by M. Ullrich
“Were you not listening when I said that we wanted a finished basement?” a particularly demanding client barked at Marty.
“Vince…” The man’s embarrassed wife tried to calm him.
“Why did we go over a list of things we wanted if you were just planning on showing us whatever you had handy?”
“Mr. Talerico, basements in this area are hard to come by. The closer you get to the beach, the rarer they become due to flood risks. We discussed this when you first mentioned wanting to live by the beach. We even went over damage reports from Hurricane Sandy.”
“The basement isn’t the only problem with this house.” The tall, tanned man ran his hand over his slicked-back black hair. “For a million dollars, there’s only three bedrooms. Do you have any kids? Because we have two. You must have none, otherwise you would know how much space children need. Bedrooms, play rooms, TV rooms…” The gruff voice trailed off as Marty’s attention turned to thoughts of Abigail. She only had one bedroom, and they’d had plenty of fun in that home. At least until she’d destroyed their family.
But her client was right. She didn’t have kids. Not anymore.
“We’re done for the day.” Marty looked at the keys in her hand, red indentations marring her palm from holding them so tightly.
“What? You said there were four properties you wanted to show us, and this was the first,” Mr. Talerico called after her. Marty waited for them to meet her at their cars before responding. She took a deep, necessary breath and steadied her voice.
“After this,” Marty searched for the right word, “discussion we just had, I’d like to do another search and get back to you tomorrow with the results.”
“I’d like to see the other three today.” He crossed his arms over his broad chest and stood defiantly. His wife looked toward Marty apologetically.
“Trust me, none of them will meet your standards. I’ll contact you tomorrow morning.” Before he had the chance to respond, she opened her car door and climbed into the safety the Subaru offered. She didn’t wait until the couple were in their own car before starting the ignition and pulling away. “Asshole,” she muttered to herself as she pulled onto the quiet road.
Against her better judgment, Marty took the time during her drive to think about what she was going to do next. Depending on what voice in her head was in charge at the moment, her options went from moving to a new state to driving off the nearest bridge. She pushed the darkest of those thoughts out of her mind and focused on the former. She could move. If not to another state, then back up north to Princeton. But that would mean giving up Abigail’s room and the memories it held, not to mention uprooting her mother once again.
Her mother.
Marty picked up her phone and dialed her office. After two rings, Charlotte answered. “Hi, Charlotte. Listen, can you let everyone know I’m not coming back to the office? I’m going to take the rest of the day off.”
“Sure. Is everything okay?” Marty could hear Charlotte’s concern. She hated to worry her.
“Yeah.” A long stretch of silence filled the car as Marty navigated local, familiar streets. “I’m heading to my mom’s.”
“That’s good, very good.”
“Thanks.” Marty fell quiet again and rolled her eyes at her own awkwardness. “I’ll talk to you later.”
“Take care, Marty.”
Both women hung up as Marty pulled up in front of her mother’s condominium. She rushed up to the front door and rang the bell. No one answered right away, so Marty rapped her fist against the oak door three times.
“Hold your horses!” the muffled voice called out from inside. When Marty’s mother opened the door, her annoyed expression quickly faded to worry. “Is everything okay?”
“Yes, I’m fine,” Marty repeated for what felt like the hundredth time that afternoon. “Can I come in?”
“Of course!” Denise stepped aside and allowed her daughter to enter. “Why don’t you just use your key?”
“Because you’re entitled to your privacy. What if you had a man over?” Marty meant it, but she barely hid her amusement at such an idea.
“Nonsense! If that day ever came, I can promise you that’d you know about it well before you’d be planning any surprise visits.” They both laughed, and Denise led Marty to the kitchen for a cup of coffee. “Have you eaten?”
“I had something small at the office.”
“Have a small piece of coffee cake. I baked it fresh this morning.”
“What makes you decide to bake in the morning? I always found that so strange.” Marty took a small piece of cake.
