by Roya Carmen
When my phone rings again, I roll my eyes. The last thing I want to do right now is explain to Gwen how to make a basic lunch for the girls.
I swallow and blow my nose one last time before I answer. “Hello.”
“Hello, Mirella,” he says. His voice is soft.
My heart seems to stop for a good five seconds.
“Mirella?”
“I’m here, Weston,” I breathe. “I’m here.”
I can hear him breathing. “Mirella, why didn’t you tell me?” His voice is uneven, jagged. I’m not sure but I think he’s crying, or trying hard not to cry.
The sound of his voice completely does me in. “I wanted to tell you,” I cry. “I didn’t want you to find out like this.”
“How did this happen? How could you let this happen? I trusted you.”
“I was sick, Weston. I was sick and…” It’s no use. It’s too complicated to explain and the damage is already done. What does it matter the reason?
The softness in his voice is gone and his words are hard when he says, “How could you be so irresponsible?”
I feel anger rise within me. My stomach seems to harden as I feel a blush travel to my cheeks. How dare him. “You’re the one who… that night in New York. You didn’t… it takes two to tango, Weston. Don’t put this all on—”
“Did you want this to happen?”
“What?” I snap. “Yes, I wanted to completely mess up my life. I wanted my husband to leave me. I wanted to be doing this kid thing all over again.” I’m yelling and the sullen girl is sure paying attention now.
“You didn’t even come to me. Gabe told me you were already in the second trimester.”
“I wanted—”
“I’d wager you didn’t even consider your options. You didn’t even consider where I stood in all this.” His loud stern voice is shrill in my ear. “You didn’t even care, you selfish, selfish woman.”
“I’m sorry.” It’s all I can say. He’s broken me down. I’m like a lifeless ragdoll with a missing eye, tossed in the corner.
“I don’t want to hear it,” he says.
“I’m sorry I got knocked up,” I cry. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I’m sorry Gabe beat the crap out of—”
“That was his crime, not yours.”
“But still, I’m so sorry he hurt you.”
“He didn’t hurt me, Mirella,” he tells me, his voice eerily even, “…he humiliated me.”
My heart sinks at the thought of Gabe’s actions. “Why didn’t you press charges?” It’s the question I’ve desperately wanted answered since I found out.
There’s a long sigh at the end of the line. “Because…because I didn’t want to hurt you, Mirella. And to hurt him is to hurt you. The last thing you need is your children’s father behind bars. I suspect you have enough problems as it stands.”
I cry into the phone. “Thank you,” I say, the words a high-pitched whimper.
“But unfortunately, it came at a price,” he explains quietly. “I begged Bridget to help him out. She couldn’t believe I was begging her to defend the man who beat me to a pulp. I had to promise to stay away from you.”
My heart feels heavy as I listen to his words.
“I can’t be there for you right now,” he tells me, his words soft. “It’s still too raw for her. I’m sorry, Mirella.”
A flush of pain washes over me, a deep, all-consuming pain. “I understand.”
“Goodbye,” he says before the line goes dead.
I understand why he can’t be there for me. I’ll understand if he can never be there. He has a family of his own, and that should be his priority. I can handle myself. I know I can.
I rest a hand softly on my stomach, tears soaking the thin fabric of my blouse. “Looks like it’s just us two, baby.”
It’s Wednesday morning and as far as the girls know, everything is hunky-dory at home. But of course, things are far from fine. I can barely get up in the morning, not wanting to face the day ahead. But I buck up and force a smile for the benefit of my daughters. I prepare bowls of cereal. They get to have the sugary stuff this morning because I just don’t feel like arguing with them. Both my feet and the tie of my housecoat drag on the floor as I make my way about the kitchen. I can’t eat a thing, but I force myself to have a banana and a small glass of milk, for the baby’s sake. The texture of the banana against my palette repulses me.
Gabe hasn’t come home. I’m not sure where he’s spent the night, and I’m dying to know.
Chloe digs into her cereal and shoots me a curious look. “Are you okay, Mommy?”
