Edified

by Marissa Sail Fike

  My eyes feel heavy. I fall asleep quickly.

  But faintly I recall in the middle of the night …

  Stirring.

  Eyes fluttering open.

  Adam’s lips on mine.

  The warmth of his chest pressed against me.

  Wandering fingertips.

  His breath against my neck.

  27

  Grace - Saturday

  My phone beeps loudly at 6:58 a.m., warning me that something has triggered my nanny cam in the art room. At first, as I wipe the sleep from my eyes, I panic that someone has gotten into my house. As my senses return, I remember that I didn’t lock up the art room before I left the house. I groan. I’m sure everything is fine — Amity just probably snuck in. But just to be safe, I go ahead and text Rae and ask her to check on the house for me. I curl back into my warm spot in the bed and try to go back to sleep, but then I remember last night’s events. The reality of it all sinks in and forcibly takes away any sleep I may have had left.

  I sigh and kick the covers back, sauntering out to the kitchen for some tea. I find a note on the table, hastily scribbled in my mother's writing.

  Got called into work early. Sorry to leave like this. Here’s some money for a cab to the mechanic. Text me when you’re home safe.

  I roll my eyes. Of course she got called into work. That’s nothing new.

  It’s all the same to me I suppose. Yesterday felt so long anyways, I doubt I’d have the energy to deal with my mother this morning.

  The only thing that surprises me is the last sentence of her note. She’s never said anything like that before. I assume it’s only a result of her guilt from our conversation last night.

  My mother is pretty hands-off, but she’s not ignorant to believe that what I said had no validity. She’s also not so heartless as to not feel any guilt for it.

  Most teenagers would’ve been glad to have such a permissive mother — but that childhood ‘perk’ was a complete waste on me. I was always home at a reasonable hour, never let boys into my house while she was gone, and I certainly never used her money for anything indulgent. In fact, it would appear as though I was more responsible as a young teenager than as a young adult.

  I take one more pregnancy test before I call the cab, but it’s still positive — the second line is more prominent on the screen than it had been the night before.

  ***

  I settle in the driver seat of my car, sighing. My bank is now $234.00 lighter, all thanks to some bad spark plugs.

  On top of that, I tried to get a hold of Terrence again for the ride back home, but I guess he wasn’t available today, so the cost of a ride from Montpelier to Gevali turned out to be more than my mother gave me. Why does everything have to be so expensive?

  As I turn the key to start the engine, my phone vibrates with a text from Rae.

  I open it, gasping at the pictures attached … Paint everywhere, an angry Amity, and some very bloodied up arms. I call her immediately.

  “Are you okay?” I say, the second she picks up.

  “Yeah,” She laughs, “It’s no big deal.”

  “No big deal?” I say, “Are you kidding? I owe you big. Your poor arms!”

  “Your poor floor.” She says, “I tried to clean it as best I could, but … blue is a potent color …”

  “Oh my goodness, Rae. Forget the floor. I’m so sorry I’m just now seeing this. I’ve had a … really crazy past couple of days.”

  “Oh yeah, I was gonna ask you. Is everything okay? When you said you were at Corinne’s, I was like, umm, okay, something’s up.”

  “Oh boy …” I sigh, “I honestly don’t know where to begin, Rae. So many things are ‘up’ right now, I’m about to lose it.”

  “Uh oh. Do you want to talk about it?”

  I shake my head, nothing short of exasperated. “I mean, I don’t even know how to begin condensing this. I met up with Hadley yesterday and you were right. Chick had no idea about me and Jayden. Pretty cool gal, actually — she likes books and stuff. So since that whole thing went so well, I felt compelled to call Jayden and tell him to eff off —”

  “What?!” She says excitedly.

  “Yeah.” I say, not missing a beat. “So then my car broke down on the way to Montpelier to see mom who told me to come to the clinic to take another pregnancy test because she didn’t think the first test was accurate or whatever. Then I accidentally ended up in a cab with Liam of all people. So that was weird. Then my mom and I kinda had a huge fight—which just made me feel worse—and long story short, turns out she was right about the accuracy thing. I’m pregnant.”

