by Kat T. Masen
A driver is waiting on the tarmac, and as soon as we’re cleared for exiting, I make my way to the car and direct him to the nearest open drugstore.
“Yes, sir. It’s about five miles from here.”
I had no idea babies could sleep for long stretches, but remember Em’s advice, “You need to feed her every four hours, even if she’s sleeping.”
I whip out the bottle, carefully measuring the formula while sitting in the back of the car. The water is reasonably warm, this black insulated bag that houses her bottles is a godsend.
I’m desperate to get to Phoebe’s house, but know that Katerina needs feeding and she’s my priority. Pulling her out of her carrier, she squirms with an odd expression, then lets out a long-winded fart which sounds airy and runny.
Fuck. Here we go again.
I swear, this kid shits like twenty-four-seven. As soon as she’s done, the last diaper comes out, and I’m changing this gross yellow shit that looks revolting. The bile in my throat rises, and I’m dry heaving trying to clean her up. Goddammit, it’s so fucking difficult. What do I know about cleaning girlie parts?
Fuck, I swear, this is not as easy as Em makes it out to be.
To make it all the worse, it’s gotten onto her onesie.
I changed her outfit, taking a good ten minutes to figure out what button goes where, my frustration mounting as her cries sound louder. Finally, I’m done and shove the bottle in her mouth, welcoming the silence.
After a full feed, burp, then burp again, she’s settled.
It fucking wasted an hour.
I ask the driver to mind her while I quickly duck inside the drugstore. The assistant who’s young and notices who I am, offers some advice on different brands. There’s no time for this bullshit, so I purchase what she recommends only to be asked for a selfie. I decline, telling her it’s for personal reasons. My biggest worry is the paparazzi tracking me down right now.
I don’t want anyone scaring Milana away, and the paps are ruthless disgusting pigs.
She appears embarrassed, cheeks flushing red and barely making eye contact after that. And unlike my normal behavior, I pull her into a hug, kiss her cheek, and say, “Thank you.”
“Where to, sir?” the driver asks, opening the door for me.
I read out the address that Flynn texted me.
“And quick, please.”
***
“You must be Phoebe.”
Her face tightens, arms folded with an irritated stance as she blocks the doorway. Milana never described her. Quite ordinary with ginger-colored hair and bright green eyes. Much like Milana, there is an innocence about her. I bet the woman has never been laid. She has that prissy, uptight look about her. The pajamas she’s wearing have unicorns all over them, it’s a dead giveaway.
“Yes. And you must be the douche who knocked up my best friend.”
“Kinda harsh, considering it takes two to tango?” I smirk, not appreciating the label.
“Yeah, it also takes two to parent—”
Quick to intercept, I grit, “If you know you have a kid.”
“Oh… c’mon, Wesley,” she drags, raising her voice, with a matching cold stare. “You would have told her to abort the baby. She doesn’t fit into your lifestyle.” She uses air quotes around the word lifestyle.
My head shakes, unwillingly, a lack of respect for this nobody standing in front of me thinking she knows who I am and what I would have done. Yeah, all right, kids aren’t on my agenda. Big fucking deal.
Phoebe’s eyes divert to the carrier, narrowing her brows in confusion. “Why do you have her, anyway?”
“So, you’re not aware that your best friend dumped her baby with her brother and ran away?” I tell her, frustrated at this conversation.
Phoebe appears stumped by the revelation, pulling her hair into her mouth and chewing it, annoyingly.
“She said she would be away for a few days. She needed to get away and clear her head. She never mentioned leaving Katerina,” she says, faintly.
“Well, clearing her head means dumping our kid. Where is she?”
“I don’t k-know…” she stammers, nervous and upset. “I knew it.”
“You knew what?”
“That she wasn’t coping. Mom told me she was probably going through postpartum depression, given everything that’s happened.”
Phoebe extends her arm, prompting me to come inside, finally.
