Page 90 of Pretty Nightmare

Everything is coming together. Just the way I wanted.

It feels natural.

And inevitable.

The afternoon passes quickly. Adam spends most of it in his office while Maggie hangs out with McKay as he packs a bag. Donovan disappears to make phone calls. And I sit on Maggie’s bed and watch her through the open door. McKay’s bedroom isn’t right across from mine—well, it’s not my bedroom, is it? It’s Maggie’s. Anyway, it’s a little bit catty-corner. So I can’t see everything. Just a little sliver.

Maggie is on McKay’s bed brushing the hair of a doll that used to be mine.

I guess I never thought about it before, but everything she has now used to belong to me.

She got a few new things for her birthday, and once Christmas gets here, she’ll get a few more. But she and Adam showed back up at Old Home with nothing. I don’t even know where they were.

Adam has explained. Mentioned a few countries. The yacht. The ocean. The islands. But no real details.

I’m not sure how I feel about that.

In fact, I’m not sure how I feel about any of it. Not her. Not Adam, either. Separately, I love them both to pieces. But together I feel something else trying to creep in.

I know it’s jealousy. And little bit of hate, maybe. A touch of rage every now and then.

Because she is my daughter, but she rarely feels like my daughter anymore.

I try to cling to the memories of when she was small. Back when she was all mine. When she was a new baby she needed me so much. Not even McKay could take my place because I nursed her. So for about six months it was truly just her and I.

But then I didn’t want to do it anymore. And even though both McKay and Adam wanted me to keep going, Donovan was on my side and he’s a doctor, so I won. He said my mental health was more important than nursing.

I don’t recall being crazy back then, but clearly I was.

I should be writing this in my journal, but I’m tired of writing in that journal. Sometimes I feel like all the journaling I do is counterproductive. Like, should a person dwell so much on her faults? No one else journals. Maggie doesn’t have to journal.

Maybe Dear Indie needs to get a life? She’s been living vicariously through me for a long time now.

I linger on the bed, even after McKay finishes packing and goes downstairs with Maggie. Then Adam comes upstairs and packs too. I can’t see his room from any vantage point in mine. So I just sit on my old bed and stare out my window.

How many times have I looked out that window when I was growing up?

Even if the cottage was still there, I wouldn’t be able to see it from the bed. All I see is the tip-tops of trees and some sky. But even if the cottage was still there, I would not want to look at it.

I miss him.

My boy next door.

I feel the tears fall down my cheeks even before I realize I’m crying.

“Indie?”

I wipe the tears and turn my head to find Adam standing in my doorway.

“Are you OK?”

“Yeah.” I nod my head to emphasize this. “I’m fine. Really. I’m just thinking about…” I don’t need to say who so I stop.

Adam walks over to my bed—this is not your bed, Indie—and sits down. I turn on my stomach and look up at him. “I miss my room, too. I miss my life. And sometimes I think… I don’t like to admit this, but sometimes I think… it would’ve been better if I had never gotten pregnant.”

He opens his mouth to say something, then thinks better of it.

“I love her. I do. And I would do anything for her.”