This Will Only Hurt a Little(65)
Marc and I had lunch plans with Colin. I wanted them to meet each other and also to tell Colin the news that I was pregnant. We met at Le Pain on Melrose; it was a really beautiful day. I was nervous for them to meet, but I knew they would hit it off. They were both people that everyone seemed to like a lot, so why wouldn’t they like each other? We ate a leisurely lunch and chatted about Colin’s new girlfriend and the movie he was about to do. They were thinking of moving to New York together, which I thought sounded like a good idea for him.
During lunch, I noticed that Marc kept pulling his phone out of his pocket and looking at it, without trying to be rude. Finally, right as we were paying the check, he excused himself and took a call. I assumed it was from Abby, some work crisis or her wondering when he would be around to work that day. We hugged Colin goodbye and started across the street when Marc grabbed my arm, “Buddy. I need to tell you something. And I need you to remember that you’re pregnant, okay? You have a baby inside you and I need you to remember that.”
His voice was weirdly shaky. I was confused.
“Okay?”
We were at his car. He opened the passenger door and sat me in the seat and looked at me. “Heath is dead. He’s dead. They found him in New York.”
I could not process what he was saying to me. I had talked to Heath on the phone a few months earlier, on Michelle’s birthday, when they were really breaking up, and it had been awful.
I didn’t know what to do. Michelle was in Sweden shooting a movie and her phone never works when she’s out of the country. I called our friend Ben Lee, who answered and told me everything he knew. Then I called Michelle’s agent, I think, who gave me her Swedish cell phone number. I sat there, trying to breathe through my sobs, and then I called Michelle, who answered immediately. I don’t know who called her to tell her. She already knew. I told her I loved her. I told her it would be okay. I told her I would fly to New York and meet her there. I told her I loved her. I told her Matilda would be okay. I told her I was sorry. I told her I loved her and I would see her in the morning. She could barely speak.
Marc booked a red-eye for me. I sat by the window, and on the seat back of what felt like every seat, CNN played nonstop footage of Heath’s death. I felt like I was in an actual nightmare. I sobbed and sobbed and the girl sitting next to me looked over and put her hand on my arm and quietly said, “You knew him, huh?”
I didn’t have the energy to lie, so I just nodded and then she shut off her TV. I coordinated with Michelle’s mom, who was flying from San Diego and landing around the same time as I was. Colin somehow arranged for a driver to pick us up at the airport. We had to get keys from Michelle’s longtime friend Dan when we landed, which was a little tricky since it was so early. We pulled up just before 6 a.m. and there were already paparazzi camped out. Michelle and Matilda arrived two hours later.
I have snapshots in my head from that time, those first few awful weeks. Things that will stay with me forever. Every person I loved in my twenties lost someone they loved most. Even Marc, although this happened before I knew him. I don’t know why. But I was there. To be there and sit with them, I guess. To be a friend. To cry with them and get them cold washcloths for their eyes and calm them down. And to make plans when they couldn’t and make a joke when we needed to laugh.
I understand the public’s fascination with Heath’s death, with him in general, as a cultural icon or as the greatest actor of a generation or whatever. But you know, for me it was really simple. He was my best friend’s love and the father of her child. My beautiful magical goddaughter. A child we all love so dearly, who has so much of him in her, without even trying. He was my friend and I loved him.
My prenatal yoga teacher told me to talk to my baby and reassure her that my grief was about something else and that everyone was so excited for her to be born. I did it every day, talking to my little belly and reassuring my unknown child that my tears were for another reason, not her.
As I got bigger and bigger, I couldn’t imagine ever working again. I was gaining so much weight, but my baby was healthy and I guess so was I—I didn’t have gestational diabetes or anything. What I did have was a craving for fresh strawberry milkshakes and donuts, so I think that probably had something to do with the weight gain.
We still couldn’t sell my house, which started to feel like maybe it was a problem since there was a writers’ strike, I wasn’t working, and now we had two mortgages, but Marc was fairly chill about things, so I tried to be as well. My old friend Josh Friedman called me up and asked if I would be interested in doing a few episodes of his TV show, Terminator: The Sarah Connor Chronicles even though I would be hugely pregnant. I thought why the fuck not, it would be something to do and might be fun to be on TV hugely pregnant. My first day on set, Thomas Dekker, who I think was maybe a teenager still, looked at my giant belly and laughed. “Oh my God! Normally our prosthetic dudes are really good, but that looks insane! They overdid it!!!”
His little face fell when I told him that it was real.
“Oh shit! I’m so sorry! I’ve just never seen a pregnant belly that big!”
I couldn’t blame him. It did look fake. I shot my last scene a week before I gave birth. I am convinced to this day that I am maybe the most pregnant person to ever act on a TV show.
We had moved into our new house when I was eight months pregnant and were settling in. All of my friends came over and helped unpack us. Jennifer Carpenter and Candi unloaded all my books and put them on the shelves, Emily and my mom tackled the kitchen, and I waddled around and pointed a lot. Marc and I were sitting in our new living room, watching TV one night, when he turned to me and rubbed my giant belly, “You know, this really feels like home. I think we did it.”