DEENA
Survival was throwingmyself into work. It was the mechanical movement of fork to mouth to feed myself enough that I wouldn’t starve. It was the water beating down on my body while I scrubbed my skin raw, feeling nothing. The only thing keeping me going was the distant knowledge that I needed to be clean and fed, that my rent needed to be paid, that I was on my own now.
Exactly how I wanted to be.
Money came in. Clients were happy. Pregnancy appointments came and went.
All was good, and all was terrible. Life was a series of mundane snapshots. Scalding water hitting a dirty pan. Words blurring on a screen. An open window, letting the sounds and smells of the city in with the hot breeze.
Pregnancy brought with it an increasing number of unexpectedly terrible gifts. Round ligament pain—normal. Terrible balance—normal. Horrifying bowel movements—normal. No bowel movements at all—also normal. My first cavity in ten years—normal. A perpetually runny nose—normal. The body odor of an ogre—normal. Fuckingacne—normal.
I blinked, and the summer was almost over. My body was changing every day. I felt the baby move, wriggling and kicking and punching. He loved jabbing me in the ribs as soon as I lay down to sleep at night and waking me up from strange, vivid dreams with a two a.m. dance party in my uterus. I was uncomfortable all the time, but it didn’t matter. I simply put one foot in front of the other, ate enough food to keep myself going, and checked off the items on my to-do list.
Keep clients happy: check.
Eat enough to survive: check.
Wash myself when I got too funky: check.
Cry: check.
Cry some more: double check.
My mother called me, and I pretended everything was fine. I was empty inside. I avoided Alba. I was a turtle in its shell, retreating to protect myself from the terrifying world outside.
The money I’d made working for Cal gave me a cushion, so I didn’t have to panic about taking time off once my son arrived. I didn’t have loan payments to make. He’d given me stability, and he’d broken my heart. Once in a while, I’d prod at the wound he’d left in my chest. It was a gaping, raw thing, and poking at it made me feel something other than desperation and the dull, endless grind of survival. I wondered what he was doing. I thought about the feel of his arms around me, how safe I’d felt, how loved.
Stupid. I was so stupid.
My baby grew, and grew, and grew.
Labor loomed ahead of me, a terrifying event that would happen whether I was ready for it or not. I checked books out of the library and thought of Cal when I read them. I took a birthing class and tried not to glare balefully at the couples around me,fathers-to-be supporting their partners. Their hands on growing bumps, their eyes soft with tenderness or wide with fear.
After he showed up at my door, Cal called me a few times. Then, when I told him it was too hard to talk to him, he stopped. I couldn’t decide if it hurt more than anything, or if I was happy he’d listened to my wishes. I didn’t want his overbearing, over-controlling presence like a shadow over my life. I didn’t want him dictating what I ate and how I moved. I didn’t want him barking orders at medical staff.
I wanted to feel like my own person, like I was in charge of my own body.
But I missed his arms around me. I missed that feeling of safety when I let myself fall into him. I missed having someone to turn to when things got difficult. I missed the hope I’d felt, that boundless feeling of weightlessness he gave me.
Then I remembered it was a lie. He’d crafted a perfect little box for me and told me to get in. Like a fool, I’d agreed. Just like I’d been instructed to do my whole life. All this pain I felt—I’d done it to myself. I should’ve known better.
Now I was utterly alone—but hadn’t I always been?
THIRTY-SIX
CALLUM
Erica’s smilewas wide and bright, and it reminded me of the old her. Before she dated that asshole. Before the cancer. Before the fight for her life. She turned her phone around so I could see the screen.
“‘No evidence of disease,’” I read.
“I’m in remission,” she confirmed, and her eyes filled with tears.
My chest collapsed. I crumpled into the couch as Erica took a seat next to me, her arms coming around me to squeeze me tight. I should’ve been the one hugging her, not the other way around. But my breath shuddered, and Erica held me closer. She sniffled, and I pulled away to see her brush tears off her cheeks. She was glowing with happiness and relief.
“You did it.”
“I did it.” She nodded, that beautiful smile still on her face. “Couldn’t have done it without you, Cal.”
