by Amanda Cuff
I’m getting to know him on a deeper level than most women get to know their significant others at the start of a relationship, and it’s only amplified the feelings I have for him. The unorthodox blooming of our relationship should make me question my sanity—and Chase and Emily’s—but somehow, I feel like for the first time in my adult life, I’m right where I’m supposed to be.
I’ve covered a lot of ground in my ten-minute walk, and now, I’m coming up on one of the few stop lights in town. I pause to wait for the walk sign to flash green.
“Hey, girl!” a friendly voice greets from behind me.
I turn to see Indira, a welcoming smile on her face. It feels nice to be recognized by someone in this town, especially in such a friendly manner. She’s been to the house a few times since I first met her, bringing me and Emily a quick coffee and treat before running off to work.
“Hi!” I reply cheerfully. “How are you?”
“I’m well! Just trying to get a quick walk in before the hectic day starts,” she answers, pulling her bouncy curls out of her face and securing them in a ponytail on top of her head. “We’re short staffed, so I’ve practically been living at Blue.” She stops talking and looks around conspiratorially. “Okay, don’t tell anyone, but I’ve actually been living there. I put a cot in the office and everything.”
I laugh along with her and watch as her eyes light up.
“Hey, you’re new to town! Want a job?” She raises her hands together and pleads with pouty lips and puppy dog eyes.
“Honestly, I’m not quite ready for that step. I still don’t know what the hell I’m doing. With any of this,” I say, gesturing around like all my unsolved problems are lined up on the street beside us.
“You’ll figure it out, I promise. A baby is one of those things you never seem ready for, but once it happens, everything falls right into place.”
“You sound like you’re speaking from experience.”
“Not really,” she says quietly and for just a moment, her eyes glaze over in sadness, but as quickly as it appears, she pushes it away. “Anyway, if you decide you’d like to try your hand at latte art, give me a call so maybe I can start sleeping at my own place again.”
“I’ll do that,” I agree.
“You won’t, but that’s okay,” she says with a laugh. “What did you do in LA anyway? Something glamorous? Ohh, do you know any celebrities?”
“I’ve met a few. My best friend runs in that circle, but it’s not really for me. I was a lawyer, so, pretty boring. I actually recently left my job and was hoping to open a dance studio.” I say the words proudly, owning my passion right out the gate. My father had drilled into me for years that dance wasn’t worth being passionate about; but now I’m in charge, and I get to choose what brings me happiness.
“Oh, that’s fun! Do you dance ballet?”
“A little bit of everything really. Ballet, hip hop, jazz.”
“We had a dance studio in Gamble, but it closed down a few years ago. The owner, Miss Patsy, got too old to keep it running.” She stops talking and cocks her head, staring hard at me in thought. “Actually, I think the building is still for sale.”
“Huh,” I say, considering her words. I’ve pushed the dream aside for the time being, but if an opportunity presents itself to me, I’d be stupid not to at least consider it.
“Okay, I have to go,” she says. “I’ll get you the details on that location! It was great talking to you. We should try to get together sometime.”
I agree before she walks away, then take a quick look around. I seriously have to pee. Spying a brick mom and pop pharmacy at the end of the block, I head in that direction.
When I get inside, I find the sign for the bathroom and make my way down the hallway. The bathroom is small, but clean. I lock the door and hang my purse on it. After handling my business, I start to clean up, and my heart drops.
The toilet paper in my now shaking hand is tainted with a reddish-brown streak.
I take a deep breath and rush to grab another pull of toilet paper and wipe again. This time, it comes back a little cleaner, but the blood is unmistakable.
✽✽✽
An hour later, I’m sitting in Gamble Springs’ OB/GYN office, waiting for the doctor to come see me. The waiting room was empty when I got here and my wait time in the room has been less than twenty minutes, but my heart is so anxious it feels like the time drags on forever.
After folding up a makeshift pad out of toilet paper in the bathroom, I looked up the office location and didn’t think twice about immediately heading that way. It was only six blocks over, but it wasn’t until my brain had caught up to the moment that I realized walking might not have been the best idea.
There’s a quick knock on the door, followed by a short, white-haired man entering the room. He’s wearing a plaid bowtie with matching suspenders and little wire glasses.
“Hi, Miss McCormick, I’m Dr. Hulbrooke. It’s a pleasure seeing you today.” He pulls his squeaky wheeled chair underneath him, clasps his hands together, and smiles at me warmly.
“You’re just about seventeen weeks along, is that correct?” he asks.
“Yes, sir,” I reply. I wish I could respond with the same enthusiasm he has, but worry has me wired tight.
“Well, congratulations! Have you been seen by a doctor prior to this?” He rolls over to the laptop perched on the counter and looks through what I assume to be my digital chart.
“Yes, I was seen at twelve weeks back in LA. That’s where I’m from,” I finish.
He turns and peers over his glasses at me. “We only have an ultrasound tech in twice a week and this isn’t one of her days, but I’ll make sure we get everything squared away for you.” He pats the top of the chair, where a pillow rests. “Why don’t you just lie back and roll your pants down your hips a bit.”
