What's Left of Me

by Kristen Granata

His eyebrows press together. “But you have plenty of time to get a job and hang out with Cole.”

  I scrub a hand over my face. “I’ve told you how important it is for me to get a job. Cole was kind enough to get me this job, so he’s allowed to be here.”

  “Yeah, I’ll bet he’s kind.”

  “What are you insinuating?”

  He rolls his eyes. “Nothing.”

  My patience snaps. “I’m sorry you’re upset, but I’ve been upset for a very long time. I will contact you when I’m ready to talk. In the meantime, you should get started on that to-do list of yours.”

  Paul’s fists curl at his sides, his cheeks tinged with red.

  Gertie spins around. “You heard the woman. Go. Get your shit together.” She swats her spatula through the air several times until Paul turns around and storms out of the kitchen.

  A relieved breath whooshes out of me, and my knees feel weak. “I can’t believe I just spoke to him that way. I don’t know where that came from.”

  Gertie pulls me into an embrace, squeezing me until I can’t breathe. “I’m so proud of you, sugar.”

  I shake my head and touch my palm to my cheek. “I don’t know what I’m going to do, Gertie.”

  She slides her hands up and down my arms. “You don’t have to figure it all out now. This is still new. Let him stew in his sadness. It’ll be good for him. It humbles a man when he doesn’t get everything he wants.”

  “It’s like I can’t think straight when he’s around. When he’s gone, I can hear my own thoughts and feel my own emotions. But when I’m with him, all I can think about is how he’s feeling. I don’t know how to be myself with him because I’m afraid it’ll upset him.”

  Gertie points her finger in my face. “Now, you listen to me, and you listen good. I’m not going to tell you what to do, but I am going to tell you this. The right person won’t ask you to sacrifice who you are for his love. Losing yourself in a relationship is never an option. You’re the most important thing you’ve got. You can love someone with your whole heart and still stay true to yourself. If he doesn’t like that, then he’s not the one for you. Do you understand?”

  I swipe away my tears as they force themselves to the surface. “What do you do if you’ve already lost yourself?”

  “You find your way back.” Gertie turns me by my shoulders, facing me toward Cole, who’s leaning against the doorframe with his hands in his pockets.

  Something about the way he’s looking at me with concern etched onto his features makes my chest ache.

  “Just came to see if you’re okay.”

  I nod with a sniffle. “I’m good.”

  “Good.”

  We stand there, staring at each other, until Gertie clears her throat. “Who’s ready for lunch?”

  The rest of the week goes by as quickly as my first day at the diner.

  Gertie even let me add some of my own dishes to the specials list. Customers raved about them, and she said I can pick one to add to the actual menu. It means the world to me that she’s allowing me to take such a prominent role in her business.

  At the end of the day on Friday, I head over to the Women’s Support Group that Melissa told me about.

  As I sit outside, staring out the window at the run-down high school building, I feel nervous, unsure of what to expect. I haven’t decided if I’ll feel comfortable enough to share anything with a room full of strangers, but I walk inside with an open mind.

  Melissa welcomes me when I arrive inside the gymnasium, and I’m relieved that she’s here. She introduces me to several women who are sitting in metal folding chairs strategically placed to form a circle.

  I take the seat beside a young brunette woman named Carrie. She has beautiful hazel eyes behind her wire-rimmed glasses.

  She sticks her hand out and smiles. “Nice to meet you, Callie.”

  “You too.”

  “First time at group?”

  I laugh. “Is it that obvious?”

  “I remember wearing that same look you have on. It’s not so scary once everyone starts sharing.”

  “Have you been coming here for a while?”

  “Two years. It really helped me to find a group of people who understand.”

  I nod. “That’s great.”

  Melissa surveys the room as she takes a seat across from me. “All right, ladies. Let’s get started. How is everyone doing today?”

  Several of the women shout out their answers.

  Carrie raises her hand. “I’d like to start.”

  Melissa smiles. “I was hoping you would.”

