2: the pause you take before you do the hard thing.
Hands shake me awake. “Elly? Eliana, baby? What’s wrong?”
I blink away the crust of sleep and try to prop myself up on an elbow. It takes me a minute to realize that the hands belong to Yasmin.
“Are you okay?” she asks again. “You were making really weird noises in your sleep.”
I swallow. I don’t know if it’s sadness or oversleep that’s got me feeling so loopy and filter-less, but whatever the cause, the truth comes blurting out of me.
“I’m pregnant,” I hear myself say. “I just went to the clinic for an ultrasound.”
The silence that follows is so complete that I can hear every last sound. The critters in the walls, raccoons in the garbage. I can almost hear my own thoughts boiling between my ears.
Then Yasmin is holding me. “Oh, El. I’m so?—”
“And Bastian’s dead.” I swallow hard. “I heard it on the news at the clinic. They found him in a warehouse.”
She isn’t saying anything. What is there to say? Nothing, nothing. It’s all too good and too awful to be true.
“The baby’s healthy,” I continue, because now that I’ve started talking, I can’t seem to stop. “The doctor said everything looks perfect. Strong heartbeat. And all I could think was that Bastian’s heart isn’t beating anymore, but this one is, and I don’t— I don’t— I can’t?—”
My voice fails me.
Yasmin’s arms tighten around me, and I let myself sink into her as she cradles me against her chest like the helpless creature I am.
“I know,” she whispers. “I know, I know, I know.”
But shedoesn’tknow. How could she? I watched Bastian cut a finger off a corpse and I ran. I ran like the coward I am, and now, he’s dead, and I didn’t—couldn’t—wouldn’t?—
Tell him I loved him anyway.
A sob claws its way out of me. Then another. And a third. Yasmin rocks me through it all, one hand stroking my hair, murmuring nonsense words that don’t mean anything except,You’re not alone.
“What am I supposed to do?” I finally manage to splutter. “How am I supposed to?—”
“We’ll figure it out,” she promises. “Together. Like we always do.”
I want to believe her. God, I want to believe her so badly it kills me. But belief requires hope, and I’m fresh out of that.
My sobs quiet and eventually fade away. Finally, she asks, “What do you need?”
That’s what best friends are for. NotWhat are you going to doorHow are you feelingor any of the other bullshit questions people ask when they’re really just waiting for their turn to talk. Just,What do you need?
I don’t know how to answer her. WhatdoI need? A time machine? A different life? Both of those would be nice.
“I don’t know.”
“Well, what would help? Right now, in this moment. What would make it even a little bit easier?”
I sit with the question for a long time, my back against the couch arm, Yasmin’s hand warm in mine.
What would make this easier? The truth is, nothing will. Bastian is dead. I’m pregnant with his child. Those are facts that can’t be changed or softened.
But there’s something else underneath the gloom and shock and terror. Something I’ve been avoiding since I heard his name on that television.
I never got to say goodbye.
I ran from that alley without looking back, and maybe that was the smart thing to do, the safe thing. But it means that the last time Bastian saw me, I was running. Horrified by him and disgusted beyond measure. The last time I saw him, he was covered in blood with a dead man at his feet.