He walks over to the cabinets and starts pulling out supplies while I get comfortable. “Have you had an ultrasound yet?”
I nod again. “They gave me a dating ultrasound when they confirmed the pregnancy.”
When he walks back over, he hands me a small sheet of fabric that I tuck into the band of my pants. He rolls over a metal table and places his laptop and a small rectangle box down on top. After he hooks the two up, he grabs the ultrasound jelly in one hand and the ultrasound probe in the other.
“We’re not very fancy around here,” he says apologetically. “But it gets the job done.” He presses some buttons on the laptop, then begins the ultrasound. “So, when did you say the bleeding started?”
“Just this morning.” My fingers are wrapped into tight fists and I’m craning my neck to better see the screen of the laptop that’s pointed his way. When he sees me struggling, he chuckles and turns the screen to face between us. He settles the probe onto my stomach while my uterus fills the screen. Just seeing the baby’s form causes my heart to race.
Dr. Hulbrooke is quiet for a few moments, wiggling the probe around and pushing harder into my stomach. Then he presses a button on the laptop and the baby’s heartbeat fills the room. Just like the first time I heard the sound, my heart swells; this time, relief joins the feeling of happiness.
“It’s okay?” I ask frantically. “The baby’s okay?”
Dr. Hulbrooke sends me a sweet smile and pats my arm. After a few moments, he turns off the sound and adjusts the wand on my stomach again.
“So, if you look right here,” he says, pointing to a dark oval on the screen. “This is called a subchorionic hematoma, which is just a fancy way to say you have some bleeding inside your uterus. Now, you see how it’s on the outside of the baby’s amniotic sac? That’s pretty good news for us. It means that the sac that protects the baby is intact and we can expect the hematoma to go away on its own. In terms of size, it’s relatively small, so I wouldn’t expect it to stick around for much longer.”
He pulls the ultrasound wand off of my stomach and hands me another sheet to wipe off the goop. “My recommendation is to t
ake it easy the next few days and make an appointment for an ultrasound in three weeks. We’ll do an anatomy scan at that time to make sure the baby’s measuring well. It’ll be with our ultrasound tech, so you’ll also have the ability to see the sex, if you’d like.”
“Oh, wow. Really?”
“If you want.” He pauses and places his hand on my arm. “Everything’s going to be okay, Miss McCormick. Don’t you worry about a thing.”
15
Chase
I take the day off work to help Emily get to her appointment. She wanted to go alone, but there was no way in hell that was happening—especially after she explained what she wanted to discuss with her doctor.
I do at least agree to stay in the waiting room, where I make my way through every damn magazine available in an attempt to keep my mind off all the bullshit. I find Cosmo very enlightening.
After what feels like forever, she comes back out and sits down beside me, leaning back in her chair and staring off into the room. She’s been doing that a lot lately. Even though her physical body is still with me, it feels like she’s already disappeared.
“Do you need to go back in there?” I ask her, to which she shakes her head. “Are you ready to go then?”
I receive a nod in response. Other than that, just silence.
On our way home, she doesn’t turn on the music and neither do I.
When the quiet gets to be too much, I turn to her. “What are your plans, Em? What are we doing?”
I’ve respected her boundaries over the past several months, giving her space when she needs it and not making her illness the most important part of our lives, but I can see the defeat written all over her. If she’s finally made plans for the end, it’s time for me to know what they are.
She sighs, continuing to stare out the window before finally saying, “I haven’t been taking any of my medications—other than the morphine and Zoloft—since July. I know I told you I still would for now, but…I haven’t been.”
I take a quick glimpse at her staring out the windshield. Her words are matter of fact and her face is lifeless.
“But I’ve been refilling them,” I say, feeling the strain in my fingers as they tighten on the steering wheel. I wish I had skipped the extra coffee this morning and eaten something instead, because I suddenly feel dizzy and out of breath.
“And I’ve been flushing them,” she replies. “They’ll monitor my morphine and adjust it as needed. Insurance covers a nurse around the clock, whenever we’re ready for it. Because you sure as heck are not giving me sponge baths.”
“Jesus, Emily.” I take a long, shaky breath, but it does nothing to stop my head from spinning. Taking a quick look in the rearview mirror and seeing a clear road behind me, I slow down and pull over on the shoulder. After placing the truck in park, I turn to face her.
“Do you think hospice will be too hard on Willow?” she asks.
“You mean, having a nurse in the house all the time?”
“No. I mean me dying at home. In my room.”
I’m quiet, avoiding eye contact until I can work through my emotions.
Do I think Willow will handle it well?
Hell no.
Her mother is going to die. Whether it happens in a hospital or at home, Willow isn’t going to be okay for a long time.
“If that’s what will make you happy, Em, then that’s what you need to do.” Feeling defeated, I drop my hands into my lap and lower my head, rolling it in a half circle to try to release some of the tension in my shoulders.
When I raise my head back up to her, she says, “I think you should sell the house.”
“Why? It’s the only home that Willow knows.”
“Yeah, that’s the problem. I don’t want her spending the rest of her life lost in those memories.”