The house is small with brown furniture and pictures hung all over the walls. There’s a glass cabinet in the corner housing creepy porcelain dolls dressed in fancy dresses.
An older man, assuming it’s her dad, is sitting in his rocker and reading a book with a pipe and steaming coffee beside him. There’s a sweet smell in the air, and moments later, Phoebe’s mom comes out with a plate of breakfast, which she hands to her husband.
They all have matching ginger hair. Comical, to say the least.
“Oh, I didn’t know you were expecting a visitor, honey?”
“Neither was I. Mom, Dad, this is Wesley. Katerina’s…” she coughs, purposely, rolling her eyes, “… the father.”
I’d like to think it isn’t intentional, the shock of the news which explains their expression. Eyes wide, mouth gaping, and silence follows. Phoebe’s dad is quick to break the stance, placing the pipe back into his mouth.
“Mom, Milly’s gone missing. She left the baby with Flynn. We need to find her. Can you watch her for a few hours?”
Phoebe’s mom clutches her chest, worried. “Honey, should we call the police?”
“No, Mom, it’s not like that.” Phoebe shakes her head with a forced smile, turning to me for reassurance.
“Um… no,” I speak up, clearing my throat. “We will find her, won’t we, Phoebe?”
“Yes, of course. I’m sure she’s just visiting her mom. You know, after the news and all.”
What news? I wanted to ask Phoebe, but time is of the essence, and we need to get out of here.
“Of course, sweetie. Come here, baby girl. I’ll run to the store and grab some extra diapers and formula.”
Handing the carrier over, something odd washes over me. Worry. Panic. It feels sickening and begins to make my stomach curl.
What is the feeling? It’s almost like anxiety from separating.
“I already packed plenty, stopped off at the drugstore and got some.” I hand over the bag.
“Oh, well, aren’t we the organized parent,” Phoebe snickers. “I’ll go get changed.”
“Please,” I tell her with a sarcastic smile.
Good. I’m not going anywhere with her dressed like that. No matter how desperate I am. That getup is not cute.
Phoebe’s mom takes the carrier, lifting Katerina out and cradling her. She smiles, sings a nursery rhyme of some sort before Phoebe’s dad rattles off about not getting clucky ’cause his shop is dusty and old.
Ten minutes later, Phoebe enters the room again, this time dressed in a pair of jeans and a Rams hoodie. My favorite team. Maybe this bitch isn’t so bad, after all.
“You ready?” Phoebe asks, grabbing the keys off the entry table.
I take a moment to watch Phoebe’s mom with Katerina. She’ll be okay, right? I mean, it’s just a couple of hours. Why the hell is this bothering me so much?
It’s almost like I’m going to miss her.
“Let’s go,” I tell Phoebe, following her out the door until we’re standing in front of a beaten old red Toyota.
“What the hell is this?”
“My car. And please, Susan doesn’t like to be looked at that way.”
“Susan? You named this piece of shit, Susan?”
“Oh, sorry, Wesley Rich,” Phoebe mocks with a pout. “We can’t all drive Porches like you. Get the fuck in and let’s go find my best friend.”
“Fine, but if I die, it’s all your fault.”
She rubs her hands together, purposely lifting her brows, pleased. “Yes, because dying inside Susan would be fun. For fu
ck’s sake, grow a dick and get in the car.”
This bitch will be the death of me.
But I no longer care.
I’m one step away from finding Milana.
And that’s all that matters.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Milana
The lake is beautiful.
Dark, eerily peaceful with the moon’s reflection adding to its beauty. I envy it. The serenity, the way it’s so peaceful at night but during the day—it’s something else. It makes people happy and brings joy to many.
No matter what, it’s beautiful inside and out. Nothing at all like me.
There’s this constant heaviness weighing me down. I’ve been sitting on this rock for hours on end, staring, contemplating, and trying to extract any emotion to give me back my sanity. Whatever this is it has a hold on me, it’s in my bones and blood. It is everywhere I look and everywhere I am.
