“James!” shouted Laura. “This is it! This is life. This is marriage. This is what we signed up for!”
It was the spring of 2007. We were both thirty-five-years-old. Laura had taken a break from her career as an opera singer to try to have a baby with me. We had bought a house in one of the newer additions on the north side of Norman with a family in mind; three bedrooms.
I stumbled and fell back onto the couch. I was drunk as I had been every night for the last year.
“Look at you. Don’t you think that I’m upset, too? How many years do you think I’ve dreamed of having a baby?” she said.
“We shouldn’t have waited so long,” I said. “We should have done it right away.”
“Oh, and what about my career? I go straight from college to babies?”
“I’m just saying people who wait have a harder time.”