’d gotten married in the fall. Sitting on our deck, alone, it suddenly felt very chilly. “What do you get when you cross a lawyer and the Godfather?” I turned towards him slowly. “I don’t know.” He put the paper down now. “Give it a guess,” he implored with a faint smile. I couldn’t. “An offer you can’t understand!” Steven was laughing now, making the strange chortling sound that used to endear him to me. I feigned a smile. There was a lot I couldn’t understand anymore.
We met in college in that easy haphazard way that everyone does – a bar off-campus with friends one fall night. We fell in love and started making plans. Our degrees in hand, we packed up and moved to the City for our first jobs. After a suitable amount of time, Steven proposed. It was everything it should have been – he took me to our favorite sushi restaurant and then a carriage ride around Central Park before getting down on one knee. “Will you give me forever?” I have to say looking back on all our years together, the good times have far outweighed the bad. We had a good life. Steven was kind, dependable, boyishly charming, and a dutiful lover. There were a few squabbles about how to decorate or where we wanted to retire down the road, but nothing that prepared me for last summer.
I was late – I’d never been late before – so I nervously took a pregnancy test while Steven was at work. Children were not part of our plan just yet. We were still paying down the student loans from his law degree and planning a trip to Fiji for our 10 year anniversary. But there it was – a single blue line that created an earthquake. When I broke the news to Steven, he simply said, “Are you sure?”. We were both still apprehensive when we went to the doctor, who confirmed our anxieties with the news that I was probably 7 weeks along. I’ve never been one to deal with uncertainty blind; I bought every pregnancy and child-rearing book on the bestsellers’ list. I immersed myself in all things motherhood while Steven retreated to his work.
Three weeks later, we were out to dinner with friends when the chasm in the earth grew wider. I felt the blood begin to pool just as the tiramisu was brought to the table. At the hospital, the ultrasound technician would not let me look at the screen. “It’s not an ectopic pregnancy. You don’t need surgery, but you need to schedule an appointment with your doctor.” Like that, the thing I didn’t think I wanted was gone. Steven was very attentive as I recovered at home. But over the next couple of weeks, Steven’s relief became palpable.
I could feel the distance between us growing more and more each day. Steven carried on as though nothing had happened. I felt shattered, but no tears came. Busy hands cure idle thoughts, I told myself. I mirrored Steven’s devotion to the office, but still felt the pangs of emptiness constantly. I had never given much thought to the saying wrong place right time before, but now it consumed me. I loved Steven with all my heart. And yet… He missed how much this loss was eating at me, how much I needed him to draw me close, stroke my hair, and tell me we were going to be fine. That we could try again.
I wrapped my sweater around myself tighter and cleared my throat. “Dear, can you put down the paper?” Steven made a soft grunting noise, a weak acknowledgment of my presence. “Steven. Please,” I said softly. I did not have the energy to beg.
“What was that?” he asked, setting the paper on the table. The expression on his face as he looked at me gave me hope that he could read the sadness on my face. “We need to talk.” He nodded. “Go ahead. I’m listening.”
I exhaled, my mind racing, not sure how to finally put the months of inner turmoil into words. “I’ve been thinking… I feel like we hardly see each other lately. We rarely talk. When we are together, we are still separate. And I can’t remember the last time we made love.”
“It’s been a tough couple of months at the office. If we want me to make partner, then we are going to have to make some small sacrifices.”
I winced. “That’s just it. I don’t know that ‘we’ want this life anymore. I miss you, I miss us. I… I want a family. I want a life.” Once I said the words, panic flooded me. Steven sat unmoving, unblinking for what felt like an eternity.
“What did you say?” he asked his voice barely audible. I stared back, not daring to reveal my heart again.
“I am confused. I thought you said… No, I thought we agreed, we planned on this life together. I’m happy with our little family, just you and me.” I felt myself deflate.
“Things change, Steven. Priorities can change. I need to know that you want what I want.” He ran his hand over the top of the newspaper as if smoothing an invisible crease. He sipped his coffee. “I’m just not there yet.”
“But someday… maybe soon?” I asked plaintively. He shifted uncomfortably in his chair.
