Lucy looked up from the floor where she was lining up her stuffed animals.
“No.” Her little brows furrow
“You don’t want it anymore?”
She shrugged. “I don’t need it.”
“Why not?”
She thought about that. “Because I’m not scared here.”
My throat tightens a little.
“Maybe,” she added carefully, “you give it to her?”
“To who?” I ask, confused.
“Our old mommy.” It had been over a week since she had even mentioned her, and she didn’t look sad. “So, she won’t be alone.”
I sat down on the edge of the bed. “You want to give this to her?”
Lucy shakes her head. “Can you? So she has one friend?”
Part of me hates that she wants that for her, but the other part, well, it loves that she has such a kind heart, regardless of how hers was neglected.
“Maybe I’ll mail it?”
She stands up and walks over to the bed, Axel under her arm, and she climbs up and hugs me. “I’m tired.”
I held it together last night, but right now, I am at the level of frustrated that women get where there are only three options: cry, punch her in the face, or let it fester and fade, which has been my go-to most of my life. Now something feels horribly wrong with that. I have life growing inside of me, and the very possibility that they could possibly feel that makes my eyes sting. So I decide to allow a tear or two to fall.
Lenzin exhales, and his hand flexes on my thigh like he can sense it, which is insanely naïve to think, let alone believe, until he says, “What’s wrong, Schatz?” before he even opens his eyes.
As evenly as possible, I answer, “I need to cry, so our babies don’t.”
His lashes flutter, and he opens his eyes, moving cautiously as he sits up, pulls me into his huge, strong arms, and holds me as he says, “Cry.”
The rest of our Monday morning was far less dramatic.
He kissed me on the way out, like it’s the most natural thing in the world, and it is, it really is. I hugged Lucy and told her to have an amazing day and that I love her, and gave her another hug,just because.
Instead of taking the hour to get things prepared for the day, I sent Scotti a message to make it to an appointment I made last night, thinking I would cancel.
Now I am sitting in a sterile visitation room, in a place that is nothing like I expected it to be. A place that is far from the way the TV shows depict, mostly because you can’t smell something through a screen.
A buzzing sound and a loud click announce my mother and I look up as she walks in head held high, eyes sharpening like daggers as they land on me. Then she smiles that malicious smile that tells me she’s already decided what she is going to say to try to hurt me.
I could play that game too, tell her she’s aged like shit, tell her I’m so glad she finally got caught, and that orange is so not her color, but I don’t. And I don’t because that is exactly what she would throw at me if she could.
Then her eyes land on my stomach.
“Look at you.” I tighten my jacket to shield my stomach as she sits down. “All knocked up and single. Three generations of single mothers,” she laughs. “You must be —”
“I’m almost twenty-five, will have my degree, and I’m not single.”
“I don’t see a ring on your finger.”
“You don’t have to be married to be in a relationship.” I say trying my best to keep my voice even.
