I’m not good with feelings. I don’t know how to express myself very well. Holding Diane as she cries makes me sad—so fucking sad—but I don’t know what to say. I can’t tell her about the fight. I can’t tell her about how self-centered I was, and how I only thought of myself when I interjected myself between her son and Emilia. Diane didn’t ask about Emilia and me, which meant that she didn’t know about us. Neither did my mother, I realized. It would be so easy to pretend nothing happened. To move on and give Emilia a chance to be with someone she deserved; to be reassured by the Hansen’s, to be with her family in California. What could I offer her now?
Diane and Zack drive back to my mom’s house, but I decide to drive into the city for some pizza. I was supposed to take Emilia here. Lou Malnati’s was supposed to be the first place I took her in Chicago. Instead, I park my bike on the street and head inside, order a slice of deep-dish cheese with ham, and eat it alone.
I can’t be with her. Not after what happened, not now, not ever. I can’t betray Jake’s memory like that. For fuck’s sake, I was probably screwing the mother of his child—or at least thinking about it—while he took his last breath. Everything I wanted to prevent at the start of the winter had happened. I gave in to my greedy inclinations, and look what happened? I thought only of myself, of what I wanted, and Jake had gotten justifiably angry with me. Even after our fight, I’d brushed it off and told myself it would work out. It would be okay.
And now, I was sitting alone in Lou Malnati’s, trying to figure out a way to tell Emilia that I couldn’t give her what she needed. I’m not good at being in a relationship. I’m self-absorbed and I only think about what I want. Margaret knew that. Jake knew that. Emilia would eventually come to know that.
I could at least save her the trouble of figuring it out.
I could give her a chance to be happy.
I thought I couldn’t live without her. I asked her to hang on, to never let go, to stay by my side. I thought I couldn’t do this alone. I thought I’d make it work between us. I’d planned to quit my job and find another one near her, or wherever she wanted to go. I thought I wanted to help her raise the baby.
But I’d been wrong. Jake was dead because of me.
I ruined things. I always did.
That’s just the person I was.
T W E N T Y - E I G H T
Emilia
THE DAY OF the memorial comes too quickly—as if I could ever be ready to attend the funeral of the father of my unborn child. To make matters worse, Leo and I haven’t had a second to ourselves to talk about everything. In fact, it seems as though he’s been avoiding me, but I can’t really tell because if I’m not picking out roses with Diane or talking to Gretchen or Ana or my mother, I’m eating or sleeping or making arrangements for the baby.
To say it was a hectic few days is an understatement. I finally finish the twentieth bouquet and place it into the green vase that Diane picked out. Green was Jake’s favorite color. I didn’t even know that, and soon, I find myself asking Diane and Zack everything I can about Jake. I want to know more, and as the hours drag on, I realize with such sadness that I’ll never be able to tell my child very much about their father. There are things I especially want to know, like how Jake excelled in school and got into the University of Chicago on an engineering scholarship. He had blonde hair until he was three, and he hated lemons. He was a diehard Cubs fan, and he had a habit of sucking on toothpicks as a kid. There are other things we talk about as we pack up the finished bouquets, and I hold onto those facts for dear life, tucking them away for the day this baby asks about him.
On top of everything, I begin to really show, and like clockwork, the pesky, third-trimester symptoms begin to develop. My ankles are nonexistent, my heartburn is out of control, and I can barely stand to smell beer, raw tomatoes, and fish of any kind without vomiting. My heart is a mess, Leo walks out of the room any time I walk in, and Barbara even pulls me aside and tells me how happy she is for me. How she’s glad I’m doing this alone, and if I ever need any advice about raising a baby by myself, that I should call her—which means Leo’s been silent about us. It stings a bit, considering Ana and my mother know everything by now. It makes me feel like what happened between us this winter—what happened on the plane and the hotel room before we found out about Jake—was all a dream.
Like it doesn’t matter anymore.
I didn’t expect Leo to drop everything, move to California, and be a surrogate father. I never expected that, but I also didn’t except the icy attitude, avoidance, and silence. I’d told him I loved him, and he’d done the same. So what had changed? I’m feeling miserable about everything, so when I walk downstairs to leave for the memorial and see Leo laughing with Margaret, things really begin to take a nosedive.