And the irony, my memory never falters. Taunting me each waking moment and reliving this nightmare that has constantly become my primary focus.
“For the love of God, pass me your jumbo Tampax? My nose is bleeding again.”
Phoebe lays on the floor of my room, head tilted back to stop her nosebleed. She used to get them often as a kid. Her method as she grew older was to shove a tampon inside the nostril.
I can barely move my limbs from this godforsaken virus I picked up on the plane. Managing to lay on my side, I knock down the pile of tissues that I had thrown onto my nightstand and pull the drawer open. My vision is blurry from the constant sneezing and using my hands to fumble through mess, I find nothing.
Periods, periods, when was my last period? I normally had a spare box or two inside my drawer.
I can’t seem to focus. Phoebe’s cackling about something else, but my mind will not stop questioning. When the fuck did I last get my period?
October.
September.
August.
My focus becomes incredibly clear. My hands move toward my breasts and cup them. They’re large, tender, and unusually sore. The beat of my heart begins to race uncontrollably, the room spinning in circles.
The bile rises, my stomach churning, and without notice, the acid runs up into my throat and onto the floor with a large gurgle.
“Milly! Are you okay?”
In a state of shock, I know what my head refuses to compute. The signs are all there, and I’m a fool to think he can’t find his way back to me.
And this time, he played the ultimate game.
Created the nightmare now inside of me.
I wish often, just like now, that my memory will fade, disappear into the still of the night. If I can take away Mama’s disease, I gladly will and feel it myself, for I don’t want to remember. Not the moment when my life changes forever. And not the moment when I begin to despise the man who consumes me whole.
“The baby’s heart rate is high. We need to take you to the O.R. now.”
Mama and Phoebe clutch both hands, worriedly. Around me, there’s chaos. Beeping monitors and people hustling. The nurse was young, didn’t look a day older than me. What would she know? She did not look like she had been through this, and I didn’t like the way she had a gleam of panic in her eyes.
I caught a fleeting stiffening of Mama’s face. Her hand was gripping mine, her knuckles almost stark white. I wanted to tell her everything would be okay, but I’d be lying. I didn’t know if everything would be okay. This could be the beginning or the end.
“But she’s only thirty-five weeks, surely that can’t be safe for the baby.”
A man, attractive with two cute dimples nestled into his ebony skin, placed a needle into my wrist, stabbing me and wrapping some tape to secure it. For someone who stabbed people for a living, it would have been polite to ask me if needles freaked me out.
“It’s safe enough. We have no choice as the baby appears distressed. You’re in the best hands. Now, do we have the father here?”
Phoebe jumped quickly. “No, she has me. I’ll be the dad.”
The nurse said nothing, and with some additional help, she wheeled me to the door and told us only one could enter the operating room.
“I want my mama,” I cried, openly.
“I’m here, Milly, right here.”
With her hand grasping mine, I sobbed, “Mama, I’m scared.”
She hushed me, kissing my forehead. “You’re a brave girl. This baby is going to be loved so much. I promise you, you’ll change forever and feel nothing like the love for this baby.”
Nodding my head, I laid back, and stared at the ceiling while the surgeon began. The voices that surrounded me were muffled. I was too focused on this tugging of my body, and after what seemed like forever, a sound echoed loudly in the room—wails from a baby.
“Congratulations, it’s a girl!”
Everyone in the room cheered. Mama grinned so big but with clouded eyes. She began to laugh, a joyous laughter that I hadn’t heard in such a long time.
“She’s beautiful.”
The nurse, smiling wide, brought her over to me, the baby’s face making contact against my own.
She stopped crying, squinting her eyes and blinded by the light. It was all surreal, the elation in the room and the overjoyed miracle of birth. But I was exhausted, waiting for this moment of love to wash over me like everyone said it would. There was something that stirred, an unknown emotion, but all I could see was his face.
All I see is him.
“I’m so proud of you, honey. I told you, you’ll fall in love from the moment you see her.”
