The Between Years

like a drawbridge as he thrust in a deep breath and allowed a final grunt. I tried to shove him off of me because, even though I had taken my pill, we still didn't have condoms as a safeguard. But I couldn't shove Randy off of me no matter how hard I tried. Leverage was to blame for some of my helplessness, but Randy was too heavy as well. But moreover, I think he was deliberately stopping me from doing like, like he wouldn't be blocked from planting his seed.

    Randy grunted a handful of times and I felt him shoot inside of me. He wouldn't let up until the grunting stopped. Then he rolled off, laid flat on his back, eyes directed towards the ceiling, as his chest rose and fell. Maybe he was lethargic because he was out of practice or because he'd spent a lot of energy on me. If it was the latter, I suppose I should feel flattered, but he made me more uncomfortable than anything.

    Throughout the night, my eyes were glued open, and what sleep I did achieve was infected by the nastiest dreams. I woke intermittently, feeling nauseous, but never enough to rush to the washroom. Some women know that they were pregnant from the moment they conceived, but I didn't experience that feeling. Thank God for small favors. Still, I felt weakened by what Randy did. Moreover, I felt violated, but I wasn't prepared to tell him so. Throughout our relationship, I'd always thought I possessed the balance of power, but that night Randy proved otherwise.

    At the breakfast table, I picked at my cereal and grapefruit, while Randy skipped into the kitchen wearing an ear-to-ear smile that I wanted to slap off his face. All that was missing was for him to start whistling or snapping his fingers.

    “ Fine morning isn't it?” he asked.

    I sipped my juice. “Sure.”

    “ Come on, home, no reason to feel down and out. Last night was really something, wasn't it? I feel like I really got my groove back!”

    I didn't answer. If he needed that much sexual reassurance, he could continue to fancy himself as some sort of lothario.

    Randy hit the cupboards and fixed himself a breakfast of All-Bran cereal, a glass of apple juice, and a banana. Then he pulled up a chair and continued to permeate me with that smile.

    “ You up to anything big today?” Randy asked.

    “ Saturday. Papers are all marked and the house is clean, so I might as well try and take it easy. You?”

    “ We just got John Irving's new book at work, so I got first dibs on it. I'll probably kick back in the recliner and dig in. It'll take me a while, you know?”

    I knew the small talk was bullshit; men are so alike sometimes. He was simply trying to set the stage for a more substantial conversation.

    He said, “I've been thinking . . . .”

    So it began.

    “ We've given it some time, and I think we've done a lot of healing in the last few months. We both have a lot of love to give, but no one to give it so. So what would you say to having another child?”

    What I would have said, had I the nerve, was that he was insane to jump to such a conclusion. And so fast! That he even bothered to ask for my opinion came as a shock given that he'd tried to force it on me last night. Maybe that was his ingenious plan to absolve himself if I had become pregnant.

    But what I actually said was, “Randy, baby, I know we've got a lot of love to give, and that your heart's in the right place, but you can't honestly think we've healed enough from that. I'm still too scared to try again because I'm afraid I'll just fall into pieces.”

    Randy's face went deadpan, and I didn't know what to expect next. An argument would have made more sense, would have reassured me in fact, but he wouldn't give me the satisfaction. He just kept about his cereal and said, “Are you sure you wouldn't go for this? I mean, we're young, healthy and energetic. And you're a natural mother.”

    “ But don't you understand that we'd be doing it for the wrong reasons? We can't just bring another person into the world for a reason like that. It wouldn't be fair to them.”

    Randy didn't say another word to me the entire meal. He continued to eat as though no one else was at the table. When he finished, he stood up to rinse his bowl out in the sink. Then he headed into the living room, kicked back with his book, and didn't budge for hours. I'd never experienced the cold shoulder treatment from him (or anyone) before, and I nearly demanded that he march his sorry ass back into the kitchen and apologize. Only