“You always liked sweets.” Marty’s mother fixed a cup of coffee just the way her daughter liked it and placed it next to the cake. “By baking for you, I figured it’d keep you from eating whatever god-awful sugary treats your friends were bringing to school.”
“Twinkies are not god-awful.”
“They could survive an apocalypse. The only other thing that could do that is cockroaches, now what does that tell you? Now what really brings you around here on a Monday afternoon? I haven’t heard from you all week.”
“I know.” Marty poked the cake with her fork, never once looking up at her mother. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry, just tell me what’s been going on in that head of yours.”
“Suzanne and I got into a fight at the funeral.”
“Tell me something I don’t know. Tell me something everyone who was in your house that evening doesn’t know.”
“God.” Marty dropped her fork and covered her face with her hands. “I’m so embarrassed, but we needed to have that fight.” At her mother’s glare, she added, “The timing could’ve been better.” She put her elbow on the table and held her head in her hand.
“What do you mean when you say you needed to have that fight?”
“There was no fight, no semblance of finality before the separation.” Marty sat back. “When I got home that night…” Marty looked at her mother, shame written across her face. “There was no conversation. She never asked about what had happened. She wouldn’t let me speak. Every time I tried to bring it up, she just shut me down. Eventually she got so tired of me trying to contact her that she did all her communicating through a lawyer.”
“So you never had the fight you expect to have at the end of a marriage?”
“No.” Marty cleared her throat, trying get rid of the gravel that had settled there. “I never got to fight for her.”
“And you thought you could do that in Abigail’s room on the day of her funeral?”
“Of course not, Mom. That was just months of hurt letting loose at once.” Marty shook her head at the memory. “This is going to sound crazy.” Marty laughed hastily and blinked back tears.
“What?”
“I think I have a chance to fight for her now.” Marty grabbed her purse and fished out Abigail’s letter. She placed it on the table and slid it across to her mother. “I found that in the box of Abby’s things from the hospital.” She watched in silence as her mother’s eyes scanned the paper, a small smile accompanying her quivering chin.
“She was always such a bright girl, but this is just a letter.”
“Abigail told me Suzanne missed me. We were in the hospital, and Abby told me a story about them naming birds and how Suzanne wished I was there with them!” Marty looked at her mother earnestly, desperate for her to see it all too. “Read the last line again,” Marty tapped her foot, eager to hear the words she had read over and over at least a hundred times, she needed to know she wasn’t imagining them.
“‘She loves you too,’” Denise read.
“If Abigail thought Suzanne loved me, then maybe there’s a chance she still does.”
“She’s with Blake now, Marty.” Denise said, shoving reality in her daughter’s face. Marty felt the words, but she knew what her mother was doing. She was afraid a false glimmer of hope could damage her fragile heart more than the sadness that had already
burdened it.
“I know, but if there’s the smallest chance of fixing this, I owe it to myself and to my daughter to go after it.” Denise obviously didn’t agree with her, but Marty knew she’d have her support no matter what she decided to do. “Even if I can manage a friendship with her, I’d be happy. I just need her in my life.”
“I know, sweetheart.” Denise covered Marty’s hand and gave it a reassuring pat. “I’m just afraid you’re using this as a distraction.”
“What do you mean?”
“I don’t want you to cling to this and have it keep you from properly grieving.”
“I’ve been grieving for months now.” Marty pulled her hand away and stood. “I was grieving my lost marriage, my sick child,” she said softly. “I’m still grieving, but I’m barely surviving. I think I need Suzanne in order to do that. So if shifting my focus from wanting to stay in bed all day to patching things up with Suzanne is not the healthiest thing to do, I don’t really care.”
Denise followed Marty to the door. “Do whatever you need, dear. I’m just worried about you.”
“You’re making it sound like I need to be protected from Suzanne.” Marty opened the door and looked to the setting sun. “She obviously needed to be protected from me. Bye, Mom.” Marty kissed Denise’s cheek and left.