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa, what?” Rae says.

  Saying the last two words felt so foreign on my lips … like an issue that couldn’t possibly be mine. I hadn’t let myself think about it much until now … but vocalizing my new reality induced something similar to panic.

  “Are you serious?” Rae says.

  “I … I am.” I say, almost not even believing myself.

  “Grace … I … What can I do?”

  I frown, “I honestly don’t know just yet.”

  I don’t like what I’m feeling right now — a dark emotion I can’t describe. I just want to ignore it … to push it away.

  “Listen,” I say, “I’m gonna let you go. I need to get home real quick and assess this paint damage. I promise we’ll talk later.”

  “We better,” Rae says, a hint of concern in her tone.

  ***

  I stare blithely at the deep, oval-shaped splatter of blue on the floor of my art room. Amity circles around my feet, purring loudly.

  I squint down at her, quietly muttering, “Should’ve gotten a dog.”

  It’s about lunch time, but I don’t have the energy to make food. Instead, I close Amity out of the art room and take a seat in front of my easel by the window. I set up a fresh canvas and squeeze some paint blobs onto a clean palate. I don’t bother to line the floor with newspapers … it’s ruined anyway.

  My palate holds several shades of blue and purple paint, all dark and somber. I figure if my soul had a color right now, it’d probably be a mixture of these.

  At first, I paint gentle strokes … letting my wrist glide without intention. Then I set down the paintbrush, not satisfied with it’s work. I dip my bare fingers into the cold substance, smearing swirls of color onto the canvas. They blend into a blackish hue, which turns out to be much more satisfying.

  I allow myself to get lost in my painting, attempting a visual of my emotions, but then, as always, my mind interrupts:

  Perhaps this color is so appealing to me right now because it is a dark, empty void of a color … the way I wish my uterus was right now.

  Pinching my brow together, I immediately scold my train of thought. Why on earth would I ever consider such a thought?

  My gentle paint swirls turn sharp and jagged.

  It’s because my mother brought it up as an option.

  She knows how I feel about abortion. How I’ve always felt about it — and yet, she still mentioned it as if it’s no big deal. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. She’s never been opposed to them, and as far as I know, she even helps administer them occasionally. God knows how Grandma Jackie would feel if she knew that, seeing how religious she was. The blessed woman is probably turning somersaults in her grave over our whole conversation last night.

  My whole canvas is a dark, blackish-blue now. I lean back to look at it, and my shoulders soften. It’s not that I was considering aborting the baby … just that I was considering the peace I’d have if it was never there in the first place.

  Somehow, even that thought makes me hate myself.

  A tear threatens to escape down my cheek as I squeeze a fleshy-colored pink onto my palate. How could I be so heartless? I don’t wish any harm on this innocent thing inside me. It’s a human being … a little tiny life.

  As I paint, my mind teeter-totters between the peace I would feel if it were just me, myself, and I, and
feeling incredibly cruel and guilty for wishing a tiny baby out of existence.

  When I stand back to view my painting a second time, I’m a mixture of horrified and in awe of what I created. There in the middle of the blackness — a little pinkish form floating … a helpless fetus grasping at nothing.

  ***

  I sat down and cried and cried.

  What on earth do I do?

  I don’t want any helpless little being to be filled with these bad vibes, or even the slightest idea that they’re not wanted, but I also don’t know if I’m ready for all this. I know I’m not. How in the world will I afford it? We certainly can’t survive off my lowly income.

  In a moment of weakness and a loss of ideas, I pull out my phone and begin a google search: “How to be at peace with an unwanted pregnancy”.

  What comes up, as I shouldn’t be surprised, is several articles on how to prevent unwanted pregnancies … you know, before it’s an issue. But as I scroll down, I see an article that says, “God’s voice on unwanted pregnancies and abortion”.