We all drive together with Barbara at the wheel, Diane in the passenger seat, Leo, Margaret, and Ana in the middle, and mom, Zack, and me in the back. I stare at the back of Margaret’s flawless up do, all at once jealous of that kind of talent and the fact that she’s in the seat I would kill to occupy. Leo doesn’t turn around once, not even to compliment me on my dress. I had to run to the mall with Ana yesterday to choose a simple, black dress for the service. It’s a maternity dress, which I wasn’t thrilled about, but it’s nice regardless. I don’t fit into my stiletto’s, so I bought a pair of black flats that accommodate my puffy feet. I notice that Margaret is wearing spiky, silver heels.
Bitch.
The service is short, as the Hansen’s wanted, and when it’s time to give my eulogy, I freeze up. Ana has to escort me to the stage, and even then, I plead with her to stay. Tapping the microphone, I begin, staring out into the sea of unfamiliar faces. Leo is nowhere to be seen.
“Hello,” I start, clearing my throat. “My name is Emilia Harper.” I pause, scanning the crowd for those crystal clear, green eyes. Why would he leave? Where is he? I need him. I swallow and continue. “I didn’t know Jake very well,” I say, giving the audience a small smile. “But we spent an amazing night together, and because of it, I have the pleasure of carrying his child.” A few people laugh. “Still, it saddens me that this baby will never know its father. One day, he or she will ask, and I’ll have to come up with an answer. I’ll have to explain that they’ll never get to know him, touch him, hear him, see him—and for that, I’m saddened. If it’s a girl, I’m not looking forward to the day she gets married—if she chooses to get married, that is,” I add, for my mother. “Because she won’t have her father to walk her down the aisle.” I choke back a sob. “If it’s a boy, he won’t have a father to take him on his first camping trip. He’ll wonder if he looks like him. She’ll wonder what he looked like, if he loved me, if he was romantic. They’ll both ask for pictures and stories, things I can barely relay, but those anecdotes will never make up for the fact that he’s gone and never coming back.”
I look up to see Leo leaning against the back wall. Even from here, I can see the tears on his face. I continue. “I can give him or her something, though. I can tell them he was funny, and outgoing, and successful. He was passionate about his job, and he loved his best friend with such fierceness,” I cry, covering my mouth. I can see Leo shaking from my peripheral. “He loved Leo, and I could feel that love. This baby will have a wonderful uncle, that I’m sure of. And most importantly, because of all of you, it will be so loved. It will know their father was loved. And I know, deep down in my heart, that Jake would’ve loved this baby. He would’ve spoiled it rotten. I know that wherever he is, he’s going to look out for us in some way or another. Thank you, Jake, for this wonderful gift. I only wish you were here to experience it with us.”
Wiping the tears from my cheek, I say a quick thank you and walk off of the stage. The applause is loud, but I’m not really paying attention. Instead, I walk down the aisle of the memorial room to the space Leo had been occupying until just a second ago, and when I push the doors open to the bright sunlight, I see Leo walking away across the cemetery.
“That was a good eulogy,” he says quietly, studying me in a way that I can’t quite discern.
I shrug. “I figured I should give one, and after Diane convinced me—”
“You guys are getting along quite well,” he mutters, interrupting me.
I’m taken aback. “Well, yeah. I’m pregnant with her grandchild.” Was he seriously getting jealous of his deceased best friend? “If I’m not mistaken, I believe you’re up next,” I say, gesturing to the doors a few hundred feet away. “Aren’t you giving a speech?”
He narrows his eyes. “I am.” He brushes past me, and I’m left standing there, under the shade, as Leo storms away for a reason unknown. I know he’s grieving, but his attitude sucks. Especially since we’re… something. More than friends, less than dating… in a way, the fact that we’re not on solid ground scares me. It makes it that much easier for him to walk away.
I follow him inside and stand near the back as the priest introduces Leo. I give him a small smile when he looks up, but he only frowns and looks down at his notecard.