When Marty got home that night, she spent over an hour just staring at her phone. Several times she got as far as dialing Suzanne’s number, but just after eight o’clock she finally built up the courage to hit the green button that would put her in contact with the love of her life.
“Hello?” Suzanne sounded confused, which hurt Marty more than a curt greeting could. Confusion meant that when she looked at the caller ID, Suzanne wondered why Marty was calling, simply because they no longer had anything to talk about.
“Hey, Suzanne, how are you?” Marty didn’t try to hide the hope in her voice. She paced her living room and ran her fingers through her hair nervously. She flinched when they got caught in a knot.
“What do you want, Marty?” Indistinct noises clattered in the background before the familiar sound of a closing door.
“I was hoping we could talk?” Marty didn’t mean for it to be a question, but for some reason, she couldn’t keep the inflection from the last word. “I wanted to apologize.”
“We have nothing to talk about.” Suzanne spoke as if she were reading her cold, empty words off a piece of meaningless paper. “You said your piece and I’ve said mine. I think it’ll be best if we don’t say any more.”
“I hear what you’re saying, but I feel—”
“Jesus Christ, Marty! This isn’t a therapy session!” Suzanne took a deep breath and released it into the phone. “I’m moving on with my life and you should too. So please don’t call me again.” She hung up before Marty could utter another word.
She dropped the phone to her side and closed her eyes.
I’m moving on with my life. The words echoed in Marty’s head. You should too.
“I’m trying,” Marty mumbled to herself. “I’ll never stop trying.”
*
Suzanne left the bathroom quietly and wasn’t surprised to see Blake standing on the other side of the door. He followed her into her bedroom.
“What did Marty want?” Blake asked.
“I guess you heard all of that?”
“The doors aren’t exactly made of steel.”
“She wanted to talk.” Suzanne threw her phone onto the bed.
“About what?”
“I don’t really know. I told her I didn’t want to talk to her.” Suzanne’s nostrils flared slightly. She wasn’t in the mood for an interrogation.
“Hey, come here.” Blake gently led her to the bed. He sat her down and knelt before her. “Are you okay?”
Suzanne looked at him incredulously. She really didn’t want to tell this brilliant man he was stupid, but… “Did you really just ask me that?”
“You know what I mean, Suzie. I know you’re not okay. You haven’t been sleeping well, and you’ve been so quiet lately. I’m just checking in.”
Suzanne looked into Blake’s eyes and considered all the ways she could answer him, but nothing really felt like the truth. She hadn’t expected to hear from Marty. It shook her up and pissed her off, but what agitated her more was how naturally reluctant she was to discuss any of it with the man she was looking at now. “I’m fine. I’m going to get dinner started.”
She focused on method, routine, and the small tasks at hand. Preparing dinner had become a vice for Suzanne as of late. Her concentration would rarely wander during preparation. If Blake had noticed how each meal had become increasingly more time consuming, he was kind enough not to mention it. Suzanne was grateful because these small things kept her from drowning in her thoughts.
“I wish you would talk to me.” Blake’s voice startled Suzanne from behind. She put down the pepper she was about to gut and turned to him.
“I talk, plenty.” She stood with one hand on her hip and the other on the counter.
“Not about the big things.” Blake walked slowly toward Suzanne.
“I’m not ready,” Suzanne replied quietly. “But when I am, you’ll be the first person to hear what I have to say.” Suzanne watched as Blake’s eyes brightened at her words. She hoped with all her heart what she had just promised was true.
They Wanted a Child
We’ll get there.” Marty spoke those three words so confidently.
“What am I doing wrong?” Suzanne asked between angry sobs. After a tirade of curses and tears, she collapsed onto the foot of the bed. Her shoulders slumped and she shook as she cried. Marty sat beside her and took her hand.
