We walk to the Jeep, and Sebastian opens my door. Once we get on the road, I wonder how far away the doctor is.
“Are you hungry? We have some time before the appointment.” He places a hand on my thigh—a totally normal thing for a fiancé to do—but I’m acutely aware of its presence. I stare at his tanned, strong hand. It’s so different from what I’m used to. And yet, I’m starting to prefer this little life of mine.
“Sure!” I chirp eagerly. My stomach rumbles in response, and Sebastian laughs.
To my surprise, he pulls into a Wendy’s a minute later. I look around—surely, this is a mistake. Perhaps there’s another place to eat in the same parking lot.
“Same as usual?” he asks me, pulling up to the speaker. Now I’m certain I eat fast food in this universe. My inner Yogi is slightly disgusted, but hey, what other choice do I have?
“Yeah,” I say, skeptical. I wonder what the ‘usual’ entails. I know I’ll like it—my taste buds haven’t changed—just my stupid brain. He pulls forward and begins to speak into the microphone. He doesn’t even look at the menu. How often do we eat here?
“Hi there. We’d like one crispy chicken sandwich, one deluxe cheeseburger, and two sides of fries. Soda?” he asks, turning to me.
I point to my belly and shake my head. “Just water,” I mouth.
He looks surprised, but then he shrugs. “One root beer and one water.” When he’s done, he pulls forward. “Since when do you not drink Fanta?”
Fanta? I’m pretty sure I haven’t had Fanta since I was a kid.
“Just looking out for the baby,” I say, smiling. “Plus, soda rots your teeth.”
Sebastian laughs. “Who are you, and what have you done with my Marlin?”
It’s a valid question, and the irony does not escape me. A bubble of laughter escapes my lips.
He pulls up to the next window and pays. A few minutes later, they hand us our piping-hot food. I voraciously tear my chicken sandwich open. I’m starving, and right now, I’d eat just about anything. We eat in comfortable silence, and I’m grateful he got me my own fries, since I seem to have an insatiable appetite.
The minute I’m done, I feel so completely satisfied. I make a mental note—Wendy’s crispy chicken sandwich—for my real life.
“Want the rest of my fries?” Sebastian asks, handing a half-eaten bag of fries to me.
“Yes, please,” I answer without thinking. He just laughs and watches as I scarf the rest of his fries. “What?”
“Nothing, I just love you,” he says, so genuinely that my mouth hangs open mid-bite. He reaches over and wipes something off of the corner of my mouth. I’m shocked to feel so normal here, like I already fit in. It’s as if I was plucked from my real life and placed right into the life I was supposed to be living. “I love every single atom in your body, Marlin Winters.”
His words make me emotional—or maybe I’m excessively sensitive because of the fetus growing inside me. I feel the tears well up in my eyes.
“I love you, too,” I whisper, pushing the bag of food away. I know the second the words leave my lips that this Marlin is head-over-heels in love with Sebastian. It’s the way his words make me feel. It’s the way my skin accepts and craves his touch. It’s as if, when I close my eyes, I could actually see myself here. I believe it. I believe us.
“Let’s go meet our baby, then,” he says quietly, giving me a big smile.
I watch as he backs up, the muscles in his arms flex, and I can’t help but check him out a little bit. Emma was right—he’s a fox. Juares—his last name—is Mexican, I think. His teeth are perfect and white, and his only flaw thus far is the fact that he can’t eat as much as me. That, and his left eyebrow has a small scar running through it.
A few minutes later, after some small talk about our respective days, we pull up to a small, two-story building. Sebastian comes around and opens my door, taking my hand and then placing his arm around my shoulders, leading me to the front door. It’s started to snow again, and I love the feel of the frost settling on my eyelashes and my nose. In fact, I love being here with Sebastian. The realization startles me. Just last night, I thought I had been kidnapped. Now I’m here with my eyes closed, cradled in my fiancé’s arm, enjoying the snowfall.
“Good afternoon,” the receptionist says, smiling cheerfully when she sees Sebastian.
“Hi,” I say, unsure. “My name is Marlin Winters. I have an appointment.”
