The Words We Leave Unspoken(7)

At twenty-four years old, we were the youngest newlyweds I knew, but we were in love and determined to start our life together. We knew it would be hard work with our opposing schedules and our limited income, but that didn’t hinder our relationship one bit.

Until now, I remember thinking as I stared at the positive pregnancy test. The one I had taken after one missed period and a week of nausea that I wouldn’t label “morning sickness” because it lasted the entire day and into the evening. It was more like, “morning-noon-and-night sickness.”.

The test was positive; I was officially pregnant. I remember thinking, I shouldn’t be crying. I shouldn’t be upset. I shouldn’t be scared. Scared to tell John. We were married. We were adults. This should be happy news. I should be rejoicing. I was going to be a mother. I was going to have a baby. But instead, I paced the length of the small apartment, biting my lip until it bled, thinking about how this would change our life, change it in a bad way. I was the only one working. Would John be able to continue his degree? What would he think? What will he say? We didn’t plan for this. We had just barely registered for health insurance. We could hardly afford to feed ourselves. We lived in a one-bedroom apartment, stretching our monthly income as far as it would go. All these thoughts swirled in my head as I waited for John to come home. I said those two words over and over to myself, “I’m pregnant,” but no matter how I tried to spin it – I couldn’t imagine a positive reaction from John. My fear and anxiety was building each minute that I waited for him.

When he finally did appear at the door, soaking wet from the unrelenting rain, I immediately broke down at the sight of him. He took one look at me and rushed to my side, pulling me into his lap on that old worn leather couch. I sobbed against his shoulder, unable to say the words that I had rehearsed for nearly an hour.

“It’s okay, Gwen. Whatever it is, we’ll work it out,” he assured me. And in that moment, the fear of telling him, the fear of the unknown, the fear of what was to come melted away as I was reminded of why I loved this man so much. We were a team and everything would be okay.

“I’m pregnant,” I whispered against the side of his face.

He pulled back and held me by the shoulders, looking into my eyes.

“What?” he asked in shock.

And so I said it again, my voice barely a whisper, “I’m pregnant.”

I saw the realization hit him in the expression on his face, moisture filling his eyes. “We’re having a baby?” he asked, wide-eyed. I nodded. He crushed his lips against mine, so intensely, as he held me close with his hands wrapped around my back.

“Oh my God, we’re having a baby,” he said, pulling back just enough to say the words before kissing me again. It might not have been planned, the timing may not have been right, but it didn’t matter. John and I were going to have a baby, a family of our own and despite all of the above, it was meant to be. And once again I had felt silly for being so nervous, for being afraid to tell John.

“Fall fashion sucks this year.” Charley’s voice breaks through the silence, bringing me back to my crushing reality and the fact that I’m not alone. As I hear her drone on about plaid and feathers and platforms, exhaustion seeps in from every angle. I feel it in every single muscle in my body. I’m ready for this day to be over.





Chapter 6





Charley


I see Gwen in my peripheral vision rub at her face and abruptly sit up. She reaches over and pulls at the chain of the bedside lamp, and then lies back down on her side, facing away from me. I sigh and set my magazine down, switch off my own lamp and lie down on my back, staring into the darkness. I can feel her body shake and hear her muffled sobs as she cries silently into her pillow. This is not the Gwen I know. I can count on one hand the number of times I have seen Gwen cry, including the times she cried tears of joy, like when she said her vows to John or the moments following the births of Olivia and Max. Gwen was the strong one, she faced the hard things head-on with a head full of optimism and a heart made of steel. She was indestructible. She had held my hand through every step of life, literally since I took my first steps. She was five when I was born, six by the time I learned to walk. My mother loves to tell the story of Gwen holding my hand and teaching me how to walk. And that’s the way it has always been. Gwen the strong one, the nurturing one. And Charley, poor little Charley, the one who needs reassurance with each step in life.

I’m not sure what to do. Watching Gwen silently crumble before me. I’m the one who falls apart and Gwen’s the reassuring voice, the comforting pat on the back. I’m not good at this. Fear rushes through me, causing my heart to pound in my chest.

“Gwen?” I say her name so quietly that I can barely hear my own voice.

She slowly rolls to her back and stares up at the ceiling. I turn my head and look over at her, her face highlighted by the street lights that stream in around the closed blinds. I see tears slide from the corner of her eye and trickle slowly down her cheek until they spill onto the pillow, leaving a darkened, wet circle on beige cotton. I reach over above the covers and grab her hand. I take her cold hand in mine and squeeze, just a light squeeze to let her know that I’m here. I’m afraid to ask what’s wrong, afraid of what she’s going to say next. So we both lay in silence and I feel her squeeze my hand back before her quiet sobs break through the silence, filling the room and fracturing my heart. She completely breaks down and I resist the urge to pull her against me and hold her like she would do for me. But I know Gwen. She needs her space; she needs time to work through whatever is breaking her apart in this moment before she can talk to me. And so I just lay still and squeeze her hand so tight that I can barely feel my fingertips while my own tears fall gently against my pillow. I brace myself for what’s to come because I know it will be big, life changing. Nothing small or simple would warrant such an emotional response, such a silent confession from Gwen. My mind races through the possibilities. Is it Olivia? Max? Is it John?