EVOL

by Cynthia A. Rodriguez

  I glance down at my light blue jeans and white T-shirt. My white tennis shoes peek up at me and I shrug.

  “Yes. Of course.”

  “You say of course like he wasn’t being a pain in the ass a few days ago.”

  “You’re a pain in the ass everyday yet here we are.”

  Sabrina’s big smile is wiped off her face as soon as one of my throw pillows hits her on the side of her head.

  “You’re lucky you’re pregnant,” she says as she picks up the pillow and places it back on the sofa. When I turn away, I feel a sharp pain in my arm. She pulls her hand away from pinching me, a grin on her face.

  “Such a dick.”

  “Gotta be more careful, shorty,” she says.

  My hand reaches up to rub my arm but stops at my lower abdomen, slight cramping making me wince.

  “You all right?” she asks as she leads me to sit. I lower myself and lean back into the cushions.

  “It doesn’t hurt badly. No sharp pains, which I think is a good thing. From my research anyway. The spotting isn’t heavy, either. Sporadic, at best.” There’s nothing alarming about how I feel, according to the doctor and the Internet. But I still feel something awful in the pit of stomach, right above where I imagine our baby is growing.

  She sits next to me, rubbing her hand on my knee in these soothing little circles.

  “Just breathe and relax.”

  She sounds so calm, but her face is anything but, her brows drawn together and her eyes wide.

  “We have to leave soon,” I remind her.

  “Don’t worry about it. We can always reschedule.”

  “No, no.” I shake my head and start to stand. “I need to go.”

  Since I found out about the baby, I’ve been hesitant. Hesitant to accept that I was having a child; hesitant to really acknowledge that this was happening.

  Even with Sabrina at my back, urging me to start making changes this early on, my pregnancy isn’t something I’ve accepted as more than an idea.

  “Nothing’s wrong,” Sabrina says, snapping me out of my thoughts.

  We get our things together and she insists on holding doors and helping me into her car.

  “I’m impressed that you’re driving.”

  She smiles at me from the driver’s seat and places her free hand on my knee for a moment.

  “Get used to it. Can’t have you on your feet all day, every day.”

  I roll my eyes and stare off, eyes never landing on anything as we push through traffic. I rub the inside of my elbow where they took my blood a few days prior for my pregnancy test.

  Sabrina had been adamant about having an appointment sooner than the typical eight-week. We’d only approached the sixth week, still so early, but she was in mommy mode, booking appointments and feeding me as soon as I looked a little ill to combat the morning sickness.

  “Feeling better?” she asks as she parks her car inside the garage. I nod, and she turns the car off. When I push the door open, she rushes up and helps me out.

  “I’m not handicapped, Sabrina.” I soften my words with a small smile. It wasn’t her fault she was better prepared for the child that Gavin and I had made by accident.

  It wasn’t her fault that something about this entire thing didn’t feel . . . right.

  We walk inside, and Sabrina speaks to the receptionist. I stare at her profile, her skin, free of freckles, her dark brow, the bump in her nose that Yiayia always attributed to her Greek heritage.

  I’d always loved Sabrina’s dark hair. But I loved a Sabrina who was happy with her appearance more. Still, I was curious.

  When we’re seated in the waiting area, after I finish the stack of paperwork, sending pictures of some of the ridiculous questions to Gavin, I turn to her.

  “Why don’t you wear your hair dark?”

  “Makes me look pale and dead.” She’s got her face in her phone, even as she answers me.

  My hand reaches for it and she yanks it away before shoving it into her purse.

  “Is one of the symptoms of pregnancy an increase in annoying behavior?”

  “Could be,” I answer with a grin. “Or I just know you well enough to know that your answer is total bullshit. If that were the case, you’d just up your spray tan.”

  Sabrina rolls her eyes and glances around the waiting room. There’s a woman sitting in the corner, her large belly protruding from beneath her shirt like a balloon.