“I just don’t know.” I felt my eyes well up with tears. I fought them back. “Ever?” I whispered.
“I don’t know,” he admitted miserably. At that very moment, the gulf between us ripped wide open, swallowing us both whole. It was then that I let myself cry.
We met in college in that easy haphazard way that everyone does – a bar off-campus with friends one fall night. We fell in love and started making plans. Our degrees in hand, we packed up and moved to the City for our first jobs. After a suitable amount of time, Steven proposed. It was everything it should have been – he took me to our favorite sushi restaurant and then a carriage ride around Central Park before getting down on one knee. “Will you give me forever?” I have to say looking back on all our years together, the good times have far outweighed the bad. We had a good life. Steven was kind, dependable, boyishly charming, and a dutiful lover. There were a few squabbles about how to decorate or where we wanted to retire down the road, but nothing that prepared me for last summer.
I was late – I’d never been late before – so I nervously took a pregnancy test while Steven was at work. Children were not part of our plan just yet. We were still paying down the student loans from his law degree and planning a trip to Fiji for our 10 year anniversary. But there it was – a single blue line that created an earthquake. When I broke the news to Steven, he simply said, “Are you sure?”. We were both still apprehensive when we went to the doctor, who confirmed our anxieties with the news that I was probably 7 weeks along. I’ve never been one to deal with uncertainty blind; I bought every pregnancy and child-rearing book on the bestsellers’ list. I immersed myself in all things motherhood while Steven retreated to his work.
Three weeks later, we were out to dinner with friends when the chasm in the earth grew wider. I felt the blood begin to pool just as the tiramisu was brought to the table. At the hospital, the ultrasound technician would not let me look at the screen. “It’s not an ectopic pregnancy. You don’t need surgery, but you need to schedule an appointment with your doctor.” Like that, the thing I didn’t think I wanted was gone. Steven was very attentive as I recovered at home. But over the next couple of weeks, Steven’s relief became palpable.
I could feel the distance between us growing more and more each day. Steven carried on as though nothing had happened. I felt shattered, but no tears came. Busy hands cure idle thoughts, I told myself. I mirrored Steven’s devotion to the office, but still felt the pangs of emptiness constantly. I had never given much thought to the saying wrong place right time before, but now it consumed me. I loved Steven with all my heart. And yet… He missed how much this loss was eating at me, how much I needed him to draw me close, stroke my hair, and tell me we were going to be fine. That we could try again.
I wrapped my sweater around myself tighter and cleared my throat. “Dear, can you put down the paper?” Steven made a soft grunting noise, a weak acknowledgment of my presence. “Steven. Please,” I said softly. I did not have the energy to beg.
“What was that?” he asked, setting the paper on the table. The expression on his face as he looked at me gave me hope that he could read the sadness on my face. “We need to talk.” He nodded. “Go ahead. I’m listening.”
I exhaled, my mind racing, not sure how to finally put the months of inner turmoil into words. “I’ve been thinking… I feel like we hardly see each other lately. We rarely talk. When we are together, we are still separate. And I can’t remember the last time we made love.”
“It’s been a tough couple of months at the office. If we want me to make partner, then we are going to have to make some small sacrifices.”
I winced. “That’s just it. I don’t know that ‘we’ want this life anymore. I miss you, I miss us. I… I want a family. I want a life.” Once I said the words, panic flooded me. Steven sat unmoving, unblinking for what felt like an eternity.
“What did you say?” he asked his voice barely audible. I stared back, not daring to reveal my heart again.
“I am confused. I thought you said… No, I thought we agreed, we planned on this life together. I’m happy with our little family, just you and me.” I felt myself deflate.
“Things change, Steven. Priorities can change. I need to know that you want what I want.” He ran his hand over the top of the newspaper as if smoothing an invisible crease. He sipped his coffee. “I’m just not there yet.”
“But someday… maybe soon?” I asked plaintively. He shifted uncomfortably in his chair.
“I just don’t know.” I felt my eyes well up with tears. I fought them back. “Ever?” I whispered.
“I don’t know,” he admitted miserably. At that very moment, the gulf between us ripped wide open, swallowing us both whole. It was then that I let myself cry.
This is amazing! I wish you submitted it.
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