In a Book Club Far Away(49)

At the other end of the table, Regina cackled. “I love how she describes her father, that she grew up with a healthy sense of fear of him. I totally related to that. Even if my mother’s barely five feet and I’m this age, I have never once talked back to her.” She placed a hand on her five-month bump. “And I wonder, too, how am I going to parent?”

“Being a parent is a job where you never know where you stand,” said Weston, who’d moved into their neighborhood a month ago with his wife. They were in the Air Force, and parents to one college-aged daughter. “One day you think you’re doing okay, and the next you feel like you suck at it.”

Sophie cackled. “That is ten thousand times the truth.”

Across the long side of the table, Abby, a new book clubber yelled, “I can’t hear you guys down here!”

“What are you even talking about?” Next to her, another newbie, Carla, placed a hand behind her ear in emphasis.

The table then recounted the discussion, and the level of noise ratcheted up to what Adelaide could only describe as five million decibels. Then, someone complained that their food was taking too long.

Everyone was obviously tired and hungry. To help distract the clubbers, Adelaide flipped through the itinerary only to realize she’d forgotten to bring questions.

“Adelaide,” Sophie said.

She startled out of her thoughts. “Yeah?”

“I’m going to the bathroom, wanna come with me?”

“Sure.” She stood, eager for peace, and with what she hoped was some kind of an excuse, followed the back of Sophie’s colorful shirt.

Finally, she made it to the bathroom. It was quaint but clean. There was a woman wiping down the sink, who first nodded at the both of them and then sat on her stool and looked back down at her book.

“Here, Ad.” Sophie pushed a damp brown paper towel into her hand. It was cool to the touch, and Adelaide pressed it against her eyes, first the right, and then the left, as her breathing escalated to a chaotic pattern. “What’s going on?”

Adelaide kept her eyes shut. She felt the cold bathroom tile against her back, a slight reprieve from her churning thoughts. “I’m just so mad.”

“About what?”

“It’s hard to explain.”

The door flew open, and Regina appeared. She had a hand on her belly. “What’s going on?”

“God, it’s nothing.” Adelaide half laughed.

“Obviously, it is something.” Sophie voice was calm and nonjudgmental.

“Ad.” Regina placed a hand on her shoulder. “What is it?”

Adelaide heaved a breath. She knew it would feel better to let it out, but it felt so heavy, like a mountain to move. She leaned into it, if but a little. “I… couldn’t stand it anymore.”

“Stand what?” Regina said.

“All of it.” Adelaide dug into her heels. “The talk about kids. It’s getting to be too much. Not because I don’t like kids, but because I love them. I want them. I—” She looked up at her friends, and exhaled the truth. “I lost a baby at the beginning of the deployment. I have lost babies before.”

“Oh, Adelaide. Sweetie.” Sophie’s expression softened.

Regina’s eyes began to water. “I’m sorry.”

“Not to say I’m not happy for you.” Adelaide scrambled to explain, realizing that she’d put Regina on the spot. “Because I’m so happy for you. I am, so much. I just wish sometimes that it was me.”

Adelaide tore her eyes away from her friend’s face. There was no time for pity, there was no room for sadness in her life. She had all she had ever truly needed, and had no reason for complaint. She infused a lightness into her voice. “But I’m fine. Really I am. I just needed a break from all those people out there. I was just having a moment.”

She pushed herself off the wall. Her tears threatened to bubble over, but her stubbornness, thank goodness, pulled her through. She made it to the sink, turned on the faucet, wet her hands, and patted her cheeks. It was only then that she took a good look at herself under the gloomy light casting a foreboding glow on her face. The bags under her eyes cast a purple hue. In her eyes were exhaustion, and something more. Something she was perfectly happy ignoring.

So she took a deep breath, imagined oxygen flowing through her lungs. She tried her lips to see if they could still smile. They did. She spun around. “All right, I’m ready to go.”

“Adelaide.” Sophie’s tone was a warning. “You don’t need to do that.”

“Do what?”

“Pretend,” Regina said.

She shrugged. “It happens to one in four women. It’s just par for the course.”

“Jasper and I lost a baby,” Sophie said. “And I was sad, for a long time. It’s okay to be sad. Though I’m not going to assume how you feel, or assume you’d want to tell me, pretending these feelings don’t exist won’t make them go away.”

Adelaide crossed her arms and hugged herself. “I’m sorry, Soph.”

“Me, too, but this is not about me. This is about you.”

“And this is about us,” Regina added. “Because telling me about what happened won’t lessen my joy. I care about you. I want to be there for you, too. Like how you showed up at my apartment that first week, and when you were there for me when I took my pregnancy test? I’m here for you.”