The knot in my throat rises fast, choking back the words before I can say them. And then I’m back in the hospital, remembering the sterile blue of the hospital walls, the coolness of the sheets, and that fleeting feeling of hope when I saw the ultrasound. And then staring at the doctor’s shoes as she said,“I’m so sorry, there’s no heartbeat.”
“Yes, but?—”
“And you never told me?” His voice cracks. “How could you?” His eyes look back at the glass of bronze liquid. “How could you keep something like that from me?” Josh’s voice is thick with something I’ve never heard before. Hurt, yes, but also bitterness. Disgust.
My chest tightens.
He’s never directed his anger at me before. It startles me.
“Josh…I was—we were so young.” I move to sit beside him, but he stands abruptly, shaking me off without even touching me.
“No,” he snaps. “That’s not an excuse. We were young? So what? You could have told me. Called me.Anything.” He moves away from me, emptiness in his eyes.
“You could have calledme,” I shoot back, my voice rising. “You left me with a letter. A fucking letter. Remember that?” I fold my arms defensively.
“I didn’t have a choice!” he yells, pacing now, hands tangled in his hair. “And this—this is something I should have known. God, Melanie.”
“What was I supposed to do?” I follow him, even though he keeps pulling away. “Track you down with my broken leg and say, ‘I was pregnant but not anymore’? You think that would havehelpedyou back then? With everything else you were going through?”
He spins around to face me, chest heaving. “And what about now? All this time you’ve kept this from me. How am I supposed to—” He swallows hard, then his voice thick, “How am I supposed to trust you now?”
“Trust me?” The accusation hits harder than I expect. I wrap my arms around myself. “Josh, it was a teenage miscarriage. It happened a lifetime ago. It wasn’t about trust—I was barely surviving. I was seventeen and broken andalone,” I croak.
Josh stares at me, eyes glassy. “I’mtryingto make a life with you, Melanie.” His voice is quieter now but somehow that makes it worse. “I let you in. I let youseeme. But somehow you didn’t think I deserved to know this?”
I blink rapidly, trying to keep the tears from falling.
“I don’t know,” I whisper, barely able to stand under the weight of this pain. “I just—I didn’t know how.” I reach for his hand, and for a second his fingers twitch, like they might take mine. But then he backs away and the air between us closes like a door.
Josh nods once. The motion is stiff. Final.
He rakes a hand through his hair and settles his gaze on mine. We’re at a standoff, neither able to rationally discuss the past without our emotions getting the better of us. His jaw ticks and he sucks in a breath. “I think—I think I need some time.”
I can’t breathe. It’s like the room is closing in on me, and all I can think is,please don’t let this be the moment that ends us.
He walks into the bedroom, and I don’t follow. My legs won’t move. A minute later, he returns with his black duffle bag in one hand and guitar slung over his shoulder. His jaw is clenched, his eyes distant. Cold.
“You’re leaving?” My voice breaks. “But…you’ve been drinking.” I gesture at the untouched glass.
“I didn’t touch it,” he says, flatly. Then he moves toward the door.
“What about the concert?” It comes out as a whisper, a final plea.
Josh pauses, his back to me and his hand resting on the knob. Then he turns back to me. His jaw ticks for a beat. “I’ll be there.”
And then he’s gone.
* * *
The door clicks shutand the silence that follows is deafening. I stand there, frozen, watching the door as if he might turn around and whisk back through it, apologizing for losing his cool. That doesn’t happen though. I wrap my arms around myself as if they might hold me together, keep me from breaking open. But they don’t. Not this time.
I sink into the couch, staring at the glass he left behind. The Jack Daniels glows in the dim light, still untouched. Still full of all the things we didn’t say.
I reach for the glass, my hands trembling, and bring it to my lips. I smell it and it stings my nose, sharp and warm, and dangerous.
Josh didn’t drink it.
But I do.