  Carrie turns her head to look at me. “Today marks five years since the day I tried to take my own life.”

  My lips part in surprise, but I recover quickly. I’m not sure what the proper protocol is.

  “Why don’t you tell Callie your story?” Melissa says.

  Carrie inhales and folds her hands on her lap. “I had a verbally abusive boyfriend. He’d put me down because I didn’t want to go out and party with him. Looking back on it, we were very different, and I don’t know how we ended up together, but opposites attract, I suppose.

  “Some nights, he’d take my car and say he was hanging out with friends. They were girls, but he’d swear they were just friends.”

  Several laughs echo throughout the room, but it’s as if everyone knows they’re not directed at Carrie. They’re laughs that say heard that one before.

  “Turned out that my ex was an addict, and he was pimping out the girls he’d leave me to see in order to buy drugs.” Carrie shakes her head. “When we’d fight, his biggest dig at me was how I couldn’t have children, as if it was my fault. He ended up getting someone else pregnant while he was screwing around behind my back. That was the straw that broke the camel’s back. It wasn’t fair. Why did she get to have a baby with him, and I didn’t? At the time, it felt like dying was my only option.”

  I reach over and place my hand on top of hers. “I’m glad you’re still here.”

  She smiles. “Me too. I’m stronger now than I’ve ever been.”

  Applause fills the room.

  Melissa turns her attention to me. “Callie, would you like to say anything?”

  I blow out a shaky breath. “Sure.”

  “You don’t have to, of course. You’re welcome to listen if you prefer.”

  “No. I’ll share.”

  “You’re brave,” Carrie says. “Took me a few weeks before I shared in group.”

  I huff out a laugh. “I don’t feel brave. That’s actually something I’m working on. My husband ... he ... my husband hits me.”

  The words whoosh out of me, and with it comes a flood of emotions. “We had such a perfect relationship in the beginning. Or maybe I just thought it was perfect, and I just didn’t see the danger signs flying past me.” I shrug. “He changed over the years. He became angrier, more aggressive. I blamed myself because of my struggle with infertility. It put a lot of stress on our relationship, and I can understand why his fuse was so short. I guess I had to put the blame somewhere, because I couldn’t figure out why any of this was happening to me.”

  I look at all the pairs of eyes watching me and lift my chin. “I left him a few weeks ago.”

  Applause breaks out around me.

  “He says he’s going to change, that he wants to work on himself. To be honest, I don’t know if that’s possible.”

  “Anything is possible if he makes an effort,” Melissa says. “But you need to see proof of that before you move forward.”

  A woman with stunning coppery-red hair raises her hand. “I can relate to what you said about infertility struggles straining your marriage. My name is Chelsea, by the way.”

  I offer her a smile. “Hi, Chelsea.”

  “My husband and I tried conceiving for almost two years before we were successful,” she says. “I know it might not sound like a long time, I know many others have struggled for longer, and I know how lucky we are that we were finally able
to have a child, but that doesn’t mean it wasn’t still devastating to go through.

  “There are pregnant people literally everywhere. I couldn’t understand why my body was failing at the one thing it’s genetically supposed to do. That ovulation schedule was the worst. Sex became a chore, and I was putting so much pressure on the act. What used to be a sex life like what you’d read in steamy books was reduced to finishing the fastest way we could whenever the ovulation test read positive.”

  I nod like a bobblehead doll. “Yes, it’s awful.”

  “Were you ever able to conceive?” she asks.

  “No.”

  “Oh.” She looks down at her lap. “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be sorry, Chelsea. You are so lucky to have been successful. I know how much that must mean to you, and I’m so happy for you.”

  “She can stay,” Carrie says, jerking her thumb at me. “I like this one.”

  We all laugh.

  Melissa gestures to a woman with auburn hair sitting a few seats away from me. “Janae, you’ve gone through something like this as well.”

