The Fertility Test

Author's Note: This is a follow-up to a previous story 'Mating Opportunity'. However, 'The Fertility Test' is written as a standalone story, and I've included enough details so that new readers can follow it. I hope you enjoy the story.

***

THE FERTILITY TEST

1

IT WAS OCTOBER and the days were getting shorter. Tom Garrett left the office in the dark and as he drove home, it began to rain. Even so, he stopped off at the local supermarket and braved the rain to buy his wife a small bunch of flowers. She had been moody and withdrawn for the past week and Tom had a pretty good idea why. They had been trying to start a family since January when Jenny had come off birth control, but so far nothing had happened. Tom was guessing her period had arrived this month too - it was about the right time. She just hadn't told him yet. In fact, these days Jenny didn't seem to tell him anything.

It hadn't always been like this.

The first time Tom had laid eyes on Jenny was at a party just over three years ago. She was the smallest and shyest of four young women who had arrived together, and he felt an instant affinity with her. Tom had been an overweight child and his strategy at school was to be so friendly and agreeable that other kids would feel guilty about bullying him. He saw that same behaviour in Jenny as she bobbed her head to the other girls, laughed at their witticisms and ran to fetch their drinks. But later that evening, he overheard one of them say 'Good doggie...' as soon as Jenny was out of earshot, to the raucous laughter of these so-called friends. That was the moment Tom found the courage to overcome his own shyness and ask a girl for her phone number.

On their first date, Tom couldn't believe how different Jenny was when she was away from other women. She was like another person - funny and lively, with a bright intelligence. Tom quickly fell in love with her and decided she needed a man like him: someone who could help build her confidence and bring her out of herself. He told her right off the bat that he wanted a relationship and Jenny told him that she liked him, 'but not in

that

way'. So they met up as friends and he bided his time while she looked for Mister Right. Her search turned up one arsehole after another and following one bad experience too many, she found herself knocking on Tom's door. She was only seeking affirmation, but sleeping with a man who was actually in love with her became like a drug. She kept going back for more and over the course of a year, Tom went from being her 'friend with benefits' to her boyfriend to her husband. At each stage, Jenny said it was a bad idea and each time Tom managed to talk her round.

And now they were trying for a baby! As Tom parked his car in the drive of their rental house, he still couldn't believe his luck. He grabbed his workbag and the flowers, then ran through the rain to the front door, locking the car remotely with a 'blip-blip'. He fumbled for his housekeys, unlocked and pushed open the door. He stepped in, closed the door and stood shaking rain from his hair.

'I'm home!' he called out.

'In the kitchen...' came a weary response.

Tom took off his coat, hung it up and stored his bag. Then he went through the hallway past the stairs and opened the door to the kitchen-dining room. There was Jenny, a petite woman wearing a pink sweater and black leggings, her sleeves rolled up as she was draining a pot of boiled potatoes in the sink. It was her turn to cook and some sort of stew was bubbling in a pressure cooker on the gas hob.

'Smells good!' he said. 'What is it?'

'Beef and carrot casserole,' she said.

'I thought casseroles were baked in the oven?'

Tom saw his wife's shoulders slump, her head hanging over the sink. Tom held up his hands in a placatory gesture, or as best he could with one hand holding a bunch of flowers.

'Sorry, sorry,' he said. 'Casserole, stew... whatever it is, I'm sure it'll be delicious. Look, I got you some flowers!' No response. 'Okay, I can see you're in the middle of something. I'll put them in the... oh no, you're using the sink. Um...'

Tom looked around.

'We

did

have a vase. Are we using it for something? I seem to remember that--'

Jenny whirled around to face him.

'Tom,

shut up!'

she cried. 'Shut up and stop talking! Shut up! Just shut up!'

Her face was red, her eyes wild, and Tom could see the tendons in her neck. Behind her, the potatoes sat in a colander in the sink and steamed. Meanwhile, she still held the empty pot and looked as though she might hit him with it. Tom put the flowers aside and opened his hands, like a cop who had put down his gun.

'Jenny...'

'Don't say a word,' she said. 'Not one word. I swear to you, Tom, if you open your mouth and say one fucking word, I will walk out of this house and never come back.'

