Three Girls and a Baby

by Rachel Schurig

  Annie, Jen and I had moved in together the previous July, shortly after graduating from college. Our little yellow rental house was perfect for us—enough room for us each to have privacy but not so big that three domestically challenged party girls would have to do much housework. The house is in Ferndale, a short drive from Detroit and our home town. Best of all, we’re in walking distance of several bars and nice restaurants, which was a major selling point for us.

  We had talked about living together post-graduation for ages. The three of us had remained close throughout college, though we'd all been at different schools. Having gone away to State with Josh, I never had the opportunity to live with friends, or any girls for that matter. When it finally happened, I was almost giddy—a cute house, my two best friends. I imagined it would be like a constant sleepover. We'd eat ice cream, watch movies, and I'd be over Josh in weeks.

  And at first that was exactly how it went. There were long tearful chats about my break-up. There were rom-com movie marathons. There was much drinking of wine and late night fast food runs. There were even impromptu dance parties in the living room (brought on by the drinking of said wine). If my life were a chick flick, this period would have passed as a musical montage about the strength of female friendships, and its ability to heal the wounds left by bastard men.

  But as time went on I realized something: I wasn’t over Josh. Not at all. I missed him, almost in a detached sort of way. It started to feel like I was on a vacation and had left my boyfriend at home. The break-up didn’t seem real. I was not over him.

  Soon this fact became clear to Annie and Jen as well. I could tell they were losing patience with me, that the tearful chats were becoming more and more one-sided. Their advice slowly shifted from compassionate and bracing to frustrated and short. From their point of view it was simple: my relationship had ended, it had been months, it was time to Move On.

  What they didn’t understand, what no one seemed to understand, is that it’s impossible to move on when you don’t really want to. And it’s impossible to want to move on when you’re still in love.

  * * *

  Josh had appeared at our house, completely unannounced, back in November.

  It wasn’t that we hadn’t talked since the break-up. Every few weeks or so he would text, or, just as often, he would call. Sometimes it was when he was drunk. Usually it was late. But always it ended the same way—I would answer, thrilled, sure he was going to change his mind, sure this was the first step to him coming back. We would either flirt or argue. And okay, if I'm being totally honest, a few times when we were both drinking we ended up having phone sex. But always, always, we would hang up, still broken, still over, and I would lay on my bed, alone and too empty to even cry.

  I was powerless to stop it. When he texted, when he called, all I had to do was hit delete, not answer. I could tell him that I needed time, that it was painful for me to hear from him—Josh would have understood. Hell, I could even tell Annie or Jen, who would get me drunk and physically keep me from my phone. But I never had the strength. If he called, I would answer. If he wanted to throw me crumbs, even soul-crushing ones, I would take them, grateful.

  I was powerless to stop it.

  So you can imagine what happened to my sliver of willpower when he actually showed up at my house.

  I left work that night in November, exhausted as usual, and anxious only to get home and into my pajamas. I had received texts from both Annie and Jen that afternoon, letting me know not to expect them until late, if at all. Jen had a date—big surprise—and Annie had been recruited to help hang lights for an upcoming show down at the Trinity Theater in the city. I had a feeling her willingness to help had as much to do with the gorgeous tech director as it did with her desire to earn some extra cash.

  Often, I was the first one home, and in those days I cherished the few moments without the girls. I could put on PJ pants, lay on the couch and cry, and never once did I have to worry that I was making my friends nervous.

  When they were home, particularly when Jen was home, I had to act engaged. I had to try to chat and to laugh. I had to try very hard not burst into tears at the smallest provocation.

  But on that Friday, for once, I wasn’t looking forward to the time alone. The thought of sitting on the couch all night, thinking of Josh, watching lame movies for the millionth time…it made me feel anxious in a way I didn’t understand. I had a fleeting desire to get dressed up, go out to a bar with Annie and Jen—we’d done that a few times since moving in together. Ferndale was kind of a trendy town and as such it had a lot of new and interesting bars and clubs. I usually had fun once I got a few drinks in me, but it always took a lot of convincing for Annie and Jen to get me to agree to go out at all.