“Hello,” he says shyly, giving the audience an adorable little wave. My heart melts. He continues. “I’m Jake’s best friend, Leo.” I see him flick his eyes to his mother, and then back to the notecard. He clears his throat and begins to fidget with the flimsy paper. He’s wearing a suit—dark grey with a white shirt and a black tie. His short hair is curled out at the ends, and his scruff is dark. “If Jake were alive, he would be laughing his ass off at me right now. He hated stuff like this. He hated formality, sadness, seriousness in general. He once told me he hoped to have strippers at his funeral.” Everyone laughs, and I grin as I watch Leo’s confidence grow.
“I arranged it, but Diane shot me down,” he jokes. Again, those in attendance giggle. “But in all seriousness, I still can’t believe my best friend is dead.” I swallow the lump in my throat. “He never would’ve wanted this,” he says slowly, his eyes flicking up to mine. My body stiffens. “He was a very proud man. He was fierce and protective. Funny and kind, if you were kind back. He was loyal to a fault, and he never would’ve betrayed me. Not ever.”
I narrow my eyes and push off of the wall, taking a seat in one of the back rows. Leo’s eyes follow my movements as I move. I begin to sweat.
“I have a confession,” he says softly, his deep voice velvety in the microphone. “I stupidly betrayed him. Numerous times. I let my own desires overtake the integrity of our friendship. I knew Jake, and I’m so sorry that the last time we talked, we fought.” I’m breathing quickly now. What is he getting at? Is this why he’s been acting so weird? “Jake loved women. That’s a fact. If he saw one he liked, he had dibs. No question. I always let him—I was always married, busy with work, or newly divorced.”
I wondered what Margaret thinks of this little speech.
“Anyways, that’s not my point. My point is, I never broke those friendship rules until recently. The last time I spoke to Jake, I basically told him he was an idiot. I told him to screw off, and you know what? If I could go back—to that moment to have my friend back—I would.”
I suck in a breath of air.
“I would go back six months, and I would change everything,” Leo says coldly, continuing our public breakup. Could I even consider it a breakup if we weren’t officially dating?
“I would let him have the girl, like I always did. I would’ve walked away and let him have her, if only he was still here.” Someone in the audience sniffles. I’m too furious to see who it is. “He would’ve wanted to be a part of her life. He would’ve tried to make it work, and the only thing standing in his way was me.” He looks up at the ceiling. “I’m sorry, man.” His voice breaks, and the anger I felt turns to icy sadness, piercing my heart and shattering it into a million pieces. “I’ll never get to say I’m sorry. But I promise you, I’ll make it up to you from now on by staying away from her.”
The pieces of my heart turn to liquid tears as he jogs off of the stage and past me, not even bothering with a quick glance. Everyone around me begins to murmur, wondering what the hell his speech was about, most likely. They might never know, and in fact, he probably intended for no one but me to get it, to understand the meaning of his words.
I choke back a sob and run after Leo. Just as the doors close behind me, I hear the priest begin the end of the service.
“What the hell was that?” I shout, following him to a motorcycle parked haphazardly in one of the car spots. I vaguely remember him saying he owned one. He pulls his helmet on quickly, ignoring me. I feel nothing, everything, all at once. Fury, sorrow, panic. “Hello?” My voice is weak from almost crying.
“What do you want, Emilia? I thought I made myself pretty clear back there.”
I place my hands on my hips. No. This isn’t happening. “What, so that’s it? You’re going to leave and disappear all day again? Don’t I get a say in all of this?”
“I made a mistake,” he says coldly, straddling the bike and throwing a protective jacket on. “I never should’ve started anything with you. I never should’ve betrayed Jake. I should’ve walked away that first day at the bar. I should’ve walked away the day I kissed you. And a thousand times after that. Now is my chance to remedy my mistake.”
“Do you think this is what he would’ve wanted?” I shout at him, feeling the tears slide down my face. “I love you, Leo. I know you love me, too. Jake was an ass sometimes, but he never would’ve wanted you to leave me, like this.”
His face hardens. “You didn’t know him as well as I did, then.” He starts the engine, and my blood grows icy with rage.
