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“Okay.” She nods again. She looks nervous. I’m nervous.
I’ve never said it out loud before except to BJ and that didn’t go particularly well. At least not at the start.
I clear my throat once.
“When I was sixteen, BJ and I got pregnant.” I give her a curt smile.
She blinks at me.
“Accidentally,” I add as an afterthought.
My sister stares over at me. “Oh my god.”
“We were going to keep it—”
“Oh my god—”
“She died at around fifteen weeks.”
I give my sister a tight smile, restraining all my tears behind it.
“She?” Bridge blinks. Her eyes have gone glassy.
I nod.
“I had a D&C—”
She puts her hands on her face as she stares at me. “Magnolia—”
“It was the weekend we told everyone we went to Cannes, remember? And we got in so much trouble—” I sniff a small laugh at the memory. “And Marsaili said I was forbidden from seeing BJ and—”
“—And you couldn’t stop crying.” She nods.
I nod. “And you called BJ.”
“Well.” She shrugs. “You needed him. I could tell.”
I nod.
“And who the fuck could get to sleep with all your stupid crying?”
I let out a snotty laugh.
My sister climbs onto the bed next to me, links her arm with mine, leans her head on my head.
“You never showed.”
“Yes.” I nod. “Apparently I have something called a tilted uterus.”
She snorts a laugh. “Of course you do.” She peers over at me, flicking my arm absentmindedly. “No one knows?”
I fiddle with my earlobe. “No one knows.”
Bridget goes quiet for a while. A good few minutes of silence follow, neither of us saying anything. It’s nice, actually. Having someone else know and sit with me in it.
She breathes out loudly from her nose and nudges me with her elbow.
“Not to make this about myself—” She gives me a little look. “But I did say trauma bonds with you two, didn’t I? Called it a mile off.”
I start laughing. It’s tired but it’s genuine.
And then Bridge gives me an exasperated look. “Holy fuck.”
I give her a tiny, tender smile.
“Yes. It was.”