  I smiled slightly to myself as I pulled onto our street. Maybe I was turning a corner if the thought of actually going out sounded better to me than staying in alone. Then I sighed. Corner turned or not, I was still going to be on my own for the foreseeable future.

  Preoccupied with my thoughts, I didn’t notice the car parked in front of the house until I had pulled into the driveway. As I turned to grab my purse from the passenger seat I caught sight of it in the rearview mirror. My breath caught in my throat.

  The car, a dark blue Chevy with a small dent in the side door, was as familiar to me as my own, and the man stepping out from the driver’s side door had haunted my thoughts every day for the last three months. It was Josh.

  Chapter Four

  I couldn’t wrap my mind around what was happening. Josh was sitting at the kitchen table, as comfortable and unruffled as I had ever seen him. Josh, here. Josh, in my house.

  I tried to steady my hands as I busied myself with the wine glasses. “Red or white?” I was proud that there was no tremor in my voice.

  “Red, please,” he replied. “Thanks.”

  I brought the wine to table and sat down across from him. I couldn’t stop my fingers from fidgeting with the stem of my glass. God, he looked good. His hair was longer than I remembered, the extra inch making his blond curls more prominent. Josh was tall, 6’2”, and his body looked slightly thicker folded up in a kitchen chair that was more accustomed to the females who lived here. He was wearing a dark olive sweater that seemed to darken his green eyes, and jeans. I suppressed a sigh. I had always loved him in dark jeans.

  “Gin,” he said softly, reaching across and grasping my wrist lightly, stopping my fingers from taping against the glass. “Relax. I’m not going to hurt you.”

  I swallowed and looked up into his eyes. There was that familiar twinkle there, that flash of amusement, and I felt myself relax. I knew this man, better than anyone, and suddenly it didn’t seem strange or overwhelming that he was there. It seemed normal—it seemed like us. I smiled.

  “That’s better.” He released my wrist. “So. Ginny. How’ve you been?”

  “Oh, you know. Same old.” I promised myself I wouldn’t tell him hard it’d been, how much I missed him every single day.

  “How’s the job? Still driving you crazy?” He seemed genuinely interested, like he used to be when we talked, back in the days before the mere sight of me made him exhausted (his words).

  “Oh yeah, crazier than ever. Maybe even insane.” Josh laughed softly and I felt my heart clench. Keep it light. I urged myself. “How about you? What’s new? You in town to visit your folks?” Stop asking questions, you’re babbling!

  “No, actually. I came down to see you.”

  I felt the world freeze. “Why?” I whispered.

  He was quiet for a moment. “I miss you, Gin.” He wasn’t quite whispering, but his voice was soft. I stared at him, but this time he wasn’t meeting my eyes.

  “What does that mean, Josh?”

  “I don’t know.” He picked up his glass and gulped the wine. “I don’t fucking know. Everything that happened, everything I said…I meant it, Gin. We stopped being good for each other.”

  Why was he doing this to me? Telling me
he missed me but he didn’t want me? Suddenly I felt angry. For the first time since this happened I stopped feeling sorry for myself. I didn’t feel heartbroken—I felt pissed.

  “What. The. Fuck. Josh?” My voice was hoarse, tight. “You break up with me, you tell me we can’t be together. You know I didn’t feel that way, you know I still love you!” I was shouting now. “But you keep calling me, always keeping me strung along. And then you show up here, in my house, to tell me that you miss me but nothing’s changed? And you don’t know what it means? What the fuck?”

  He stood suddenly, pushing his chair back so roughly it scraped against the tile. “Do you think this has been easy for me, Ginny?” he yelled back. “I’ve been in love with you since I was seventeen years old. Yes, things changed, they got fucked up!” He leaned down close to me, his face hard, twisted, and so not like Josh. “And you know that wasn’t all my fault. You know the problems went both ways.”

