The Chemistry of Storms

The orange light of sunset spilled across Mara's kitchen countertop as she chopped papaya with surgical precision. Outside, summer lightning fractured the sky—something electric and final about the way storms arrived this time of year.

'You're doing it again,' Colin said from the doorway. 'That thing where you pretend everything's fine.'

Mara's knife paused. 'I'm making fruit salad.'

'You're making fruit salad because we're supposed to talk about the embryo transfer tomorrow and you'd rather chop tropical produce than acknowledge that we might be throwing away fifteen thousand dollars and the last three years of our lives.'

She set down the knife. A fox darted through their backyard, a flash of rust against the darkening grass—wild, untethered, disappearing into the neighbor's hydrangeas.

'My vitamin D levels are low,' she said instead. 'The doctor said it might affect—'

'Jesus, Mara.' Colin crossed to the window, watching where the fox had vanished. 'You're 38 years old. We both are. And you're still acting like if you just control enough variables, if you just take enough supplements and meditate enough and plan everything perfectly, life won't hurt you.'

Lightning struck closer. The kitchen fluorescents flickered.

'What's wrong with wanting to be prepared?' she whispered.

'Nothing. But there's a difference between preparation and denial.' He turned to face her. 'We might fail tomorrow. And the sky won't fall. The earth won't crack open. We'll still be here, in this kitchen, eating too-expensive fruit.' He gestured at the papaya. 'Remember when we couldn't afford groceries that first year in Chicago? We ate nothing but ramen and oranges for three weeks. We were miserable then, too, but we were miserable together.'

Mara looked at the papaya's black seeds glistening in the orange twilight. 'I'm afraid that if we fail, you'll stop looking at me like I'm something you fought for.'

Colin's expression softened. He crossed the kitchen and wrapped his arms around her from behind, chin resting on her shoulder. 'I fought for you before we ever started trying for a baby. I'll fight for you after.' He kissed her neck. 'Whatever happens tomorrow, you're my constant. You're the only thing I've never wanted to optimize or improve.'

Another flash of lightning illuminated their wedding photo on the fridge—both of them younger, more certain, holding glasses of champagne.

'Finish the fruit salad,' he said. 'We'll eat it during the storm and pretend we don't care what comes next.'

Mara picked up her knife again. Outside, rain began to fall, and somewhere in the distance, the fox called into the dark.