  Intrigued, I tap the article.

  “If you’re reading these words, this is most likely a very hard time for you,” It reads, “Your emotions will feel conflicting, as is totally normal. My goal is not to make a decision for you, as your life is your own. All I hope to achieve is to help you consider some things you may not have thought of before. If you have considered them, awesome! You’ve done all the research you can, and should feel free to carry on … but if you haven’t, there’s no harm in a little subjective reading, right? If nothing else, you’ll gain a new perspective that you’re welcome to take on as your own or throw in the trash. The choice is yours.”

  I read on to discover that the author is a woman who had an abortion of her own. She continues to explain what you will experience at the clinic if you choose to go, which terrifies me.

  Then she leaves you with some scriptures. She doesn’t write out what they say — she simply says that she personally wishes that she had read the scriptures first, before making her final decision.

  The scriptures are Jeremiah 1:5 and Proverbs 31:8. I toss my phone aside and locate Grandma Jackie’s Bible. I flip through the rainbow of pages to the passage in Jeremiah, which reads,

  Before I formed you in the womb I knew you, and before you were born I set you apart.

  I close my eyes, soaking in the words. Although my baby is no bigger than a poppy seed right now, God knows them. I’ve been wondering if they would have my hazel eyes, or Jayden’s light grey ones, but God already knows.

  Holding my breath, I flip to the next scripture in Proverbs, which reads,

  Open your mouth for the speechless, in the cause of all who are appointed to die.

  I read over the passage again and again, trying to make sense of how it applies, but it all feels blurry to me right now.

  My body feels an invisible pull into the couch. I want to sink into the cushions and tune out everything but the same three songs, just as I had done last night. I’m tired of overthinking things and caring too much. I’m tired of being hurt and feeling so much when I’d rather just feel nothing at all.

  But I know at this point, with so much going on, I won’t be able to feel or think of nothing. If I lay here and let the couch swallow me up, my coping mechanism will be futile. I will end up grief-stricken over the things I have no control over. What I really need is to distract myself … to do something that’ll help me forget.

  So instead, I pull out my phone and tap out a simple message.

  To: Liam

  Sent: 10/12/19

  Time: 3:04 pm

  “So where is this dinner taking place tonight?”

  __________

  28

  Rae - Early Sunday…

  My eyes flutter open, trading darkness for darkness. There’s not a hint of daylight outside my window. I glance over at my clock, which indicates the time is 2:04 a.m. Adam is sleeping soundly next to me, his chest rising and falling beneath the covers, his skin emanating warmth. I smile at his slightly parted lips, marveling at what a beautiful sleeper he is. But my appreciation is cut short. Our clothes are tossed into a pile on the floor — my hair a knotted mess from where his fingers tangled tenderly through it.

  I frown.

  We were doing so good.

  I’d been so insistent on him staying with me last night. Between our fighting and my persistent insecurity about my scars, it felt necessary for him to stay with me—like I’d never be able to sleep otherwise. I didn’t ask him to make love to me, but at that moment I felt so marred and unlovable … so unworthy of anyone’s affection. I needed his love to feel okay, and Adam has always known what I need.

  I bury my face in my hands, wondering why this is so hard for me. I’ve always been one to make goals for myself and see them through — why is this any different?

  I can’t just blame him for what happened. I knew what I was doing …

  I knew.

  29

  Grace - Saturday

  Gravel crunches beneath the rubber of my tires as I turn into a parking spot. The Crosses live way out in the country apparently — something I wasn’t expecting — but even more surprising is the size of the beautiful house in front of me. It stands two stories high with a warm glow peeking out the windows.

  I tread lightly on the wooden deck leading up to their door, pausing for a moment on the welcome mat.

  This is stupid … I think to myself, I shouldn’t have come.

  The cold wins over my doubts and I tap my freezing knuckles against the door. I can hear laughter on the other side.

