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I deal with overproduction issues at the dairy farms and ranches and have them send the surplus to food bank organizations. I’d send samples of the new shake flavors to my marketing team, but it doesn’t seem right to do it without Whitney.
Goddamit, none of this matters without her. If she were here, she would come up with a much kinder and more creative way to use the extra milk, cheese and hamburger buns. She’d make everything okay, and put a smile on my face with her sassy ways and teasing laugh.
I spend hours in the library in an attempt to shake these feelings of emptiness and loss. I try her phone daily to see if she has unblocked my number, and feel like a loser when I realize she hasn’t.
The entire staff of my building has asked about Whitney and I tell them that she’ll be back soon. I’m not even sure if that’s true. I feel helpless, desperate, and frankly, I’m a liar at this point. I don’t know what’s happening, and it’s ridiculous to pretend that I do. Maybe I should just storm over to her apartment and break down her door. Yeah, that sounds about right.
Suddenly, the elevator pings. Oh right, George and Sarah are coming over. Sarah has been begging her dad for a kitten ever since the night of our focus group when she got to play with Apollo and Demeter. As they step off the lift, the gangly girl cuddles a little black kitten in her arms.
“Who have you got here, Sarah?” I ask, stroking the silky fur on its little head with one finger. It purrs and then grabs hold of me with its tiny needle-like claws.
Demeter eyes the kitten suspiciously and hisses at it.
“Well, I was torn between naming her Persephone, after Demeter’s daughter, or Artemis, Apollo’s twin. But seeing as how Demeter doesn’t seem to be a fan, I won’t name this little ball of fur after the goddess’ daughter. It looks like it’s going to be Artemis.” Then she looks around, her eyes searching. “Where’s Whitney? I want to show off my kitten.”
“She’s not here, Sarah.”
The teen looks confused.
“Why not? When is she coming back?”
“Sarah, that’s none of your business,” her father chides.
“But Daddy, I love Whitney. She’s a really special person.”
Sarah’s words hit me like a punch in the gut. I love Whitney too, and maybe if I’d said those words, she wouldn’t have blocked me from her life. I’m going to make that right. Suddenly, I know what I have to do, and my mission is urgent.
“George, I know you aren’t working right now, but would guys mind dropping me off at Whitney’s? I need to see her. Sarah’s right. She is a special person and I love her. It’s important that I tell her this.”
“It’s about time you admit it,” the teenager scoffs.
“She’s right,” George laughs, and we head to the elevator. I have a smile on my face, but inside, my heart is pounding. I need to see Whitney. The question is: will she see me?
20
Whitney
I wasn’t lying to Peter when I told him I was sick. I’ve been vomiting nearly every morning since my parents came to visit. My head hurts, and I’m constantly nauseous. Not to mention the fact that I’ve barely eaten in the last couple weeks, and every time I do, it just ends up coming back up.
Then again, I guess this is what depression feels like. All I want to do is sleep. I have Netflix on, but I have no idea what I’ve actually watched because I fade in and out of a semi-aware state of consciousness. I’ve gotten up the energy to shower just a handful of times, and I’m sure I smell awful. This morning, staring at my pale reflection in the mirror, suddenly a nagging suspicion reared its ugly head.
Peter and I made love every day, sometimes even multiple times a day, and we weren’t as careful as we should have been. We used protection but occasionally, things heated up so fast that we slipped up a few times. What if the nausea and fatigue are being caused by another life growing inside me?
Now, it’s time to find out. I take the pink box out of the paper bag with trembling fingers. I read the directions on the box and it’s as simple as the commercials claim. Just pee on the stick and wait. I do as instructed, and wait the allotted time. My nerves are jittery and my heart pounds. Not to mention that my head aches
When it comes time, I pick up the plastic indicator, and see the result: pregnant. I’m going to have Peter’s baby.
The blood rushes to my head as I grip the bathroom counter, trying to come to terms with this new knowledge. A baby! A child born of my love for Peter, and the passion we felt together. Suddenly, I know what I want. I want this baby. I want to teach her or him how to bake. I want to go to Central Park and the Bronx Zoo pushing a stroller. I don’t know what I’m going to tell Peter, but this baby will be loved, no matter what.