“Really? This is how you want to end it?” I yell over the roar of the engine. “After everything we went through?”
He narrows his eyes. “It was a fling, Emilia. Get over it. We broke the rules, and now there are consequences.” His eyes flick to my lips.
Bastard.
“Loving you wasn’t a mistake,” I utter, my voice cracking.
I see his face change completely, concern washing over the hard lines. For a second, I think I’ve convinced him. For a second, I breathe easy, thinking everything will be right again. For a second, I can sense his contemplation. Any second now, he’ll get off of the bike, shake his head, and pull me into him. At any moment, he’ll whisper into my ear, his breath warm and comforting, and tell me how sorry he is for saying those things. He’ll say my name softly, like he always does when we make love, like he’s saying it in a different language.
But he doesn’t.
Instead, he flips the kickstand with his Converse—damn those Converse—and lurches forward without another word.
T W E N T Y - N I N E
Emilia
Two and a half months later
“MY FEET FEEL like bricks,” I whine, waddling after Ana as she meanders quickly through the mall. “I’ve never been so uncomfortable in my life,” I add, groaning.
“Come on, let’s buy you some of that body scrub you love so much.” She pulls me into Sephora as I gag on the stench of too much test perfume. All at once, it hits me. I sniff again.
Evergreen.
“Hold on one sec,” I say quickly, following the scent to a man spraying something out of a tall, green bottle. He’s older and balding, and I watch as he spritzes it and wrinkles his nose. He returns the sample bottle and scurries off. I grab it and smell the small hole where the cologne comes out.
Yep, this is it. Guerlain Vetiver, the label says.
And then I burst into tears.
Ana finds me a few seconds later, and unable to answer her because of all of my blubbering, she puts two and two together, offering to buy me the bottle, take me home, and give me a nice, long foot rub. I can only nod as everyone stares at me, the sniveling, due-in-two-weeks pregnant woman. I clutch the bottle to my chest as we drive home, taking the 580 to Mom’s apartment on Telegraph Avenue in Berkel
ey, where I plan on living until the baby is a little older. Seeing as I’ve never lived by myself, except in Antarctica, I thought it would be best to stay with her for a little while. We grew up in a small Victorian just down the road, but once Ana moved out, she downgraded to a three-bedroom, loft-style space. Ana doesn’t say anything as we head up the stairs to the door. Only when we’re inside does she place her small hands on my shoulders.
“You should call him,” she says gently, knowing any mention of him will set me off.
“He doesn’t want anything to do with me,” I say quietly.
I plop down on the plush couch as Ana busies herself in our mom’s renovated kitchen, looking for the herbal tea I haven’t been able to get enough of. I’m grateful her schedule is flexible, because she spends a lot of her free time taking care of me.
God, it’s been a pathetic ten weeks since Leo drove off on his motorcycle and left me sobbing in the parking lot of Jake’s memorial. Barbara eventually found me, concerned for the baby, and I ended up telling her and everyone else about Leo and I. Surprisingly, everyone—especially Diane— was wholly supportive. Diane and I agreed later that night that Jake would’ve wanted Leo and I to be happy. She was convinced he would’ve forgiven us. But Leo never showed, and I went home with Ana and my mom, expecting him to show up on the doorstep at any moment. For the first two days back, I sat by the front window of mom’s apartment and waited.
A couple of weeks passed.
Baby things started to show up unannounced. A beautiful, handmade crib from an overpriced boutique. Stuffed animals, a baby carrier, toys, a high-end stroller… I knew who they were coming from, because none of the things had notes. One day, about a month after Jake’s funeral, a book about constellations showed up, and I lost it. I called Leo about fifty times before giving up. I may have even left a couple of voicemails as I blubbered and cried to his answering machine. It was pitiful. I could barely eat or sleep, though I really did try my hardest to take care of myself for the baby. I meditated with my mom once a day. Stress wasn’t good, so I made a conscious effort to stay busy. I took a lot of walks. I tried not to dwell on it. For the most part, I managed to keep it together after that first month.
Tracing the Stars Page 19