  “I look like her.” Sabrina’s answer is quiet, something we both know to be true. “And I don’t want to.”

  And there was her truth.

  “She was beautiful.” Sabrina nods at my words.

  She was. Even in her anger and unsteadiness, she was beautiful. There were times when she softened, and we could see the woman beyond her demons.

  But they always came back and, while she was a slave to them, we were the ones subjected to their cruelty.

  “Denise Milas?” a nurse asks when she pokes her head into the waiting room. I stand and head toward her, my footsteps quicker than usual. We make our way through the hallways and the nurse is introducing herself, making small talk, but my mind is elsewhere.

  Sabrina wordlessly takes my hand and squeezes it as she speaks to the nurse. We enter a room and she lets it go so I can sit on the hospital bed.

  The nurse takes my weight and blood pressure.

  “I’ve had some spotting,” I blurt out. “And a little cramping.”

  She smiles, eyes patient.

  But she offers no words of encouragement, nothing to persuade me off the ledge.

  “I’ll be back with the doctor,” she tells us.

  As soon as she leaves, I turn to Sabrina.

  “Was that weird, or is it just me?”

  She shakes her head and stands next to me, placing her hand on my back and rubbing small circles that help me breathe.

  There’s a knock at the door and a man pokes his head inside with a laptop in his hands. The nurse is with him as he makes a small introduction.

  I watch the both of them intently.

  His middle-aged good looks; the lines of concern on her face that aren’t reflected on his.

  “She isn’t getting examined?” The nurse’s voice is hushed but I perk up.

  “I can. I don’t mind at all.” I offer a smile, but the doctor shakes his head.

  The nurse gives me one last look and then walks out.

  Something about this entire thing has me feeling nauseous and I don’t know if I can blame it on the morning sickness.

  “I have the results of your blood test,” he announces. “When was the first day of your last period?”

  When I answer, he looks through his phone and I can see a calendar come up. There’s a frown on his face as he maneuvers on the laptop.

  Sabrina is still rubbing my back when he looks up at her and speaks. It’s all a bunch of information I don’t give a shit about. Until he pauses and speaks again.

  “Unfortunately, this is not a viable pregnancy. Your hormones levels . . .”

  I feel like I’ve been hit in the chest. I can’t take a breath, I can’t do anything but sit here, deaf and sightless.

  My breath comes back in a rush and my face crumples as a small sob escapes my pinched lips.

  Sabrina’s hands are on me, pulling me close, and the doctor is now silent as I cry. Her sniffles are quiet and when I look up at her, the sorrow in her features will forever remain imprinted.

  I take a deep breath and the doctor clears his throat, starting to speak again.

  “I can’t tell you when it’ll happen, but it will happen. Feel free to call us with any questions.”

  Sabrina shakes his hand and I bolt out of the room, passing the nurse, who regards me with lifted brows and lips settled in a line.

  She knew, I tell myself as I walk out, trying to ignore the ache that I’d been told was nothing by everyone.

  I knew. I knew it and the guilt starts to creep in. The complaints, the frustration when I fou
nd out I was pregnant. The way I kept the idea of it as only an idea and not embracing that I was going to be a mother.

  Because I wasn’t going to be.

  And now I didn’t know if I ever would.

  I’ve pushed through the doors and made it outside when Sabrina catches up to me.

  “We’re going to call around for a second opinion,” she tells me, her mind already working through plans B, C, and D. “But for now, I need you to relax.”

  “Call around?” I whip around to face her. “You picked him! You said he was the best.”

  “Even the best can make mistakes,” she tries to reason with me, holding her arms out. But I’m beyond reason.

  “I want it out! I want it out of my body, I don’t care. Now that it’s done, I don’t want . . .” My words fade into hysteria.

  Sabrina leads me to the car and I don’t want to call Gavin.

  I don’t want to tell him, after he’s finally accepted that this is happening, that it isn’t anymore.

  I don’t want to lose the possibilities.