She taps on her keyboard, and then her head shoots up again. “Ooh, your first ultrasound! Congratulations! How exciting,” she coos.
“Thanks.” Sebastian squeezes my shoulder. “We’re excited,” I add. I brush a strand of hair behind my ears and beam at her.
A small part of me feels like I’m playing a role, and in a way I guess I am. This isn’t my life. I know that. Though I have no memory of it, I’m here with Sebastian for some reason. I don’t really believe in fate, but how else can I justify all of this? It’s as if the universe is giving me a glimpse of what my life might be like, had I made different decisions. It’s all very It’s a Wonderful Life, except instead of being shown how life would be without me, I’m being shown a cruel version of what I’ll never have.
And we’re at our baby’s first ultrasound. I want to enjoy this while it’s here, because who knows how much longer I have here…
“Marlin?” A woman says, poking her head out from a doorway.
“Yes,” I answer, and Sebastian and I walk back to an examination room equipped with an ultrasound machine. It’s dimly lit, and curtains are pulled across the window.
“You can get settled on here,” she says, her voice warm. She points at the exam table. “Can you unzip your pants so we can get a good look at that little munchkin you’re growing?” I nod, my hands shaking. I’m nervous. “Is this the father?” she asks, her eyes flicking to Sebastian.
“Yes.” I lie down and pull my sweater up to my bra. I unbutton my jeans.
“You can have a seat here,” she says to Sebastian, gesturing to a chair. She gives us both a wide smile.
“Thanks.” He runs a hand through his hair—I wonder if he’s nervous too. The ultrasound tech must’ve suspected as much as well, because she puts a hand on his shoulder.
“Worried?”
He laughs and looks at me. “A little anxious. I’m not even a dad yet, and I’m already concerned about my future child.”
She laughs. “Nina” is the name printed on her nametag. “Don’t be worried. I’m sure everything is fine. You’re still having symptoms?” Nina asks, her question directed at me. I see her reach for some gel.
“Oh yes,” I say, thinking of my vomit from last night and this morning.
She clicks on a few buttons, and then she reaches for the small scanner. She places it on my lower belly. It tickles at first, but soon the gel warms up, and the only thing I feel is her pushing this way and that, moving my insides around.
“Okay, I see the uterus,” Nina says slowly. I crane my neck to look at the screen. I don’t see anything. I don’t even know what to look for. I reach out for Sebastian without thinking, and he squeezes my hand. Nina moves the scanner more slowly this time, and then I see her smile. I squint at the screen, and then a pulsing, squishy sound plays on the speakers. “That’s the heartbeat,” she says, and those three words might be the three most beautiful words I’ve ever heard.
“Oh my god,” Sebastian says, his eyes filling with tears.
“And there,” she adds, pointing to the screen, “is your baby.”
It looks like a little bean tucked away comfortably. I cover my mouth with my hand, overcome with a thousand feelings at once: awe, happiness, fulfillment, contentment, worry, wonder. I look over at Sebastian just as a tear falls down my cheek.
“There it is,” I say, sniffling.
“There it is,” Sebastian repeats, his voice quiet. “Our baby.”
Somehow, the hole in my heart, the same gaping hole I’ve carried around for years, feels
full again. Just last week, I was miserable—just two days ago, I couldn’t have even fathomed this feeling of satisfaction. I never thought it was possible to feel whole again, but I do.
This is what I’ve been looking for.
This is what was missing: my little bean, and the man who loves all of me. The man who loves every single atom in my body.
Chapter Eight
THREE days ago
I throw on a summer dress even though it’s February. At seventy degrees out, it’s practically summer. Charlie hums the tune to an AC/DC song while he throws on his usual uniform: a basic T-shirt that he probably overpaid for, corduroy pants that strain at the waist because he refuses to size up, and Birkenstocks.
Yes, Birkenstocks.
My boyfriend wears trendy shoes, and that’s a fact I have to live with. And yes, I do make fun of him sometimes.
“You look good,” he says, coming behind me and pulling my long hair behind my shoulders. He hates when I wear it down; says it covers my beautiful face. I grab a clip from the dresser and pin the top half back. “Better,” he says, nodding.
