mine {h.s.} | {b3}

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

— CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN —

june, year two.

"Kid, I got you the birthday surprise to end all birthday surprises." Harry's voice is rushed and excited as it comes through the phone. I can practically hear the way that he is tripping over his words in order to get them out faster.

My brows tug low as I blink and check the date on my watch. "Harry, my birthday was a week ago. We celebrated it together. We threw a party. I learned how to play pool. You were there," I remind him, hoping to jog his memory on the events that had transpired at the party.

He scoffs, unimpressed. "Yes, and last week was also the week that we had a full house. Zana stayed with us and Monty and Oliver came down for a couple of days with Elliot. We couldn't have really good, earth-shattering birthday sex and you know it."

"And right now, baby, but now you know I'm at work and don't want to be talking about really good, earth-shattering birthday sex when just anyone can hear me," my voice comes out hushed, and I only speak the words once I survey the grounds around me, ensuring that no one hears anything that they're not supposed to. "But yes, I understand your point," I add, begrudgingly.

"Hold on," he interjects, and I can imagine the way that he is holding up a hand like a traffic director, as though he can physically halt the conversation in its place. "Are you meaning to say that you never talk about sex while at work? Because, if I recall correctly, it was you, not me, that came up hurriedly assuring me that you were ovulating me while we were at work in that very same hospital."

"That's different," I'm quiet for a different reason now. Slightly muted, my lips press together in a sort of dismay. Months of trying have been equally unsuccessful for conceiving our second child. There are times when I allow myself to get dejected because of the feeling—when I let myself consider that maybe I was only meant to carry through two pregnancies, only one of them successful. Each day, I make peace with the fact that Edie is the biggest blessing in my life, that she is all that I really need. Despite the peace that I've made with the words, there is always the voice in the back of my head reminding me how I don't believe them. How there is a part of me that is desperate for another child with my husband; a part of me that doesn't feel done.

Harry knows this.

More than anyone, Harry knows how hard we've been trying. Month in and out, we've made the most of the periods which I am ovulating. Everything in the world is dropped in order to account for the brief period. We sit out with calendars, the dates circled and starred as we make the best preparations that our estimations can make. Like before, post-Edie's pregnancy, my period has returned to being equally irregular. To the best of our ability, we make our calculations but there is always a margin of error. A margin that we tend to attempt compensation for.

"Gray," Harry sighs, the pain in his voice sounding at the knowledge that I have a problem he can't immediately fix with the snap of his fingers. A born, natural fixer, I know that it pains him when he can't solve my problems as soon as they appear; a habit that he has been in the practice of since the moment that he met me. "It'll happen."

"I know," the words sound glum coming from my lips and I do all that I can to mask the sound. Pursing my lips, I repeat them again with more conviction this time. "I know."

"That's my girl," he coos, his voice gentle and proud. There's some fussing in the background and I know that he's playing with Edie as he speaks to me. The image of my husband at home with our daughter ignites a passion in me. He's so good with her; he's the best father that any little girl could dream of having. "Now, back to the birthday present."