  I cry silently, all the way home.

  And once I’m in my apartment, I sit on the floor with Carlos laying his head on my lap.

  “I have to call Gavin,” I murmur as I rub his ears that flop back when I let them go. Sabrina’s sitting on the couch with my laptop open. She’s already started making calls and I am useless in her pursuit for a better ending.

  “You should,” she tells me, as if it weren’t already bound to happen.

  I start to get up and Sabrina sets the laptop aside to help me.

  “I’m fine,” I say, even as the ache blooms and I hiss.

  She helps me into my bed and hands me my phone from my purse.

  “I’ll be out there if you need me.”

  She closes the door behind her, but not before I see her eyes full of worry. It was a look I’d seen when we were much younger than we are today, and I hate that I’ve brought her back to that.

  A few taps on my phone’s screen and Gavin’s number is staring back at me as I take this moment alone to breathe.

  Rip it off like a Band-Aid, I tell myself and press the green button to call him. The first ring sounds so loud.

  He picks up on the second.

  “Hello,” he answers, his voice sounding tired.

  “Hey,” I whisper.

  “Everything all right?”

  “No.”

  There’s shuffling on the other end of the line and then what sounds like a door closing.

  “What is it?”

  Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Go.

  “The doctor said this isn’t a viable pregnancy.”

  I try to sound strong but I’m a mess of shallow breaths and tears.

  He sighs.

  “I’m so sorry, Denise.”

  Something twists inside of me. It digs its roots and floods my veins until the ugly words fly from my lips.

  “You didn’t want it anyway,” I whisper. And it was like the words I’d said to him before came back to haunt me.

  Quit telling me you don’t want the baby. Because one day I might not be able to forgive you for it.

  “But I never wanted this, Denise. I would never want this for you.”

  It doesn’t matter. Not what I want, not what he wants. None of these things matter.

  “Sabrina’s looking for other doctors but . . . I’m afraid to even hope.”

  “If there’s anything that can be done, Sabrina will find it. In the meantime, just relax. We’ll take it as it comes.”

  “I can’t . . .” I turn in my bed so I’m lying on my back. “I can’t afford to have hope. Because it’ll kill me if it doesn’t happen.”

  The sounds of him breathing on the other end of the line makes me wish he were here beside me. That I could lie in his arms and feel so utterly untouchable.

  Gavin always made me feel like the world would stop at his feet before it would ever be able to reach me.

  “What is it you want then?”

  “If it’s dead, I want it gone.” I repeat the sentiment I shared with Sabrina, to him. “I want my body back.”

  “You just have to wait this out, love.”

  Not even that word can soothe me completely.

  “I just wish you were here,” I tell him as I start to cry again.

  “Me too.”

  Voices start picking up on his end of the line and he covers the phone, I assume, muffling the words I wouldn’t understand anyway. He responds to whoever is speaking to him and, after a moment, we’re back to silence.

  “You just stay calm and relaxed. Stay in bed, make sure Sabrina is taking care of everything you need. I have to help my father with something but I’m only a text message away, okay?”

  That’s where he’s wrong.

  He’s more than a text message away and it all just makes my heart cry.

  But I tell him okay and say goodbye.

  After a moment, Sabrina knocks on the door.

  “I wanted to wait until you got off the phone,” she says when she comes in.

  “What is it?”

  “There’s a doctor who might be able to help but I have to wait for her to call back.”

  I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to keep hope at bay, but it’s impossible. My futile attempts are blown away like tumbleweeds.

  “Hungry?”

  She sounds as hopeful and happy as I’m trying not to be.

  Still, I tell her I am, and she heads to the kitchen to order us some food.

  In her absence, that dangerous hope fills me.

  I place my hand over my abdomen. At first, my plea is silent.

  And then . . .

  “You can do this. Just hold on,” I whisper, tears in my eyes.

  It only took me hearing that I would lose it for me to want it.