“I’m fine, sweetie,” I lie. “I’m just tired.” I know I’ll need to tell the girls eventually. But I’m still hoping Gabe will change his mind and come back to me. I haven’t quite accepted the reality of my royal fuck-up. I haven’t quite owned it yet.
All I know is, I will need to tell the girls about the baby, their little sister or brother. And I’ll have to try to explain why Gabe is not a part of this child’s life, why he’s not the daddy.
My phone rings — the Single Ladies tune muffled in my purse. I dash around the house looking for the damn bag, wondering why I never seem to keep it in one place. When I finally spot it on the dining room table, I dig for my phone, hoping Gabe is at the other end of the line.
My heart sinks when I see it’s not Gabe.
“Hello, Mirella.”
“Hi,” I say, surprised to hear Weston’s voice — he told me he would stay away. And I truly thought he would. Suddenly, my heart is pounding a mile a minute.
“I wanted to ask you one thing,” he says, his voice soft.
“Yes?”
“Are you keeping the baby?”
I’m not sure what answer he’s searching for. Has he called to convince to me to take action and make this ‘problem’ disappear? I won’t. I tell him the truth. “Yes.”
I hear a heavy sigh, and then silence. My heart is drenched in emotion. My eyes are brimming. He has reacted just as I’d suspected. He is the cold man I’d initially thought he was.
“I’m glad,” he finally manages.
My heart seems to lift. My whole core brightens. He wants this baby too. Someone else, other than me, wants this child. I’m shocked. I never expected this.
He clears his throat. “I didn’t want you to think I wanted…because of our conversation yesterday.”
“I didn’t,” I say, the words escaping me, despite myself. The truth is, I did.
“Good.”
A long pause divides us.
“And you were right,” he says. “This is as much on me as it is on you. I’m sorry about the things I’ve said. I was just so upset. The news baffled me,” he goes on. “And this whole mess with Gabe. I’ve had a lot of emotions to work through, Mirella.”
There’s another long pause and I struggle to think of something to say.
“I should go,” he says. “This isn’t right. I’ve promised Bridget I would no longer be communicating with you. Unfortunately, I will not be contacting you for the time being.”
My heart sinks. He can’t be there for me. But I get it. “I understand.”
“Be well. I will be thinking about you,” he whispers just before the line goes dead.
I spend the next hour absent-mindedly cleaning the house. I clean up the breakfast mess, sweep the floor, pick up the girls’ toys, and organize the craft corner. My life might be a complete mess, but my house sure doesn’t have to be. And all the while, I tell myself Gabe will come back to me.
I’m making Chloe’s bed when I hear the door downstairs. I bound down the stairs to meet him. For a fleeting second or two, I’m convinced he’s changed his mind.
But when I see his face, there’s so much hurt and sorrow, I know he hasn’t forgiven me. He doesn’t quite look at me when he says, “I’m just here to see the girls and grab a few things.”
I take him in. He seems a little worn out but he’s as beautiful as ever. His hand is still bandaged,
and as I stare at it, I’m reminded of the mess we’re in. I inch toward him and wrap my arms around his waist. The cotton of his t-shirt is soft against my hands.
He presses his large hands gently on my shoulders and pulls me from him. “I can’t do this.”
I look into his eyes, willing him to remember, remember everything we’ve shared but his gaze is completely empty.
Chloe and Claire run up from the basement. “Daddy!” they both squeal.
Chloe goes in for a hug. “You’re out of the hospital! Are you all better?”
He looks at me with a cocked brow.
“Uh… yes… you were in the hospital because you were in a car wreck,” I tell him. “But amazingly, your car is fine. And the Whites next door know all about it, by the way…if they ever ask you about it.”
“Oh, okay,” he says. He knows I’ve been telling stories, attempting to retain an iota of normalcy in all our lives.
He squeezes Claire into his arms. “I was at a friend’s,” he tells her. “Daddy’s staying there for a little while.”
