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“What?”I couldn’t possibly have heard her right. No way Scarlet was pregnant when I left Kroydon Hills. “Scarlet...” She tilts her head, her soft auburn hair a stark contrast to her pale skin.
“You promised.” Her blue eyes beg me to stay quiet, and even though it goes against every fiber of my being, I nod again.
“Sorry. Keep going.”
She holds up an ultrasound with a date stamped on it from thirteen years ago, and my heart drops to the floor.
There’s no way.
How could this be possible?
We were so careful.
How did I never know?
She holds the image reverently. “I tried so hard to act like it didn’t bother me when you left. I know I told you I wanted you to go, and that the long-distance thing was never going to work out. I ended it. Ended us. But that was just a lot of big talk from a scared seventeen-year-old. I loved you in such a huge way, it was all-encompassing. You were the only person I could ever be myself with, and that was so special. I didn’t want you to go. But I knew you needed to. So, I broke us.”
My hand reaches for her.
Desperate to comfort her.
Not fully comprehending what she’s saying.
Scarlet places the ultrasound image back in the box, then hands it to me.
As my fingers brush over it, I notice for the first time what the box is full of. I flip through old cards I’d given her. The stupid little origami birds I used to make out of my gum wrappers. The notes I’d shove in her locker when Becket wasn’t with me. She has them all saved in this box.
“I broke us because I thought that’s what I had to do. Then you left, and I couldn’t get out of bed. I was so sad, but I was alone at my mom’s penthouse, so it wasn’t a big deal. She’d pop in and out like she always did, but I honestly saw her housekeeper, Sonja, more than I saw her or anyone else for that matter. Becks was staying at Dad’s beach house that summer, and Max was away at college, so it was just me. And I wallowed in self-pity like only a teenage girl can. But after a few days, my sadness and wallowing turned into vomiting. And it wasn’t just a queasy stomach. It was full-on can’t-keep-anything-down vomiting. After two weeks, Sonja said something to my mother, who promptly informed me there were better ways to keep my weight down than bulimia.”
She stands from the couch and wraps her arms around herself, covering her green dress. She’s right there in front of me, but I don’t think she’s seeing me. Her eyes are haunted. Lost. Alone. Like I’m not there at all.
“When I finally convinced her I wasn’t vomiting on purpose, she must have realized because I had an appointment after-hours that night with her gynecologist.” She breathes through a dry laugh. “Because you know, no one could ever find out her picture-perfect daughter wasn’t perfect. I swore there was no way I could possibly be pregnant, but she wouldn’t hear me. It was the only time I ever remember my mother ignoring what I said turning out to be a good thing.”
I hold up one of the old, pressed flowers from the box, and she smiles at me. “You pulled that from your boutonniere the night of your senior prom.” She takes it from my fingers and spins it in hers. “You put it in my hair, remember? You’d just fucked me in the closet while our dates wondered where the hell we were.”
“Scarlet...” I stand and wrap my fingers around her arms, remembering how hot it seemed at the time. She refused to let me take her to prom, so we both went with other dates when we really wanted to be with each other. Looking back now, it was cruel. She deserved so much more than that. “I can’t just—”
The tears she’s been holding back finally breakthrough. “You promised.” She wipes her eyes. “Just let me get through this, and then I’ll answer any questions you have.”
“I love you.”
“We’ll see if you still do. So, my mom took me to the doctor’s office where they confirmed I was pregnant and scheduled an abortion for me one week later.”
My hands drop from her shoulders, and I take a step back.
Not sure what I was expecting her to say, but knowing it wasn’t that.
“I cried the entire way home from the doctors. I didn’t know what I needed to do, but I knew that wasn’t it. That wasn’t my answer. Don’t get me wrong, I’m all for a woman’s right to choose. But I wasn’t given a choice. One was being forced on me.” She swallows and wipes the tears from her face. “I mean, I was only seventeen, so it wasn’t like I really had options. Maybe I’d have come to realize it was the right thing. Maybe not. But I never got that chance. Four days later, I woke up in the middle of the night with horrible cramps, covered in blood.”
A sob rips from her throat. “I never got the chance to make the choice. It was made for me.” She rubs her belly. I don’t even think she realizes she’s doing it. But then, she finally looks at me, and all the pain she’s feeling is right there, reflected in her eyes.
“I screamed. Not from the pain. Losing our baby didn’t hurt any more than awful cramps. No. I screamed because I was furious. And scared. I didn’t want it to happen, but I think a tiny part of me knew this would never end any other way. Of course, my mother was actually home that night. She ran in to find out why I was screaming. And I think that was the worst part. She pulled the blankets back and looked at me sitting there in bloody sheets, and then she smiled.” She puts the dried rose back down in the shoebox and picks the ultrasound image back up.
“She looked at me with that smug smile and said, ‘Perfect. This way is much better. Less chance of anyone finding out.’ Any love I felt for my mother died that day, along with a piece of my soul.”
