But this escape? It’s not a bad idea. And ocean retreat could be a good place to decompress one day. Something I need and have never done. But the truth is that I have too many obligations and cannot take a break. Taking a break from life is now one of those things I put on my In Theory list. Actually, on my In Theory But Never Gonna Happenlist.
“What kind of car do you have?” he asks.
“That’s a weird question.” I back up and swirl my straw. “But it’s an Acura. An SUV.”
Dave about chokes on his drink. “That’s not a real SUV. If you want to reach my place, you’ll need something tougher. That’s how far north this house really is,” he teases. “But you’ll find out, if you actually come up.”
“Okay, Maine boy, I think I’ll be just fine. I learned how to drive in Boston, where it’s nothing but total chaos, and scary drivers, and bizarre road rules. I can outdrive anyone.”
“Okay, Mai Tai Di, I’ll be there if you’re not fine.”
He holds eye contact for what feels like ages, and I don’t look away.
Until I do.
“I should get some sleep,” I whisper.
“Same,” he says.
“How much longer are you here?” I ask.
“A few more days.”
“So, I’ll see you tomorrow?”
I’m profoundly relieved when he doesn’t respond with a jerky,Not if I see you first.
While I may love taking care of myself, I appreciate that he walks me back to my room. How he and I both check the bathroom and the closet.
We are both SVU fans, so we know that danger and trauma are everywhere. Maybe both of us wished we sensed something, some reason for him to stay.
It’s maybe unfortunately too safe.
When I’m Still Twenty-Five
My knitting skills aren’t great despite the thousands of tutorial videos I’ve watched, and the baby blanket I’ve created isn’t very good. Or even decidedly ugly but in a cute way. It’s just wonky and weird. Still, I continue knitting because I figure Patrick and Katrina will at least appreciate the effort if not the sad end product. It’s the thought that counts, as they say. When I finish another row and finally recognize how jacked up this supposed blanket is, I spew out a thousand swears. But it’s the effort and heart that matters, I hope. Because even a baby would likely shove it aside.
The box of baby stuff sits in my living room, glaring at me, and I throw my needles at the packages. “I tried!”
At least I checked out Patrick and Katrina’s Amazon list and pretty much bought it all and had those things and other stuffed shipped to me so that I could see it all and have the fun of wrapping it up. While I’m not sure that I’ll ever have a kid of my own, it’s very fun to check out cute baby outfits. This should make up for my vile blanket.
And—gah!—my best friend is having a kid in a few months! The one who kept me from melting down in college. Who helped give me a career. I’m so damn happy for him.
I unpack some more deliveries and re-box things into nicer packages. The hats are particularly darling. And while babies don’t really need shoes, I had to get a bunch.
My phone rings, and I see that it’s Patrick, so I pick up, expecting a fun pregnancy update, but I know she hasn’t had the best time.
“Ugh, is her heartburn still so awful? At least it’s not too long now. Another six weeks, right?”
“Diana? Oh God, Diana…” It’s Patrick, but it’s not a voice I recognize.
My heart almost stops. Something is horribly wrong, I can tell. “What is it?” I ask.
It’s almost hard to understand him through his sobs. “It was just a regular appointment. Just a checkup. The doctor always does an ultrasound. I sent you the 3D one, right? I did, didn’t I?”
“At thirty weeks,” I confirm.
What’s coming next is going to be awful, I know.Dammit.