  I closed my eyes. He was right, completely right. Everything he was saying was the stuff I had tried for so long to bury deep inside. I had let people, especially Annie and Jen, believe I was the victim. But I knew, as he did, the role I had played in our break-up.

  “Do you think that I wouldn’t give anything to be able to just forgive you? Just forget about everything that happened?” He stopped suddenly and sighed, clearly trying to regain control. “It wasn’t right to stay with you anymore,” he said softly. “But that doesn’t mean that those feelings all went away. So I miss you, okay?”

  “Okay,” I whispered, as the tears welled up under my closed eyelids and began to slip down my cheeks.

  “Ginny, please, don’t,” he said, his own voice starting to shake. “Don’t cry!” He knelt in front of my chair, forcing me to look at him. “Please.”

  “I miss you too,” I sobbed. “That’s what I should have said first, Josh. I miss you so much!”

  He grabbed me and held me close, burying his face in my hair. I held him tight, squeezing until I could hardly breathe.

  “I’m sorry, Ginny,” he said fervently. “I’m so, so sorry.” His lips were brushing against my hair now, against my head, and I melted into it, willing him to continue. His lips brushed my cheek and then, suddenly, we were kissing.

  His lips were hot against mine, pressing hard. It was heaven and so much pain, all rolled into one. I couldn’t have stopped if I wanted to, and I had never wanted anything less. I knew what this would cost me later, once he was gone again. But I couldn’t help myself. I loved him, and he was here.

  He stood, pulling me with him in one fluid move. Never breaking the kiss he pulled me into the hall, pressing me into the wall. His lips felt fierce against mine, as if he was battling something. I wondered if it were me.

  Finally he pulled away, drawing in a ragged breath. “I shouldn’t do this to you. I know I shouldn’t do this to you.”

  “I don’t care, Josh.” My voice was low and tense. “I don’t want you to leave. Not tonight.” I looked up into his eyes and the heat I saw there made my stomach flip. It had been so long. “Please.” I pulled his face back down to mine, kissing him with every bit of desperation I had within me. Then I took his hand and led him to my bedroom.

  * * *

  I lay awake for a long time afterward. I wasn’t sure what I was feeling. Part of me was still angry—at him, at myself—and part of me was terribly, terribly sad, knowing he would see this as a mistake, knowing he would still leave. But a large part of me, a growing part, felt calm. I was beginning to understand some things about the situation that hadn’t ever dawned on me.

  “You awake?” Josh whispered in the darkness.

  “Yeah,” I replied. “How you feeling?”

  “Sad,” he said softly. “I wish…I wish we could just go back to where we used to be.” His words were followed by a long silence as we both processed that.

  “But we can’t,” I finally said. “Right? That’s the whole point of all of this, isn’t it? We can’t have a relationship based on what we used to be.”

  He didn’t answer. I didn’t really need him to.

  “Josh, I love you, and I want to give us another shot. But I don’t think you want that…and I don’t think either of us has really changed enough to make it worth trying. Have we?”

  “No,” he said, his voice now so soft I could barely hear him.

  “Then I’m gonna need you to do something for me.” I kept my back to him, knowing I would lose my nerve if I could see him. “I need you to leave now. And when you walk out that door…” The words were in danger of getting stuck in my throat. I took a deep breath and pushed on. “When you leave here, I need you to not call me for a while, okay? No texts, no dropping by, no emails. I need to not hear from you.”

  He was quiet for a long time. “That’s going to be really hard,” he finally replied.

  “For me too. But I think we both know it’s the only way things are going to change, for either of us. You need to figure out what you want and I need to figure out how to stop…” I trailed off.

  “Stop what?”

  “Stop being this person. This needy, obsessed, unhappy person.” I took a deep breath, unsure of how much to say. “For so long, all I’ve wanted is you, us. I need to find out what there is to me, without you. Does that make sense?”

  “Yeah,” he said, and his voice was sad. “I want you to be happy, Ginny. You used to be so, so happy…you used to be…I don’t know, luminous. When we first met, that’s how I thought of you. All lit up and glowing, and so out of my reach.”

