Alex, Jake, Cara’s ex Cole, and Nick all used to play football together. Alex and Jake got injured, Cole is an asshole and moved away, thank God, and Nick, well, Nick’s dead.
I shake my head and look back at Livie, who keeps track of everything ever since she started tracking her cycles, including who’s picking the next book.
“I think it’s my turn, but I don’t really want to make decisions. I’ll read anything, just tell me what.” If I can go all my life without making a single decision again, that would be great.
That’s a lie, but still. Wishful thinking, maybe?
They all stop for a minute to consider, and maybe it’s the silence that wakes Cara up.
“Is it over?” she asks with a groggy smile, and we all laugh. I love that sunshine girl with all my heart, but she’s turning into a little blob with the pregnancy.
“Baby Charlie doing a number on you, huh?” I ask, touching my belly on reflex. I have mixed feelings about pregnancies—or the inability to ever get pregnant again, that is. Uterus yeeted and all.
They all know it too, which is why they’re staring at me with fear behind their eyes. I’m not the only one with a touchy relationship with pregnancies in this group, but I don’t dare look at Livie.
“Y’all, it’s okay. We’re allowed to talk about pregnancy. I’ve said it before. Just because my uterus doesn’t exist anymore doesn’t mean I don’t get to join you when you’re all excited about yours. Pregnancy is tough on the body; that’s why I made the comment. Stop walking on eggshells around me.”
They’re so careful, and I love them for it, but it gets old quick. I have two beautiful, healthy daughters. Was I done? No. But when my life was at risk and the choice was leaving my girls orphans or losing the ability to carry another human, I chose the second.
What a life. Thirty-two, a widow without a womb, and a house full of broken things that used to be filled with laughterand joy. One of these days, I might fix them, but where is the budget for them? Until then, whatever.
The hint of guilt threatens to consume me. How can I be so ungrateful when I’m alive? Unlike him.
“Cara, are you still throwing up?” I ask, trying to break the uncomfortable silence.
She shakes her head, sitting up and pulling her long blonde hair away from her face. “Just exhausted all the time. That’s why I told you I couldn’t commit to taking Bella to practice.”
“What practice?” Roe asks.
“Bella wants to play hockey, and I can’t take her, so I asked Cara, since she’s the one with the most flexible schedule,” I reply before turning back to Cara and adding, “It’s okay. She’ll have to pick something local and less expensive. There’s no way I can manage the shop, Vero’s therapy, and taking her on two hour trips multiple times a week for practice and games.”
I love being a mom. I love being their mom. But parenting for eleven years with the most involved partner and then losing him unexpectedly has meant more than a few adjustments. Vero needs occupational and speech therapy several times a week. She’s brilliant, but complications at birth affected her development. Between that, running the store, and driving Bella to and from places, I have no time for anything else.
“Why didn’t you ask me? I have so much time,” Roe answers, making me laugh at the absurdity.
I laugh because this girl owns two businesses and races motocross. So much time, my ass. It kills me to ask for help for regular things. I don’t want to ask for extra.
“Roe. You’re the busiest person I know.”
“I’m not racing anymore, and I don’t have to go to the bar every day. I can schedule my tattoo appointments around her practices…and I can sketch while I wait for her. Where are the practices at?”
“Lake City,” I reply. Lake City is about a forty-five minute drive west of here, and it’s either that or Jacksonville. Jacksonville is so busy and big. I don’t feel comfortable letting my teenager go without me.
“We can all take turns,” Nellie says. She used to be Bella’s school counselor, and they have a great relationship.
“I can’t ask that of all of you.”
“Do you want her to play hockey?” Roe asks.
I contemplate my answer.
Do I want her to play a sport where she can be thrown into a piece of glass? No.
Do I want her to pick something with less contact? Yes.
Do I think she deserves a chance to try things she has never tried before? Yes.
Do I think her father would’ve liked her to try any sport as long as she was moving her body? Yes.
