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“Oh?” she asks, looking up. She squints at Miles. “Do I know you?”
“Of course,” he says with a grin. “I’m Miles, your favorite person. Actually, I might be your second-favorite after this.”
“After what?” Mom asks, eyes lighting up.
I move my chair closer and bring her hand to my stomach. “Miles and I are having a baby.”
“Well of course you are, dear. You were never one to carry weight in your stomach.” Oof. That lack of filter kills me sometimes.
“Would you like to know what we’re having?” I ask, moving past that sentence.
“Tell me right now.”
The door in the back of my mind slips open, and all the painful, ugly thoughts try to escape. She sounded like her. My mom. Who she used to be.
Nope. Not right now. I push that door closed again and lock it this time.
“It’s a girl.”
She clasps her hands together in happiness. “Oh, a little girl. Just like you.” She squeezes my hand, then looks at Miles and says something to him. I don’t hear what it is, though, because her words are on loop in my mind again.
I hope you have a daughter just like you one day.
Those words form a crack in my heart, one that’s been growing with each tiny break over the last year and a half.
That door in the back of my mind is busted off the hinges now, and all I can do is hold back the tempest of emotions as I focus on this visit with my mother—the closest version I’ll get to her former self.
As he often does after our weekend visits with Mom, Miles stopped at McDonald’s on the way home. I ate my cheeseburgers while watchingSweet Magnolias. We started back at the beginning because Miles wanted to know what it was all about. It’s adorable and sweet, and I cuddled up against him while we watched. He stroked his hand down my arm and asked me more than once if I was okay, but I kept telling him I was tired. Maybe I’m a good liar, or maybe he didn’t want to push it. All I know is I encouraged our binge watch so he wouldn’t ask me questions. Questions I don’t want to answer—if I even have the answer at all.
I know he wants to fix things for me. He has ideas or advice, but I don’t need that. I don’t want it. I don’t want to talk and parse through every single feeling I have. I’m exhausted from the emotional toll of this pregnancy and how it’s brought so much of my past trauma to the front of my mind.
Haven’t I suffered enough?
The last thing I want is to bring it all out in the open while Miles tries to find the answers to make it all better. It’s too much. Right now, everything is too much.
After our fourth episode of the night, I tell Miles I’m ready for bed, and like we do every night, we get ready, then snuggle in bed together. Usually I’m so exhausted I fall asleep the minute my head hits the pillow and Miles wraps me in his arms. Tonight, though, I don’t. I close my eyes and breathe deep, pretending to be asleep. I’m convinced Miles wouldn’t allow himself to go to sleep if I was actively awake.
Thankfully, he’s tired enough that once he thinks I’m asleep, he quickly drifts off. I wait until he’s breathing heavily and snoring softly before climbing out of bed.
I quietly walk into the closet, flick the light on, then close the door. I pull out two small totes and open them, taking a blanket from each. Closing the totes again, I wrap the items in my arms and hold them close, breathing in the familiar scents. My father’s chemo blanket and one of my mother’s old reading blankets. Together it’s them. My childhood. Safety. Mornings cooking breakfast together. Evenings snuggled on the couch. Everything I miss. What I wish I could have for one more day. I hold them tightly as I sob alone in the closet, finally allowing myself to break in a way I haven’t in a long time. As if this baby somehow knows, soft kicks pepper my stomach like she’s trying to soothe me. I rest my hand on my stomach and cry harder, wishing she could’ve known them, that they could’ve known her.
When I’ve cried my eyes dry, I take one last inhale, then carefully put the blankets back in their totes and close them again, pushing the totes back into place. I wipe my eyes and walk out of the closet, turning the light off and heading for the bathroom. After splashing some cold water on my face, and of course, peeing, I climb back into bed. Snuggling against Miles, I drape his hand over my stomach again, and breathe deeply, trying to pretend I’m okay and maybe somehow tomorrow will be better, even though I know nothing can fix the growing cracks in my heart.
Chapter thirteen
Hairbrush Confessions
Miles
“Areyousureyoudon’t want me to drive you?” I ask, leaning down to kiss Amelia before I leave for guys’ night.
She softly kisses me, then runs her hand over my cheek. “I told you, I’ll be fine. Dani’s going to stop here first and pick me up.”
I kiss her again because, like usual, I can’t get enough, but I also feel like there’s something off with her. Ever since we told her mom about the gender of the baby a couple of weeks ago, she’s been quieter than normal. She’s still her quippy, sarcastic self, but when there are no other distractions, it’s like she folds inside herself or walls off her emotions. I’ve been trying not to push her about it because she says she’s fine, but I’m not so sure about that.
“Are you okay?” I ask, sitting down next to her.
“I’m fine. Why?”
