It's One of Us(26)
She loses herself in this rabbit hole of glorious, distended bellies and cradled hands and fingers in the shape of hearts and radiant joy and sometimes even feels happy for the mothers-to-be in the photos. It certainly isn’t an issue for her. She isn’t addicted. There are just moments when she finds comfort in the idea of what might be.
Today, though, it is punishment, and she won’t pretend otherwise. Seeing the joy and happiness on these strangers’ faces makes her ache inside. For the past few months, she’s scrolled these hashtags full of excitement and wonder, cataloging the changes in her own body with comparisons to #12weekspregnant and #excitingnews. Now she wonders why there aren’t more hashtags that deal with the trauma of losing a child. The horrors of miscarriage. The injustice of a body’s biological betrayal. Something more visceral than #rainbowbaby.
#bleedingagain #lostit #loser #wonteverbeamother.
She’s handled this one well, she thinks. She’s been strong. She hasn’t whined. She hasn’t obsessed. She hasn’t gotten obliterated on white wine and screamed at Park. The Ativan is helping, for sure. Every evening, half of a small round tab lingers on her tongue, sweetening her own bitter recriminations.
Park comes into the bedroom carrying a cup of coffee for her as if this is just any other day. He hurries to her side, placing the coffee on a coaster by her phone. “Honey? Are you okay? Tell me why you’re crying.”
Park is so good at asking the hard questions. He’s never shied away from her sadness, probably because he doesn’t know it’s driven by her own guilt. She did this to them. She is responsible.
She wipes her face, surprised to feel the wetness. “I hadn’t realized I was.”
He joins her on the bed, pulls her to his chest. He is strong, and warm, and despite herself, she snuggles in, letting the tension release from her body. She is still mad at him—furious, in fact—but she wants comfort more than rage right now.
She feels him relax as well. They need this. The touching. It’s so easy to forget the importance of a simple hug. The chemicals that release when they love each other, making them both feel better. They haven’t spoken more than the necessities in days. They certainly haven’t touched.
Park takes a deep breath. Despite herself, she tenses. Here we go, she thinks, and mentally slaps herself. He’s lost something here, too.
“Olivia, I’m so sorry. I’ve made a mess of things. I didn’t tell you about donating before because I was a coward. I should have said something the moment you offered to let me donate. That was so magnanimous of you, and you were hurting, and... I just couldn’t admit what I’d done. Not right then. I felt like I’d be hurting you even more, kicking you when you were down. Please, honey. Please forgive me.”
She sighs. Her brows are drawn together so tightly she can sense the divot in the tender flesh above her eyes. She idiotically waits for the morning sickness to come so she can surge out of the bed, away from his strong arms, but it’s absent. She is empty. It’s the weirdest feeling. Breasts no longer sore. Womb no longer swelling. Stomach solid as a rock. Hungry. She’s actually hungry.
Life goes on, damn her.
Park is still talking. “We’re going to get through this. I know it’s going to be rough, but I swear, Liv, we’re going to get through this.”
Focus on your husband.
“I’m not sure what there is to get through, Park. This situation is terrible, but we’ve done nothing wrong.”
“No, darling, we haven’t. You’re absolutely right. But there’s probably going to be more press. We’ve gotten lucky they aren’t swarming, but in case they do, we need to decide what we want to say.”
A tiny purl of panic flows through her. “We don’t have to say anything. I don’t want to talk to the media, Park. No one’s called the past few days. They won’t, I’m sure of it.”
“I understand where you’re coming from. I do. But when they put it all together...the suspect notwithstanding, Beverly was your friend.”
“No, she wasn’t. She was someone I knew, that’s all. An acquaintance at best. I’m certainly not going to talk to the media about her.”
Because I might tell them the truth, that I hated her to the marrow for what she had that I did not.
“Okay. Okay.” He holds her again in silence. She has a sudden realization. We are never going to be parents together. This is the end for us. It hurts, but not as deeply as it should. She should be searing with pain at the loss of her marriage, of her husband, of the man she loves, but instead she feels nothing. She has been desensitized by grief. These past few years, the horrors, the high and lows, the pain, the shots, the indignities...she can’t help it; she resents him. He can’t give her what she needs. He never has. Instead, he’s given it to God knows how many other women. Park Bender’s world-class sperm. The gift that keeps on giving.
She shifts restlessly and he releases her, leaning back against the pillows so he can see her face again. Has he sensed her thoughts? Does he know the moment they’ve just had? What feels like their last moment as a team? Does he know he’s killed them dead?
She thinks that yes, he does, especially when he clears his throat and stands.
“I have to call the police and talk to them about Winterborn. I’ve been doing some research. If I give my approval, Winterborn will be able to release the names of the women who received my donations over the years. They will be able to track down my...the children, do testing, and discover who killed Beverly. It’s pretty simple, actually. There can’t be that many of them. There were limits, ethical limits.”