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That optimism drains away the moment I hang up the phone. Abby’s cheery voice in my ear did a lot to raise my spirits, but reality comes crashing back in with a force that takes my breath away.
When I go back upstairs, that ache in my chest returns. It’s impossible to think of packing up the lifetime of things that are here, and I tell myself that I’ll come back for most of it. Instead, I pack what I need—a suitcase of clothes and personal items, those few family heirlooms, and some pictures that my father kept. A handful of books—his favorites and mine. Seashells from the beach. I take the memories, and leave what I can replace. Surprisingly, a lifetime’s worth of memories can fit in two suitcases, along with all my clothes.
I leave the red dress that Dante bought me. I run my fingers over the crimson silk once more, biting my lip and swallowing back the tears as I turn to leave. Abby had said I could come as soon as I wanted, and waiting won’t make it any easier.
If anything, it will be that much harder to go if I stay here any longer.
I load the two suitcases and my tattoo equipment in the back of the Chevelle, closing the door and trying not to look back.
It’s not until I slide into the driver’s seat and see a Mustang driving away that looks very much like Dante’s that the tears finally overflow.
I press my forehead against the steering wheel, trying to choke them back, but I can’t. The sobs rip free—tears for myself, for my life, and for everything I’ve lost in the last six months. I start the engine and throw the car into gear, angry with myself. Some of those tears are for Dante, and I feel like an idiot for letting myself cry over him.
I always knew this was going to end. From the very beginning, our relationship was a ticking clock. It’s no one’s fault but mine if I let myself feel so much that now it feels as if my heart is being ripped out of my chest.
Over and over again, as I drive, I ask myself if I’m doing the right thing. If it’s wrong to cheat Dante out of the possibility of knowing his child. If making all these decisions myself isn’t the way I should be going about this. And every time, when I think of turning around, I remember the life that Dante leads—and all the reasons that I want no part of it.
It’s true what Brendan said—that Dante has never said it would have to be that way. But I can’t imagine him walking away from all of that for me. I can’t imagine him changing everything about his life just so we can be together—even now that there’s a child involved.
Maybe,especiallynow that there’s a child involved.
Halfway to Seattle, I stop at a hotel to get some rest. The unfamiliar room does nothing to settle my anxiety, and I toss and turn, waking up feeling as if I wasted a hundred and fifty dollars without really getting any rest. I shower and throw on clean clothes, and do my best not to cry again. It feels as if I left my heart back in Los Angeles, for more reasons than one, and there’s just a hollow space in my chest.
If anything, I wish I could just go numb.
By the time I pull up in front of the building Abby lives in, I feel utterly drained. I text her, letting her know that I’m here, and five minutes later, I see a familiar tall, thin woman with a long brunette braid flying behind her as she jogs towards me with an elated smile on her face.
“Emma!” She throws her arms around me, nearly knocking the breath out of me with how hard she squeezes. “I’m so happy you made it. Was the drive okay? You look exhausted.”
“Thanks,” I say wryly, wrestling the second suitcase out of the Chevelle. “I am exhausted. I didn’t sleep well.”
“I have the guest room made up. Hopefully, you’ll sleep better here. Come on—I have some leftovers I can heat up, and then you can crash. We’ll talk more tomorrow after you’ve gotten some rest.”
“You’re a lifesaver.” I set the suitcase down, hugging her in return. “We haven’t really talked in so long, and you just let me come up here and stay. I don’t know how I’ll ever repay you.”
“You already are. Some company will be great—I love living on my own, but it gets lonely sometimes. Come on,” Abby urges again, taking one of the suitcases and putting her hand on my arm. “No point in standing around out here.”
She helps me get my things up to her fourth-floor apartment in an old historic stone building, setting the suitcases in a small, neatly made-up guest room. There are potted plants near the window and a brightly-colored duvet on the bed, and there’s a sense of cheer that pervades the entire place. I tell myself, as I sink down onto the edge of the bed, that maybe I’ll find a way to be happy here.
I can make a life in Seattle. I’m not worried about that. I’ve worked hard for the last four years to become an artist good enough that I could find work anywhere. And I know that Abby will help while I get back on my feet. The question is whether or not I can make a life that Iwantto live.
I want this baby, but I don’t want my child to be all I exist for. That won’t make for a good life for either of us. I have to find a way to move forward.
“I think I’m just going to get some sleep,” I tell Abby. “I’ll eat later.”
“Are you sure?” She frowns a little, concern on her face. “It’s important that you stay healthy—”
I laugh a little at that, despite myself. Abby is a yoga enthusiast and nutritionist, and back when she lived in LA, she helped manage a gym. I can already see her running down a list of supplements that I might need in her head.
“I promise I’ll eat whatever you feed me as soon as I wake up. I just really need to try to sleep.” Now that I’m here, with someone familiar and not in a hotel room, I can already feel the exhaustion tugging at me.
The moment Abby leaves and I lay down, I don’t even have time to slide under the covers before I’m finally asleep.
20
EMMA
ONE MONTH LATER