  Some days, I feel like I have it all figured out,

  Like I’m the master of my universe,

  And others, you surprise me.

  Day 320

  I step back from the mannequin in front of me. Her outfit is mouthwatering, and I immediately take pieces from it in my size and set them aside.

  And then I eye the beaded cropped top and put it all back, reminding myself that not only would I only be able to wear it for maybe a few more weeks, but it was unlikely that I’d be willing to wear something like that once I was someone’s mom.

  The whole idea of me having a child seems a little hazardous but I’m going to have to embrace and accept it, as it is inevitable.

  Still, I don’t feel maternal. Just a little ill here and there. Very sensitive emotionally and it feels like someone’s been gnawing on my nipples.

  My phone vibrates in my back pocket and I pull it out, surprised when I see Gavin’s name.

  Gavin: I’m sorry.

  The last thing I’d said to him yesterday was for him to stop messaging me.

  We’d gone from distant to distraught in these last few weeks and I wasn’t going to subject myself to his anger at our mistake. It’s time to do whatever needed to be done at this point and arguing isn’t one of them.

  The text I type out isn’t to him, but to Sabrina.

  Me: Gavin apologized.

  Her response makes me chuckle.

  Sabrina: That’s the very least he could do.

  I don’t reply to his text, figuring I can take the time later, when I’m in a more personal setting. I set the phone down on a pile of tees next to the mannequin I’m still appraising.

  “That looks amazing,” one of the assistant managers says behind me. Her store manager, Yasmin, is out sick today. This being one of the busier locations, I always find myself here more than the others. The management isn’t bad, the employees get along. For such a high-traffic area, the store runs pretty smoothly.

  “You guys always get the best merch before the rest of the stores.”

  “That’s because we’re better than them,” she replies with a wink.

  I forgot her name and when she catches me
glancing at her name tag, she adjusts so I can see it clearer.

  “Wren. Sorry.” I wipe my hand on the front of my leggings, pushing them down my legs and away from my thighs where they’ve bunched up.

  She laughs.

  “It’s fine. Not a very common name to begin with.”

  My phone buzzes again and I grab it, only to see Gavin’s name again.

  Gavin: Have you eaten? Are you feeling okay?

  “One sec,” I tell Wren as I smile and type out a response.

  Me: Yes. I’ve figured out that not eating makes me nauseous.

  I’d been on a fruit kick lately so strawberries, kiwi, and a banana had been my breakfast. I’d forgone the usual coffee and whatever the hell I could find on my way here.

  And lunch was a grilled chicken salad, followed by a frozen chicken potpie. I was starting to become addicted to those things.

  Gavin: Okay, good. Make sure you eat, then.

  I’m about to put my phone back in my pocket when it buzzes again.

  Gavin: And you have to eat healthy. I have big plans for him.

  Pregnancy hormones, I’m learning, are nothing to be taken lightly. One moment, I’m happy, the next I’m a raging psychopath. Even as early in this as I am, my body has turned into a baby-making machine and my own comfort inside of it has taken a backseat.

  So, when I get that text from Gavin, the tears that spring from my eyes are near involuntary, as thoughtless as breathing at this point.

  After all, this was the first time he’d ever said anything remotely close to that; not only accepting that we were having a child but embracing it.

  “You okay?” Wren asks. I’d forgotten she was standing there.

  “Yeah,” I answer as I wipe at my tears quickly.

  “I’m not so good with tears but those look . . . maybe happy?” Wren sounds like she hopes they are and I nod to relieve her of her internal conflict. She walks off with some sort of smile and I look around the sales floor, making sure everything looks perfect before getting ready to go.

  When I found out I was pregnant, I wasn’t sure what it meant for me. Or even what it meant for Gavin and me as a unit.

  But I knew one thing: it meant there was something bigger than the both of us coming.

  Between the cramps, my sore nipples, spotting, fatigue, and morning sickness, I was the only person this was becoming somewhat of a reality for.