  After a moment, it swings open, and I am greeted by an ornately dressed woman with honey-colored skin and long black hair. She smiles widely at me, bringing her hands together and doing a little bow, the way we do in yoga class. Taking in her lovely features and the little red mark between her brows, I briefly wonder if I have come to the wrong address.

  “Welcome, welcome!” The woman says with an accented voice, “Please, come in out of the cold!”

  “Thank you,” I smile, rubbing warmth into my cold arms, “Are you … Mrs. Cross?”

  “Yes, I am,” she smiles proudly, “Call me Dhara.”

  “Nice to meet you,” I say, doing the little bow thing back.

  That seems to make her super happy.

  “Come this way,” she says, whisking me into a big room to the left.

  There’s a huge, ornate fireplace crackling against the wall and a high ceiling showcasing a lovely chandelier. The home has rich features, like the huge decorative rug on the floor and the sectional outlining the room, but the whole set up is still cozy.

  “Your friend is here!” Dhara calls, and Liam looks up from where he sits on the sectional. He’d been talking with an older woman next to him who looked to be somewhere in her eighties, but appeared to be an elegantly aged version of Dhara.

  “Grace,” He says, striding over to me with a wide grin, “You came after all. Didn’t feel right about your accusations, huh?”

  I’m about to squint and say something snarky, but something about his mother being there stops me.

  I clear my throat instead, “I was hoping to meet your sister.”

  “Ahh, yes. We’ll get there. But first I have to introduce you to the most precious woman alive.”

  He places his hand on the small of my back before I can question him any further and leads me toward the woman he’d been talking to.

  “Nanni, this is Grace. Grace — Nanni.”

  The old woman looks up at me.

  “Hi, Nanni,” I say, tucking a lock of hair behind my ear.

  For whatever reason, this makes her chuckle, and she nods at Liam.

  Liam smiles in a satisfied sort of way and then leads me away to another area of the house.

  “What did I say?”

  “Nothing wrong,” He says.

  “Well why did she laugh then?”

  “Nanni isn’t a woman of many words,�
� Liam smiles, “but also, her actual name is Aisha.”

  “What?” I say, “Why’d you tell me it was Nanni?”

  “Because it is. Nanni is Hindi for ‘Grandma’, and she’s my Grandma.”

  I shove him, “So I just said ‘Hi, Grandma?’”

  He laughs, “You did. And she loved it. Trust me, she has so many unofficial grandchildren.”

  We come to a grand staircase and he starts to go up.

  “Where are we going?”

  “To Sakura’s room,” He looks at me as if to say ‘obviously’.

  I cross my arms and follow. This ought to be good.

  We enter a room that is decorated with all things pink, rose gold, and Paris. There are decorative Eiffel towers, and the whole thing is very classy — not young and girly like one might expect.

  There in the middle of the bed is the girl from the Café, on her stomach, immersed in something on her laptop. Liam knocks lightly on the side of the door, getting her attention.

  “Sakura, this is Grace. Will you please tell her that you’re my sister?”

  The girl looks back and forth between me and Liam and bursts out laughing, “Oh, you’re the girl from the Café!”

  I feel my face flush. He was seriously telling the truth?

  Sakura shakes her head, smiling, “Yeah … Liam is my lil’ bro. Sorry for the confusion.”

  “Um, older brother, dork. I’m not gonna keep having this argument with you.”

  “I was here first.” She shoots back good-naturedly, “Therefore, you’re the ‘youngest’ child.”

  “You were adopted first.” He protests, “I’m still older!”

  “Whatever. If two years mean that much to you, you can have the title.”

  Liam rolls his eyes, “This is irrelevant. Long story short, the kissy thing you do threw her off.”

  Sakura laughs, “Just wait until she meets Dad.”

  Even as they banter, there’s an obvious familial love between the two.

  I try to keep my expression pleasant, but inside, my brain is trying to piece together this puzzle: Indian mother, Japanese sister (whose room looks like Paris), and then Liam … whom I can’t quite figure out.