I pretend I agree.
We get in the car at 6:42. We’re going to be early. Stuart, Charlie’s best friend, is in a band, and Charlie makes it a point to try and see him perform every so often. Usually this means he drags me along. I’ve never really had the heart to tell Charlie this, but I hate live music. People should listen to music by themselves in the comfort of their own homes. Music is so personal for me, and I’ve always felt more comfortable listening to music by myself and experiencing those moments uninhibited. Charlie once insulted one of my very favorite Belle and Sebastian songs, and it felt like a kick straight to the heart.
We don’t really discuss music anymore.
Besides, Stuart really, really sucks. And going tonight means I have to see Gemma, Stuart’s bimbo girlfriend. Talking to her is like pulling teeth. But alas… I am trying to have a positive attitude.
After we park, walk inside, and pay (forty dollars later… they really should be paying us to watch this disaster) Charlie leaves me with Gemma to go buy drinks. I look down at my dress—yellow with a white lace overlay—and tan wedges, and I feel totally out of place. In fact, I rarely feel like I belong in Orange County. It has never felt like home to me. I miss seasons, constantly, and snow. I miss relishing the summer season because the warm weather is fleeting. People here take sunny weather for granted.
Gemma is wearing a short, black leather skirt and a grey T-shirt that she’s tucked in. She looks edgy and put together—like she fits in here. I can’t remember what her father does, but he pays for her beachfront apartment in Newport Beach, and I don’t think she’s worked a day in her life. I kind of hate her for that.
“Oh my god, Marlin,” she says, her voice monotone. I’m not sure if she’s asking a question or if she’s surprised to see me. She bends in slightly for an air hug. “How are you?”
“I’m great,” I say with conviction, willing myself to believe it. On paper, my life is good. For god’s sake, I just bought a townhouse with Charlie at the ripe age of twenty-seven! That’s an accomplishment in this economy.
“I’ve been meaning to take one of your yoga classes,” she discloses, sipping her clear drink. A vodka soda, most likely. “I’m just not a yoga person. I’m a cardio person. Need to get that heart pumping,” she says, giggling. I see Stuart wrap his arm around her tiny waist.
“My flow class is pretty intense,” I add defensively. “You work muscles you never knew you had.”
“Maybe next week?” She phrases it like a question, but then she turns to Stuart and starts to kiss him, effectively dismissing me. I walk over to the bar and order my usual, because Charlie disappeared to God knows where, and I need a damn drink.
“One scotch neat, please.” The bartender’s eyebrows shoot up, as if to ask, you’re not going to order the seventy-calorie vodka soda?
“Coming right up,” he says, and I study him from behind as he walks over to the glasses and pours me a generous drink. He’s chubby, with a full beard and a pageboy cap. His cherub cheeks are adorable. I wonder what it would be like to sleep with him.
Jesus. Why do I always fantasize about other men? I know it’s normal, but it makes me feel depraved and immoral for constantly thinking about it. I hand him a ten-dollar bill and flash him a wide smile. He returns it. They always do. And then I wonder… am I wasting the prime of my life? Should I be out there, dating different kinds of men, fucking different kinds of men, while I’m still young and pretty?
I sit at the bar and take generous sips of my scotch. I close my eyes and picture myself here, single and ready to mingle. The pulse of the music starts to reverberate in my ears, and I’m tempted to dance. I want to let my hair down, just the way I like it, and twirl around all night until I land in the arms of some random guy.
“I’ve never known a woman your age to drink a scotch neat,” the bartender says, pointing to my already-finished drink.
“A woman my age?” I muse, a sly smile working its way onto my numb lips. “How old do you think I am?” I place one elbow on the bar, resting my face in my palm. Oh boy, I already feel drunk. Charlie won’t be too happy with me. He hates it when I’m sloppy.
“Hmm,” he says, eyeing me mischievously. A thrill enters my body, and I suddenly feel quite alive. “Twenty-two.”
I know he’s just being nice, trying to flirt, but I laugh nonetheless. “Oh, please. I’m twenty-seven. My name is Marlin,” I say, holding my hand out.