  I chuckled bitterly. “Funny how things turn out.”

  “That’s still you,” he said, leaning over and kissing my cheek. “I know it is.”

  I heard the bed creak as he got up, heard him gather his clothes. He paused at the door and I forced myself not to look at him, scared that I would throw myself back into his arms and beg him to stay. “Take care of yourself,” he finally said. And then the door was clicking shut, and he was gone.

  Chapter Five

  “Alright, that’s it, Ginny,” Annie snapped, her voice as cold as I had ever heard it. I looked up, surprised. Annie never talked to me in that tone.

  “What?” I asked, genuinely confused.

  “Did you even hear a word that I said?” Annie was pissed. It kind of freaked me out a little.

  “Um, I guess I was distracted...” I trailed off. It was about two weeks after Josh’s visit, and I had been staring, completely unseeing, at the television screen when Annie got home, all excited about something.

  Up until that point, my depression had been pretty severe, but after Josh left, it shifted quickly into downright debilitating. I would lay on my bed and stare into space for long stretches of time. At work (I’m a nanny) I would completely zone out while the kids played, having no idea how much time had passed when I finally came to.

  I hadn’t told anyone what had happened. I knew the girls would not approve of what I’d done and, to be honest, it hurt so much to even think about our goodbye I couldn’t imagine being able to talk about it. But I sure as hell relived it a lot—over and over. And so, okay, I hadn’t really been listening when Annie bustled in and started talking.

  “Oh, big surprise. You were distracted,” she snarled now. “What a nice change for you.”

  Yup, pissed.

  “Annie, I’m sorry. I know I’ve been out of it, but there’s something I should tell you—”

  “No, Ginny, there’s something I’m trying to tell you! I had a fucking audition. And it went really fucking awesome. And, as my best friend, that should mean something to you!”

  I was stunned. “Ann, that’s great! What’s the show?”

  “I just told you the show! Five minutes ago! But you weren’t listening!” She was shouting now, and I was shocked to see tears brimming in her eyes. “Because you never, ever fucking listen to me anymore. You just sit there in your little bubble, enjoying your pathetic drama. I am so sick of it!”

  I had no idea w
hat to do. I knew she was right, but what could I say?

  As it turned out, she saved me the trouble of answering. Slamming the front door hard enough to shake the windows, she was gone.

  * * *

  I sat completely still for a long time after Annie left. I felt shocked and unsteady. I knew I had been irritating the girls, I knew they were fed up with my constant sadness. But never had I realized that it went farther than that. I hadn’t thought that in my misery I was actually hurting them. I was a shitty friend.

  Suddenly I was sick of it all. Sick of sitting in this house, sick of this damn couch. Sick of myself. I needed to get out. I pulled on my winter coat, grabbed my iPod, and headed out into the cold.

  I walked for more than an hour. The biting cold air felt amazing in my lungs. I found one of my old running playlists on my iPod and the loud, pulsing rock was the perfect soundtrack to the scenery of frozen lawns and trees around me.

  I felt my senses waking up. It seemed like everything had been fuzzy for so long, the colors of my world muted and blurred. When had fall turned to winter? Fall was my favorite season, and it had passed without me noticing. I reached a small playground, deserted in the cold, and found a bench. I sat down heavily and allowed my mind to wander, back to the places where I had been trying so hard to keep away from.

  So much had happened since the summer, so much had changed for me. I had changed. Josh had been right when he talked about the way I used to be, I knew that. There was a time, believe it or not, when I was the vivacious one. I was on homecoming court in high school, for God’s sake. I used to be loud, funny, bold. I was a varsity track star, the fastest runner in my class. I stood out in a crowd, people noticed me. It was part of the reason why Annie, Jen and I had gotten along so well: we were the fun girls. We went to parties, we danced, we talked and laughed, loud and obvious, never caring who was looking at us or what they thought. The three of us were as tight as three girls could be, but we had tons of other friends too, other groups that we moved through seamlessly, easily.