I smiled, forced. “You’re right, Mama, that’s exactly how I feel.”
That moment remains crystal clear. The moment that every woman dreams about, just not me. I never wanted babies. I never wanted to have a family and pass on Mama’s disease. No one, and I mean no one, understands the pain of watching their mother suffer as much as I have. Each time, each memory loss fuels my sadness and throws me deeper into depression.
And just when I began to climb out, see a small ray of light, the nightmare continues its wretched domination.
She’s lying beside me dressed in a little pink bunny outfit that Phoebe insisted she wear. Her face has changed, a chubby little girl with light eyes and wispy brown hair. Something about her face, something I couldn’t quite distinguish, reminded me of him. It was the shape of her eyes, perhaps, nothing like my almond shape. Or maybe it was her tiny hands, the shape of her nails that mirrored his.
I still thought about him.
Every day.
Every time I looked at her.
She stirred, softly, and when that stir was the beginning of a cry, I scooped her in my arms. I was tired. She didn’t take to sleeping well, and my breasts didn’t produce the milk as they should. I felt like a failure, a sign that I wasn’t cut out to be a mother. I was not sure when I last washed my hair or even shaved my legs.
It was all about her.
Just her and me.
I watched her again, and surely, she must realize I was complaining about her as a sweet smile played on her lips. My heart began to flutter, my smile in tow. I laughed, softly to myself, wishing Mama could see this.
Quickly, hoping to recap this moment, I placed her in her carrier and headed over to visit Mama. She loved seeing Katerina, and I was excited, for once, to have her in my arms.
It was a short drive over, enough to keep Katerina settled. The moment I arrived, a doctor ushered me in, asking me to take a seat.
“Miss Milenov, we wanted to speak to you in private.” He removed his glasses, rubbing his eyes. “Unfortunately, we received your mother’s results back, and they aren’t good.”
My stomach omits a sick growl, making it difficult to breathe and focus. “What’s… what’s wrong?”
“We found a tumor beside her brain. It’s cancerous and has spread. We can’t operate.”
My hands began to shake, his words absolute nonsense. “What do you mean you can’t operate?”
“It has spread, and it’s too late. I’m sorry.”
I shook uncontrollably. “How long… how long do we have?”
“It’s a difficult question. I can’t really ans—”
“Answer me!”
Katerina jolted at my scream, crying in symphony inside her carrier.
“Anywhere between weeks to months. I’m sorry.”
Her cries amplified, and with my anger gripping me, I picked her up and hushed her, rocking her back and forth with no luck. The doctor suggested that she took her off my hands, but I pulled her back, warning her not to touch my baby.
“Miss Milenov. We have counselors on site. I think it’s best you talk to them, and maybe get someone to help you with the baby. It’s going to be a difficult time.”
Staring down at her face, unaware that my tears were falling onto her blanket, my mind became increasingly clear.
If I have to choose between her and Mama, I will choose Mama in a heartbeat.
I squeeze my head between my legs, desperately trying to erase all the memories. The darkness should have cured me. Running away from everything was my only answer. I’m not meant to be a mother. I can’t even give birth like a normal mother should have nor can I even breastfeed. And that bond, the supposedly unconditional love that you feel, it’s missing.
No, I made the right decision. Flynn will help, he promised me he would. He won’t let me down. I just need to be alone and somehow I have to find a way to stop Mama from dying anytime soon.
There’s a rustling in the bush. It echoes loudly in the still of the night. Maybe my time is up, a wild animal ready to feast on me and eat up my soul.
Yeah, I should be so fucking lucky.
And then, the dead silence becomes heavy breathing. In and out. Strong, heavy, and with a familiar beat.
My mind is playing tricks on me. Hallucinating from the surge of emotions that gripped me only moments ago.
“It’s you,” the voice whispers, not to frighten me.
In a heart’s beat, my pulse races furiously. Another memory, another piece I want so desperately to forget.