  Janae nods. “My husband and I have four beautiful children. On the outside, you’d never know how badly we suffered. You’d never know that I’ve miscarried three times. You’d never know that I’ve experienced a molar pregnancy that led to a D&C. You’d never know that the placenta of my second child grew into my scar tissue from the C-section of my first child. You’d never know that I’ve almost died during delivery.

  “With four kids, people say, ‘Look how fertile you guys are,’ and doctors ask, ‘Why do you keep trying to get pregnant if you’ve had so many complications?’ I understand their assumptions, but the judgment hurts. What nobody knows is that I grew up in a violent home, so it was always a dream of mine to one day have a family of my own. I’m lucky to have four healthy children, and I’m lucky to be alive. But it hasn’t been easy getting here. And that struggle wore on me and my husband.”

  It’s eye-opening to see that someone with so many children has suffered, too.

  We take turns chatting, relating to one another, until a woman sitting beside Melissa slowly raises her hand. A hush falls over the group, and I can tell that this isn’t someone who normally speaks up.

  She clears her throat. “Hi, everyone. My name is Jennifer. I know I haven’t shared my story in all the months I’ve been coming here. But I want you to know that I’ve tried. Every night I’m here, I try to speak up, but I don’t have the strength to.”

  Her hazel eyes meet mine. “But if our new friend, Callie, can find the strength to leave her abusive husband, then I think I can try to say a few words to you ladies.”

  Melissa places her hand on Jennifer’s shoulder. “That’s very brave of you.”

  The room stays silent while Jennifer contemplates what she’s about to say. “When I was thirty, my sister was dying from ovarian cancer. I was lost and vulnerable. As the story always goes, I met a beautiful man who made me feel special during a time when I needed it most. I didn’t expect to get pregnant. It came as a surprise, but I welcomed it. It should’ve been happy news.

  “Unfortunately, the man turned out to be an immature boy, and he didn’t want a baby. On top of that, my parents said that I’d disrespected our family by having sex out of wedlock. I felt alone and scared during the most important time of my life. But I was determined to love that baby at all costs. I didn’t need anyone’s permission or validation. All I needed was my baby.”

  Jennifer’s chin drops, and a tear rolls down her cheek. “I named her Hannah. She was beautiful.”

  Was.

  My gut churns, and I wrap my arms around my midsection, hugging myself as I anticipate the rest of her story.

  “Not only did I have to deal with the heartbreak of losing my baby, but I had to deal with other people’s responses. You’d think they’d be sympathetic, right?” She chokes out a laugh and swipes the tears from under her eyes. “If I had a dollar for every woman who said to me, ‘Oh, honey. This is for the best since you weren’t married,’—as if I needed a man to validate my motherhood—I’d be a very wealthy woman.”

  She shakes her head. “I cried every time I had to explain the reason for my returns at all the baby stores, or whenever a friend’s child would make me a card to cheer me up. I even lost some friends because they didn’t know what to say, so they ignored me for fear they’d say the wrong thing.

  “Losing your child is unlike anything else. People offer advice, and they tell you cliché quotes. But I can tell you from experience, time is not going to heal this wound. I’ve just learned to breathe around the hole in my heart. The guilt never goes away, as if I had a hand in Hannah’s death. I know I didn’t, logically, but still. I was blessed with a daughter three years later, and I still wonder, why couldn’t Hannah have lived too? What could I have done differently?”

  Jennifer pushes up her sleeve to reveal a beautiful tattoo of two flowers on her forearm. “I got this Sweet Pea for my daughter and this Forget-Me-Not for my Hannah in heaven. It serves as a reminder that life is precious.”

  Melissa leans over and pulls Jennifer into an embrace. Carrie passes the tissue box around the circle since there isn’t a dry eye in the place now.

  And my mind drifts to Cole.

  I don’t know his story. I don’t know what he’s been through. But if it’s anything like Jennifer just described, then I don’t know how he’s burying it inside like he is.

  At the end of group, as I’m getting ready to leave, a young woman with dark curly hair approaches me. “Hi, Callie. I’m Jasmine.”

  “Hi, Jasmine. It’s so nice to meet you.”

