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Me: Can we talk?
Danika: No need. The decision has been made. Everything will be taken care of on Tuesday.
Me: Want me to go with you?
Danika: No.
Me: What time are you leaving?
Danika: Early.
Me: Can I see you?
Danika: I don’t think that’s a good idea. I won’t be able to go through with it if I do.
Me: Ok. I’m sorry for being a jerk. I love you Dani.
There’s a long pause between my text message and the three little dots on my screen. Each time they appear and disappear, they gut me. I guess this is karma. Finally, finally she writes:
Danika: I love you too. You’ll always be it for me, Logan.
54
Logan
The weekend passes mind-numbingly slow. I thought last week was bad, the hours creeping by, feeding my insecurities. I was wrong. Waiting for Tuesday is worse. I look at the clock again. It’s only 2:42. Only Saturday. I have three more days until I can hold Danika and tell her how sorry I am for how I reacted. Tell her how brave she is and that everything will be okay.
On Monday I don’t go to school, fearful we’ll bump into each other. I spend the day searching the internet for what to expect after an abortion. Outside of smothering Danika with love, Tylenol, and possibly chocolate, there’s nothing I can do.
I spend the rest of the day and most of the night wondering. Is it a boy or a girl—not that it matters at this point. Should I have proposed? Is that still the right thing to do? I mean I could easily see myself spending the rest of my life with Danika, but is that what she wants? Would she even say yes? I know I’ve been a dick in the past, but I royally screwed this situation up. Is it even possible to fix the damage I’ve done? I don’t sleep. Too many questions. Too many thoughts.
By the time the sun rises, I have a plan. I will be better. I have to be. Danika is the most important person in my life. I need to show her as much.
I watch the clock. Each minute is a lifetime in and of itself. I know Danika doesn’t want to see me and I know I should respect her wishes, but she needs to know I’m all in. No matter what she wants. I’m. In. Finally, when it reaches seven o’clock, I decide it’s late enough to go over.
I barely make it out the door before my heart sinks to my feet. Mr. Winters’ car is gone. Their house is empty and dark. I’ve missed them. Missed my opportunity to let Danika know that whatever comes our way, I’ll be her rock.
I step onto the bottom step of my entryway and drop my face into my palms. I always fuck things up. Somehow, someway, I make a mess of things.
Hours pass, the day fading into night before Mr. Winters green sedan pulls into the driveway. I rush over to the passenger side, prepared to help Danika out of the car. Everything I’ve read says she will be hurting, the pain ranging from mild discomfort to unbearable.
“Logan,” Mr. Winters exhales. He sounds tired. I get it, this has been a long day for him, but for me it’s been a long week. Hell, it’s been over two weeks since I’ve taken an easy breath. “She’s not here.”
I look in the window, dumbfounded. The passenger seat is empty. The back seat is empty. Danika’s not anywhere in this car and I’m officially freaking out. “What do you mean she’s not here? Did something happen?”
Mr. Winters shakes his head and runs his hand over his face. “Ah, shit. I thought she told you.”
“Told me what?” I run both my hands through my hair. Did she sign a DNR? Did something go wrong and she bleed out on the table? Where the fuck is my girlfriend? My chest squeezes. I can’t catch a breath. Each inhale feels like it’s being sucked through a straw. “I don’t understand what’s happening right now.”
Mr. Winters walks around the sedan and squeezes my shoulder. “Logan, Danika’s decided to move in with her Nona in Georgia.”
“What?” I look up at him utterly confused. The weight on my lungs builds with each passing second. My head’s spinning. This has to be a dream. Some fucked up dream I’m going to wake from any minute now.
“Nona is her mom's mother, and she’s getting old. We’ve talked about putting Nona in a home, but Danika wouldn’t hear of it.” Mr. Winters guides me closer to my house. My feet move, without my permission, going wherever he takes us.
Nothing he’s saying makes any sense. Where is Danika? What has happened to our baby? “What?”
“The details don’t matter, son. What I’m trying to say is Danika’s gone, Logan and she doesn’t want to come back.”