Unlike her previous screams, Jenny spoke with frightening calm. Her eyes were no longer wild - there was now determination in them, sober and intentional. Tom gave an exaggerated shrug and made a facial expression to say, 'What do you expect me to do?' Jenny read his face and smiled sardonically. She straightened up and looked at him, the empty pot now held casually at the ready.

'That terrifies you, doesn't it?' she said. 'The thought of me leaving? That absolutely terrifies you.'

Tom opened his mouth and pulled a face: Can I say something?

'No, you can't,' said Jenny. 'I like it like this. You have no idea, Tom, how much you talk and talk and talk... but you never

do

anything. And you didn't used to be like that. One of the reasons I agreed to marry you was because I thought you were a man who was more than just talk.'

Tom gave up trying to say anything. He stared at his wife with sad, frightened eyes. Jenny saw that look and her mouth tightened. She turned and put the pot on the draining board, as though she no longer needed a weapon. Then she gestured towards a chair at the dining table.

'Sit down, Tom,' she said. 'There's something I want to tell you.'

*

Tom's biggest fear was for Jenny to leave him for another man. The cruel irony of Jenny growing in confidence was that she became more attractive as a woman - and the more attractive she became, the greater the odds of her attracting a man more masculine than him. Tom hated to even think about it, but he was not foolish enough not to see that the world was

full

of men more masculine than him. This fear began to affect him physically, especially when he was in bed with his wife. He increasingly struggled to maintain an erection and it was making their sex life tense and unsatisfying. So when Jenny told him to sit down, he was expecting the worst.

That was why his first reaction was relief when she joined him at the table and told him about her visits to the gynaecologist. Yes, technically she had broken a promise. When Jenny was not pregnant by April and the anxiety began to set in, they had agreed to give it a year before going to see a doctor. But under the circumstances, Tom found it an easy lapse to forgive. Then Jenny said something that caught his attention and he interrupted.

'Sorry,' he said. 'Did you say twenty percent?'

Jenny frowned. Tom had broken the 'not one word' demand. Tom watched his wife's face and breathed a mental sigh of relief when she decided it was a fair question.

'Yes,' she said. 'For every month I have regular sex, I have a twenty percent chance of conceiving.'

'I didn't realise it was so low.'

'Actually, it's normal for a woman my age. But at thirty-five, it will be fifteen percent, and by the age of forty, it's down to five percent.'

'Jesus...'

'Yeah, tell me about it. And I'm going to be thirty-two in a few months.'

Jenny sat back and stared out of the kitchen window onto the small strip of green they called a garden. Tom realised that his wife had been spending a lot of time staring out of windows lately, getting more and more worried. Her meltdown suddenly made sense. He decided to try being more positive and constructive.

'All right,' he said. 'So if I understand correctly, your tests show that there's nothing wrong with you. Is that right? That your fertility is normal for a woman your age?'

'Yes, that's pretty much it.'

'Well, that's great news!'

'Is it?'

'But of course it is! Why wouldn't it be?'

'Because all the figures are based on the assumption that my partner's fertility is

also

normal.'

Tom's manufactured enthusiasm vanished like smoke. His throat and stomach felt coated with ice that melted into acid. Jenny's gaze had gone from the window to him, and he had never seen such cold rage in her eyes. He swallowed but couldn't say anything. Jenny crossed one leg over the other and spoke in a tone of false politeness.

'So, tell me, Thomas,' she said. 'What

is

your sperm-count?'

'You know I don't know that.'

'And

why

don't you know?'

'Look, we agreed to give it a year.'

'Okay... then I release you from that promise.'

'Jen, please...'

Tom cringed as he heard the note of pleading in his voice. Jenny heard it too and her entire face seemed to harden in contempt. Tom knew that women despised men who begged, but he wasn't sure what else to do. 'Pull yourself together!' said a voice in his head. Tom straightened up in his chair and took a long, deep breath. He looked at Jenny.

'All right,' he said. 'I see your point.'

'I don't need you to "see my point",' said Jenny. 'I need you to

do

something!'

'Okay, I will. I'll make an appointment with the doctor.'

'When?'

'I'll do it now. You finish dinner while I go online and send an appointment request to my GP. Okay?'

Jenny glared at him. Then she relented and gave a nod. She sighed and sat back in her chair, her posture relaxing. Tom decided it was a good moment to put his mind at rest about something.

'I do have one question though,' he said.

'What?'

'If it does turn out that I have a low sperm-count or something,' he said, 'what do you intend to do?'