I wonder what friend he’s talking about. I wonder if he’s staying at Jason’s, or Rob’s, or Stephen’s. Probably Jason’s — he’s his best friend. I’m sure his wife is happy. She practically salivates whenever she sees Gabe.
Claire’s sweet little chin trembles as she asks, “But why?”
“Why are you not staying here?” Chloe asks him with wide-eyed concern.
His voice is disturbingly even and flat as he tells them he has to help out a friend for a little while — a little white lie. I’m relieved by his answer. Maybe he’s just buying time. Maybe there’s still a chance for us.
But still, my chest tightens at the sight of the three of them in a sad embrace.
Gabe reminds me again he’s just here to get some of his stuff. I trail behind him as he goes to the basement to grab a large suitcase. It’s huge but he manages to carry it with ease, as if it were just a small evening bag. He makes his way upstairs and grabs some clothing, underwear and socks. He doesn’t say a word, doesn’t even look at me once. I follow him to the washroom where he grabs some toiletries. He’s just a blurred picture at this point — my eyes are full of tears. I consider begging him to stay, but I know it’s no use.
He pauses for a second and sits on the bed, shoulders hunched. He stares at the photo on my nightstand, a photo I just printed of the girls on the boardwalk at Pelee Island. He grabs the frame and turns away from me as he packs it in his suitcase. I know he’s crying. I can see his shoulders quake and I can hear soft whimpers. I inch closer, rest my head against his back and wrap my arms around him. The hard grasp of his hand around my wrist makes my stomach drop. “Don’t,” is all he says and I let go immediately.
I follow him still, like a sad little puppy as he rummages through the den, grabs a few documents, his iPad and the Johnathan Kellerman book he’s been reading.
“I love you, Gabe,” I whisper.
But he pretends not to hear me.
He gives each of the girls a big hug, biting back tears. He tells them he’ll come and get them this weekend. They’ll do something fun, he promises.
“You’re leaving me the girls next Sunday,” he says. It’s not so much a question, as it is a statement.
“If there’s an emergency or if they want to talk to me, you can reach me on my cell,” he adds, his tone formal, business-like.
“Where are you staying?” I ask, desperate to know.
He doesn’t quite look at me. He stares at the wall, fiddling with the cross hanging at the end of his silver chain. “I’m staying at Bridget’s.”
Suddenly, everything hurts; my throat, my lungs, and stomach. He can’t be running to her. They can’t be doing this. This is my worst nightmare.
My voice cracks as I say, “Oh… o-okay.”
He slams the door behind him.
And I fall to my knees.
CHAPTER TEN
Do you have a death wish?
I follow the crowd up the steps. The faces are all unfamiliar. I haven’t been here in ages. As I enter the beautiful Church, I’m brought back to the last time I was here — Claire’s baptism.
My perfect family was so beautiful that day. Claire in her pretty little frilly baptismal gown, a few golden curls escaping at the edges of her bonnet. She clung to her father. At nearly six months, she was very weary of strangers and all the attention and unwanted kisses. Gabe was the proud papa. He had even dressed up for the occasion. He wore a crisp white shirt and beige chinos. He looked as beautiful as his daughter. And Chloe was precious in a pretty yellow summer dress. I can’t quite remember what I wore that day.
I spot a free space on one of the pews at the back. I don’t want to sit at the front and bring attention to myself. Bashful, I sit next to a beautiful family of five. I smile at them, envious — they look so happy, so perfect. The two tiny brunettes make faces at their little brother, a mischievous boy with a head of golden curls. I can tell he’s the trouble maker of the bunch.
That was us two years ago. Before we messed it up all up. Before I messed it all up.
I turn my gaze away and take in the beauty of the Church, the dark woods, the stunning stain glass windows, and the faint smell of incense. A long time ago, I turned my back on all this. Life got busy. I came less and less. A walk to the park, a new book, a visit at a friend’s — anything was preferable to this, and the tedious hour long service. Gabe and I both made excuses. Yes, we were married in the Church, and we had our daughters baptized here. And then, we both turned our backs on the Church.