“Henry,” he says. He looks like a Henry. He looks nice, stable, and most importantly, fun. My life is seriously lacking fun, and that makes me sad. “Can I get you another drink, Marlin? On the house?”
I look behind me quickly, scanning the room for Charlie. He’s busy schmoozing with Stuart and Gemma. Obviously, he forgot to order me a drink, or he just doesn’t give a shit as to where I’ve run off to. Screw them. It’s my night too, and I deserve to have some fun.
“Why the fuck not,” I say, feeling the small ounce of control over myself withering away. I give up. I’m renouncing adulthood and my life here. I know my limits, and I’m about to fly right past them and into a place I know Charlie hates—a place I know I’ll regret tomorrow while I clutch the toilet bowl and heave my guts out.
But I want to feel alive again. I want to pretend I’m living another life, just for tonight.
“Is that your boyfriend?” Henry asks, setting a generously poured scotch in front of me. I follow his gaze to Charlie, who is now watching us with mild curiosity.
“Yes,” I admit, returning my attention to Henry.
“Can I say something, even though it might be slightly presumptuous?”
My curiosity is piqued. “Go right ahead. I’m sure I’ve thought worse.”
He hesitates and then refocuses on me. “If I were your boyfriend, I wouldn’t let you out of my sight in that dress,” he whispers. “Don’t tell him I said that,” he adds, gesturing to Charlie.
His words, although innocent, make me feel warm and fuzzy. For a second, I feel like my life is all wrong here—like everything is tilting on its axis. I should be with someone like Henry. Someone who appreciates me. Someone who cherishes me. Charlie never made me feel cherished, not even in the beginning.
I could leave, I think. I could give Henry my number, stand up, and wait for something to distract Charlie, and then I could make my exit. I could walk right out of the bar—keep walking until I feel satisfied with life again. Who knows how long I’d have to walk for that…
Somewhere cold. I’d walk somewhere cold.
The constant, sticky warmth of San Clemente is suffocating. It settles on my skin like dust from a highway. I find I crave the cold, the snow, the renewal and the clarity that an early snowy morning brings. I miss fogged-up windows, hot chocolate, white Christmases, snowmobiles, and spending half my childhood shoveling snow, with mittens and a pink, raw nose. People here never have to deal with any of that, a
nd it’s like they don’t even know how to handle anything that isn’t seventy and sunny.
Gemma’s cackling brings me back to the present, and I turn my attention to Henry. “Thank you for saying that,” I say quickly, giving him a small smile. “You made my night.” I down the rest of my drink, and then I stand on my wobbly legs. I certainly had too much to drink.
The rest of the night passes in a blur of squeaky, pitchy singing. For the time that Stuart’s band is playing, it sounds like someone is taking a piece of sandpaper and rubbing it in front of my ears. Granted, I’m very specific about the music I enjoy, but I’m not getting an ounce of enjoyment from this music. It’s parasitic, leeching into my skin. I want to cover my ears, but I don’t want to be rude.
Charlie glances at me every so often. It’s always the same look—vague disappointment. He doesn’t say it, but I know he’s thinking, why can’t you be like Gemma? Gemma is sitting upright, pumping her fist in support, yelling for an encore. Plus, she looks like a supermodel while doing it. Charlie punishes me by not giving me any attention. I’m just the fly on the couch. He turns to me every ten minutes, but it’s only to show his disapproval. I know once we leave, he’ll ask me why I had to drink so much, again.
Again. Everything I do is always again. A part of me knows I’ll never be the woman he wants—but I try nonetheless. What other option do I have? We bought a house together. We’re probably going to get married and pop out a few kids soon. That’s just how it is. Not everyone gets to be happy. Not everyone gets the fairytale romance.
I just have to learn to be okay with that.
After the encore that Gemma begged for, Stuart and the rest of the guys come out to greet us. I stand behind Charlie awkwardly; I know he’s keeping me out on purpose. I nurse my fourth drink.
That’s one thing I’m grateful for. At least he’s letting me drink without supervision. Maybe I’ll die of alcohol poisoning tonight.
The Realm of You: A Novel Page 7