“You’re not doing anything wrong.” Marty shrugged. “The doctors told us it could be hard to conceive after the miscarriage, but they didn’t say there’s any reason why you wouldn’t be able to.” She wished she had a better explanation, or any explanation, for that matter. She turned slightly so she could run her hand up and down Suzanne’s hot back. Suzanne had been crying hard so long, she had started to sweat. “Please, sweetie, try to calm down.”
“Calm down?” Suzanne looked at her with red-rimmed eyes. “It’s easy for you to be so calm when you’re not the one who can’t get pregnant again!” Suzanne was shouting. Marty tried her best not to react to the small bit of spit that landed next to her eye, knowing the slightest motion would turn a medium-sized breakdown catastrophic. “Maybe the miscarriage was a sign I’m not meant to get pregnant.”
“Don’t say that.” Marty knew how desperately Suzanne wanted to carry their child. “This is only our third try. In the grand scheme of things, that’s nothing.” She regretted the words the moment they left her mouth.
“Nothing? Are we looking at the same ‘grand scheme’ here?” Suzanne made air quotes with her fingers.
“I think so?” At least she’s not crying anymore, Marty thought.
“Between the sperm and the doctor visits, this is costing us six hundred dollars a pop. Every time I fail to get pregnant, that money goes right down the drain.” Suzanne pulled the damp tank top away from her stomach. “And don’t even remind me about that first vial we wasted trying at-home insemination.”
Marty didn’t need reminding. She had never scrubbed a carpet so hard in her life.
“Maybe that’s the problem?” Marty pointed out in a higher voice than usual. When she knew she had Suzanne’s attention, she continued. “Maybe all the added stress of money is making it hard to conceive.”
“So, it is my fault. Is that what you’re saying?”
Marty knew she was going to have to tread lightly. “No!” Marty raised her hands and held them out. For some reason, she thought it’d keep her wife calm. When she spoke again she used her softest, most gentle tone. “I’m just saying that perhaps we should be a little more relaxed about this. Let’s try one more time during your next cycle, and if it doesn’t take, we forget about it for a bit. We’re still young. There’s no
need to rush this.”
“I thought you wanted to have a baby.” Suzanne looked as if she were about to cry again, and Marty jumped in.
“There is nothing more I want in life than to have a baby with you. And if it doesn’t work this time, and you’re not ready to try again, I’ll do it.”
Suzanne looked at her wife, shock evident across her face. “But you always said you never wanted to carry a child.”
“I’d do it for you,” Marty said softly. Suzanne melted against her wife and started to cry again, this time without anger. “If I can’t carry, then we’ll adopt. Whatever it takes to start a family with you, I’m willing to do it.”
“I love you so much.”
Marty spoke between short kisses. “I love. You too. Always.” She pulled her wife’s tank over her head and took off her own T-shirt. Suzanne’s nimble fingers made quick work of her tight jeans before she sank her teeth into the sensitive skin at the center of Marty’s throat. The brunette maneuvered herself and her wife toward the bed, and they fell against the plush mattress together.
Marty kissed her way down Suzanne’s body, stopping at all her favorite spots to nibble, and she paused for a moment just above the womb she hoped would soon carry their child. She said a silent prayer to a God she was skeptical of to give them that child. They had nothing but love to offer a baby. Later on that night, as they lay spent in each other’s arms, Suzanne stroked between Marty’s breasts.
“Do you want a boy or a girl?” Marty asked. Suzanne was on her side, tucked under Marty’s long arm with her right leg thrown lazily over Marty’s hips. Marty’s breath rustled Suzanne’s blond tendrils when she spoke.
“I’d be happy with either, as long as they were healthy.”
“That’s cheating. Everyone has a preference.”
“Well, I don’t.”
“I see myself with a girl. Baby stuff for girls is so dang cute. There’s bows and ruffles on everything, and you can wear matching outfits.” She finished her daydream with a kiss to the top of Suzanne’s head.
“Why not you?” Suzanne’s poked at Marty’s bare ribs, causing her to pull away and protect herself with both arms.