And we are sinners in so many ways. As I press on the folds of my white skirt, I stare down at my feet as Father Anthony gives his service. I don’t belong here. I shouldn’t even dare look up at him.
I’ve come here to speak to God, to get some guidance, some help. I’ve considered seeking therapy like Weston has done, but I know I’m too far gone for that. I know exactly what a therapist would tell me, and I think it’s too late for me. Therapy would have been helpful in my teen years, but I’m afraid I’m wrecked beyond repair. I am desperate. And this is why I turn to God. And I know this in itself is a sin, to reach out to someone only when you need help.
As the parishioners all stand to their feet, readying to receive Communion, I remain seated. I have not been here in ages, and I have sinned. I don’t deserve to receive the Body of Christ. I don’t deserve penance or absolution either.
I kneel down, press my hands together and close my eyes. I thank Him for my health and the beautiful family he has given me. I don’t confess my sins or ask for forgiveness, for what I’ve done is unforgivable. I don’t ask him to fix all my problems. I ask him to lead me onto the right path, to clear the way and make it visible to me. I ask him to watch over my family, and to watch over Weston and his family too. To watch over all of us.
As I leave the Church, surrounded by strangers whose lives I imagine are so much simpler than mine, I fall into soft sobs. No one notices. And I’m glad. Because I certainly don’t deserve anyone’s consolation.
Gwen takes us out to eat and entertains the girls. She brings popcorn and old John Hughes movies — The Breakfast Club, Sixteen Candles, Pretty in Pink — Molly Ringwalds’ pouty lips are really starting to wear on me. Gwen has all but given up her life to be there for me, and I’m not quite sure what I would do without her.
I try to keep on living, going through the motions every day, putting food on the table, forcing myself to eat, keeping the house in order, and playing with the girls as much as I can.
When Gabe first comes for the girls, I let Gwen take care of it and go hide somewhere. I just can’t see him. I can’t see his beautiful face and not long to touch it.
Thankfully, the girls have adjusted well. They’re busy with summer and their friends. Chloe is immersed in a series of books about warrior angels — she hasn’t had a chance to miss her daddy too much.
They seem to only ask about him when I tuck them in at night. I thin
k they miss their little ritual (the plane crash bit he does every night). He grabs them and drags them through the air and finally drops them on the bed and makes big crashing noises. They giggle and he wraps them in their cozy blankets, and kisses them on the forehead. I don’t even try to replicate the ritual. It just wouldn’t be the same and I’d probably break my back.
There’s a piece of me missing, a huge void not having him every day in my life. I miss his teasing winks, the funny conversations, the playfulness, the sex. I miss it all. I miss him so much.
Although Weston has told me he would be staying away, he sends me an email, and somehow, it brightens my day. He is very formal in his communications, but I suppose he’s trying to keep an acceptable distance.
Hello Mirella,
I hope you are keeping well. I know you tend to not eat when you are nervous or upset. And as you know, this is not the time for this kind of behavior. I would like to ensure you do the following:
Eat a least three healthy meals a day consisting of the four food groups.
Take a prenatal vitamin every day.
See obstetrician regularly.
Limit intake of sugar. There is an increased risk of gestational diabetes in older women. (oh no… he didn’t)
Keep an eye on your blood pressure (this should be noted at your regular physician appointments).
Get a minimum of eight hours sleep every night.
Avoid stress as much as you can (can elevate blood pressure).
Avoid sushi, raw fish, tuna, deli meats, alcohol, or too much caffeine.
Ensure you get an adequate amount of iron in your diet.
Also, take a prenatal yoga class if you can. It is apparently good for relaxation and blood pressure.
* * *
Is he for real?
I almost laugh out loud when I read the email. I can’t believe this guy. I don’t dare show it to Gwen, who already thinks he’s an uptight oddball. I suppose I should be touched. He obviously cares about the baby’s health. But I can’t help but be mildly irritated, but this could very well have a little something to do with the pregnancy hormones.