Jenny looked back at Tom and he immediately wished he had kept his mouth shut. The rage in her eyes was back, but this time it was white hot.

'Are you asking me whether I'd choose

you

over having my own children?'

'No, that's not what I meant.'

'What

did

you mean then?'

Tom flailed around in his mind. Actually, that

was

what he meant, but he didn't want to say it.

'Look...' he said. 'There are always options...'

'Do you mean adoption?'

'Well... we don't have to talk about it now.'

'But

you

asked the question, Tom. You

specifically

wanted to know what I would do if it turns out you're sterile.'

Tom reeled at the harshness of the word, like it was a punch in the face. His eyes smarted and he fought to keep his composure. Meanwhile, Jenny leaned forward, her eyes glittering with a kind of malice.

'Oh, I'm sorry, Tom!' she said. 'Should I not use that word? Does it "trigger" you?'

'Jenny, stop it.'

'But don't you want an answer, Tom? Because I

do

have one. If you

really

want to know what I would do if push came to shove... I can tell you

exactly.'

She lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper.

'Do you want me to tell you?'

Tom was red in the face. He could hardly look at her. He had never seen Jenny like this and he just wanted her to drop it and go finish making dinner. He looked over at the pressure cooker on the hob. Jenny saw the direction of his gaze and her face muscles went rigid. She forced herself to stand up and turn her back, her fingers digging into the flesh of her arms as she almost literally held herself together. Then she turned to face her husband and spoke in a voice of controlled calm.

'The potatoes are cooked,' she said, 'but they need to go into the pot with the meat. Make sure the lid is closed tight and let it simmer for about fifteen minutes.'

'What... aren't you doing it?'

'No, I'm going to eat out somewhere. I need time on my own.'

'But...' Tom swallowed. 'Are you coming back?'

'Do you want me to come back?'

'Yes, of course! What a question!'

Jenny looked down at her husband. She looked at him in silence, her mind weighing and assessing. Tom's heart started to go fast. A little voice in his head whispered that she was considering telling him something, which led to the thought that it was something that was going to hurt. Then Jenny broke eye contact and looked down, her arms folded.

'I'll be back at about ten,' she said. 'I'll text you if it's going to be later.'

'Thanks,' said Tom, with palpable relief. 'And I'll book that appointment with the doctor.'

'Whatever.'

Jenny shook her head and walked away. Tom watched her turn off the heat under the pressure cooker as she left the kitchen and disappeared upstairs. Less than five minutes later, he heard the front door being opened and closed.

He was alone in the house.

*

Tom sat in the chair, not sure whether he was feeling shocked or relieved. That look on her face as she was staring down thinking... it troubled him. He tried to convince himself that she was trying to think of a good insult and then decided not to say it. It didn't work. His instincts were whispering that Jenny had done something she didn't want to tell him. No... something she was

afraid

to tell him.

'Who are you kidding?' said the voice in his head. 'She's not afraid of you. She's just afraid of

hurting

you.'

Tom got up quickly and went to check the potatoes. They were stone cold. He carried them over to the hob and added them to the stew. As he stirred them in with a wooden spatula, he reminded himself that Jenny was almost certainly on her period. That, plus the stress of those tests, plus keeping it from him... that's probably why she blew up. He snapped the lid shut on the pressure cooker and switched the gas onto a low heat. He then busied himself finding a vase for the flowers and afterwards went online to book that appointment with his doctor.

Tom ate his dinner on a tray in the living room while watching a movie. Afterwards, he put his plate and cutlery in the dishwasher, poured himself a brandy, then went back and started another film. It was approaching the halfway mark when he heard the key in the lock of the front door. The living room door was closed, but Tom picked up the remote just in case his wife came in. She seemed to take forever hanging up her coat.

The door slowly swung open and Jenny peered in. She was wearing blue jeans, black boots and a white jumper. Tom paused the film and looked over at her.

'You okay?' he said.

'I don't know,' she responded. She noticed his brandy glass. 'Oh, that's a good idea. I think I'll get one for myself.'

She disappeared and Tom waited in an agony of suspense. He wondered whether to continue the film or not, worried that she might want to talk. Then Jenny came back into the room and closed the door. She had taken off her boots and was carrying the brandy bottle and a glass. Tom moved his feet so she could sit cross-legged at the other end of the couch. She poured herself a drink, put the glass on a side table, then lifted the bottle.