  She fidgets with the strap of her purse on her shoulder. “I just wanted to say thank you for sharing your story with us. I haven’t felt ready to share mine yet.”

  I give her shoulder a squeeze. “It’s okay. You don’t have to talk about it if you’re not ready.”

  Her brown eyes fill with tears. “I’ve been trying to have a baby for five years, so I can relate to what you’re going through. It’s a hard pill to swallow when you realize that your dreams won’t come true like everyone else’s.”

  I want to offer her hope, to say something that will lift her spirits. But I know from experience that it won’t help. Jasmine may never have the child she wants.

  And neither will I.

  “I’m sorry,” she says, wiping her eyes. “I didn’t mean to unload that on you.”

  “No, no. It’s okay. I’m glad you did. It helps, talking to someone who understands what you’re going through.”

  Chelsea joins us with her phone in hand. “We should all exchange numbers. I’m an army wife, so I’m new to the area. I could use some friends here.”

  “Absolutely,” I say.

  Although I leave carrying the heavy weight of the women’s stories, I feel lighter after unloading mine.

  And a small, broken piece of me snaps back together.

  Twenty-One

  Cole

  “Go, go, go!”

  Miles sprints across the yard and dives behind the side of the pool house.

  “Nice footwork, Mayhem.” I clap him on the back.

  “Thanks, Night Hawk.”

  Callie stifles a laugh.

  I lift my eyebrows, feigning offense. “Are you laughing at my code name?”

  She covers her mouth with her hand as her shoulders shake. “No. Not at all.”

  “You’re one to talk, Wonder Woman. Real original.”

  Her eyes go wide. “What’s wrong with Wonder Woman? She’s awesome.”

  “Guys, focus!” Miles points his index and middle fingers at his own eyes and then faces them toward the yard. “They’re coming.”

  I crouch down and peek my head out from behind the corner of the pool house. Brandon and several of his friends are hiding behind a nearby tree.

  Miles’ friend, Jason, whispers, “What should we do?”

  “Get your squirt guns ready.”

>   Callie and the boys pump their guns and take aim at the tree.

  “I’m going to run,” I say, “and when I do, I want you guys to rain down on those boys with everything you’ve got.”

  Miles narrows his eyes. “Copy that, Night Hawk.”

  Callie cracks up again.

  “Screw you, Wonder Woman.” But my lips are tipped up into a smile.

  I give the boys a silent countdown with my fingers, and then I take off running in plain sight.

  Brandon and his friends charge after me, spraying me in the back with their water guns.

  “Yeah! We got you, Uncle Cole!”

  But Callie, Miles, and Jason are right behind them.

  “Now!” I shout.

  Brandon and his friends get blasted with water.

  Miles does a victory dance. “We win! We win!”

  Brandon ruffles his brother’s hair. “I want a rematch.”

  “Why don’t we up the ante,” Callie says. “Kids versus grown-ups.”

  Brandon and Miles look at each other and grin. “You’re on!”

  Callie squeals as I grab her hand, and we run for the nearest tree.

  “I have a plan.” Callie scans the yard and spots the boys huddled behind a bush. “We’re going to rush them.”

  I lift an eyebrow. “You want to let them win?”

  “Trust me.” She winks. “Follow my lead, Night Hawk.”

  I do my best to follow her without gawking. She’s in a yellow two-piece, leaving little to my imagination. She has the perfect hourglass figure, curves in all the right places.

  “You ready?”

  I clear my throat and nod.

  Good thing I’m wearing sunglasses.

  Callie drops her water gun onto the grass and runs out from behind the tree. I follow suit, wondering what she’s going to do next.

  The boys fly around the pool house, squirting the both of us, and they stop to high five each other.

  But Callie doesn’t stop running.

  She hoists Miles into her arms and makes a beeline for the pool.

  Brandon’s mouth drops open when he realizes that I’m running at him full-speed. He spins around and attempts to run away, but I catch him and toss him over my shoulder.