“She has just as many good memories in that house as she does bad,” I argue. I’m not even sure why I do, but this entire conversation is pissing me off. Not because she wants to talk about it, but because we have to talk about it.
“No, Chase, she doesn’t. No matter how amazing the first five years of her life were, it will never outweigh the years of having to watch her mother die within those walls.” She shakes her head, obviously frustrated. “What would you do with my room? Just leave it empty forever?”
“I get it,” I say, not wanting to upset her any more than I already have. “It just seems like a really big step. Don’t you think that another life-altering change might be too much for her right now?”
She throws her hands up in the air before crossing her arms over her chest. “Do you remember when your mom used to make us go to Sunday school every week?” she asks me and I nod, unsure of where she’s going with this. “You hated it. You’d always argue with her about what a waste of time it was because you didn’t believe in that kind of thing. But even when we were older and she stopped making you go, you still went for quite a while because you’d been going every Sunday for years. It was your routine.”
“Okay, what’s your point, Em?” I ask.
“My point,” she emphasizes, “is that you get too wrapped up in the routine of things. You can’t hang onto something just because it’s what’s you know.” She pauses and exhales, deflating a little from her angered state. “You’ve done so much for me and Willow over the years, but it’s time for a change. Both of you deserve a fresh start.”
“Come on, you know that none of my choices have been a hardship. Our time together has given me nothing but happiness, even through all this bullshit.”
“Well, duh,” she smarts. “If I thought any differently, I’d come back and haunt your ass.”
“Did you just curse?” I gasp, bringing my hand to my chest.
“I said ass! That’s nothing compared to the crap that comes out of your mouth,” she rebuts.
I shrug because she’s right.
“Thank you for loving her, Chase.” Her cold hand rests on my cheek, and for the first time in weeks, she smiles. Not a fake one for Willow or a forced one for our friends and family, but a genuine smile that makes it all the way to her eyes.
“Thank you for trusting me with her, Twilight Sparkle.” I reach up and tug on her hair with a sigh.
“Just think about what I said please, and talk it over with Addison, too. She’s your future now.”
Later that night, when the house is quiet, I find myself restless. I text Addison to see if she’s still up, but after the minutes stretch without a response, I put my phone back on the charger and roll onto my back. I’m not sure what eventually draws me out of bed other than the fact that continuing to lie here makes me feel uneasy. It’s lonely and sad. Surely, there’s something waiting in the fridge for me that could make things better.
As I walk down the hallway, I pause to check on Emily, opening her door a smidge and peering inside. Willow’s asleep in the bed, but alone. It only takes a few moments for me to find Emily, huddled into a ball in the corner of the bedroom, her shoulders shaking as silent sobs rack her body.
There are moments in life you can never come back from. The ones that, even as you live them, you know you’ll remember years from now. What you were wearing, the smell in the air.
This is one of those moments.
This is the moment.
The years, months, weeks, and days of doubt and sadness and fucking pain, all led us to this. I know what her huddled body means.
She’s given up. She’s done.
I never stopped to imagine what it must feel like, being ripped limb from limb, but suddenly, I’m immersed in the feeling. I feel the sting in my hands, the thump in my temples, the crack in my chest, like my ribs are being torn from my body.
“Chase?” she whispers. Her voice is hoarse. The kind of hoarse that water can’t fix, so I don’t even bother offering. “What do you think it’s like? Dying?”
My heart riots in my chest as I try to keep my breaths even. I stand perfectly still and say nothing in response because what good wil
l it do anyway? What good are my words when they can’t fix anything? We’re long past the days of being able to pretend things will get better.
“I think it’s just a big black nothingness,” she continues. “You just close your eyes, and that’s it. Doesn’t that sound so…easy? I think living is the hard part. Grieving over the life I’m losing and the memories I’ll never be a part of. But once you’re dead, you don’t feel anything anymore, so you don’t have to hurt anymore. Does it make me a terrible person for looking forward to that? I just want the pain to stop, Chase. Losing her,” she pauses, choking on a sob, “it just hurts so much. All the time. I just want it to stop.”
I pick her up and hold her in my arms, seeking just as much comfort as I’m trying to give, but it’s not enough. My tears fall without fear as we both gasp for breath. We stay locked together long after our tears stop and her hiccups die down.
Long after the pain becomes a deep, soul-splitting numbness.
16
Addison
“Wow, it smells like heaven in here.”
Chase spins at the sound of my voice and flashes me a grin. He’s elbow-deep in soap suds from cleaning some shiny, metal contraption and there’s a big steel pot simmering on the stove beside him.
“What are you making?” I ask, heading over to a barstool at the counter and planting myself down on it.
He dries his hands with a kitchen towel and walks over to me, leaning down and planting a kiss on my forehead. I live for these kisses. There’s something so sweet and pure about a kiss that’s given without any pretenses and just genuine affection.
“Chicken noodle soup,” he says.
I narrow my eyes in humor, a smile growing on my face. A few days ago, I mentioned I’ve never had homemade chicken noodle soup and just like with the fajitas, he’s delivering. Chase is good, I have to say. If feeding me is how he shows his love, I think we’ll continue to get on really freaking well.