'Want a refill?' she said.

'Sure.'

Tom held his brandy glass while his wife poured him another measure. Then she stoppered the bottle, put it on the side table and picked up her own glass, warming it in her hand. Tom bit his lip and raised his glass.

'What shall we drink to?'

'Oh, Tom...'

It was said with such weary resignation that Tom felt his own stomach sink. Jenny took a drink, savoured the burn with closed eyes, then looked up at her husband. She seemed to be not only tired, but haunted.

'I have something to tell you,' she said. 'Something I should have told you weeks ago.'

'Jenny, you don't ha--'

'I cheated on you, Tom.' She looked him in the eye. 'I cheated on you.'

Tom felt his chest tighten. The world seemed to become cold and airless and cramped. His head wanted to explode. Tom swigged his brandy and almost choked, coughing and gasping. Jenny reached out to touch him, but his arm went up sharply and she withdrew her hand. He inhaled, held his breath, then exhaled slowly and deliberately. He looked at her face and saw sadness, concern, even grief... but not shame. Tom forced himself to speak.

'When...?' he murmured.

'On the night of Kiera's gallery opening,' she said. 'When you had that reunion on Chester's boat for the weekend.'

Tom winced. He had been the one who had talked Jenny into going to that opening. Jenny looked into her brandy glass and sighed.

'At the gallery,' she said, 'I bumped into a man I hadn't seen in years. A man I used to have a crush on.'

'Who?'

'His name's Richard. I knew him from St Patrick's.'

'St Pat--... what, your

secondary school?'

'Yes.'

'So this is someone you had a crush on when you were a

girl?'

'Yes.'

Tom stared at his wife, aghast. When he next spoke, all his agony and hurt burst out with the question.

'Why?!'

Jenny sat with the brandy glass in her lap, blinking like someone staring into a bright light.

'I'm not sure how to answer that,' she said. 'Richard's tall and good-looking. He has a great body. He's the kind of man that all the girls wanted. He took me out for a drink after the opening and when he said he wanted to go to bed with me, I said yes.'

She looked at her husband. Tom looked devastated, his eyes hollowed and red, his usually round face looking gaunt. Jenny felt sorry for him, but also relieved. This had been a long time coming. Tom shook his head slowly as he looked at her.

'How could you do this?' he said.

'I know,' she said. 'I'm sorry.'

'Do you think

sorry

is going to fix it?'

'No, of course not. I imagine you'll want a divorce.'

'You want a divorce?!'

'No... I said

you'll

want a divorce.'

'Me?!'

'I assume so.'

Tom stared at her.

'

I

don't want a divorce!' he said.

'Why not?'

'Because I love you!'

Jenny frowned at him. She put the brandy glass onto the side table and sat with her hands in her lap as her brain processed the information. Then she looked at him.

'I'm sorry, Tom,' she said. 'But just because you love me, that doesn't mean you should stay married to me.'

'Why not?'

'Because I cheated on you!'

'Well... what if I forgive you?'

Jenny stared at the man. She got up and paced the room, her brow furrowed, her fingers twitching. Then she stopped and stared at him, as though he were some strange species of bird that had landed on her couch. She went back to her seat and spoke fiercely, fixing him with an intense gaze.

'All right, how about this...?' she said. 'I don't want to have your baby anymore.'

Tom went white in the face. Tears filled his eyes. He swallowed and looked at her in anguish.

'Jenny, why are you doing this?' he said.

'Isn't it obvious?' she said. 'I don't want to have a weak man's child!'

'You think I'm weak?'

'Damn right I do! Christ, Tom! I

cheated

on you! Aren't you even a

little

bit angry?'

'Of course I am!'

'No, you're not! You're hurt! You're

wounded!

But you're not angry. I'm sitting here and I know for a fact that I can say anything I want and you're not going to hit me.'

'You want me to

hit

you?'

'No, of course not! But...' Jenny took a deep breath. 'But there's a difference between a man who doesn't hit a woman on principle... and a man who simply doesn't have the stomach for it.'

Tom stared at her. Jenny looked back, regarding her husband with something close to scientific curiosity. Any guilt and discomfort she felt had vanished. He was a puzzle to her, a conundrum. She saw a mouthful of brandy left in her glass and she finished it.