Trillion(51)

But I have a feeling I’m going to have to say something.

Soon.





Thirty-Nine





Sophie



Past



“Sophie, finish your dinner.” Mom pours Emmeline a glass of milk as she scrutinizes my untouched plate. Two months ago she would have complained about me wasting food, reminding me of our grocery budget. But now that I’ve essentially sold my baby, budgets are no longer a thing.

Maybe “sold” is overstating it.

But that’s how it feels in my soul.

Ever since I signed away my parental rights and left the hospital more alone than I’ve ever felt in my life, Nolan has essentially bankrolled us into a humble yet comfortable lifestyle, a level up from what we knew before. He’s even in the process of purchasing a three-bedroom ranch (in his name) in the next town over for my mom. This fall, he’ll be covering my tuition at Princeton. And he’s agreed to pay for my sister’s ongoing care indefinitely—all of this in exchange for my silence.

Hush money.

I’m never to speak of our relationship—or our baby—to anyone outside my family ever again or he’ll take back the house and terminate the experimental care Emmeline’s been receiving, the care that’s given her back her smile and placed a light in her eyes that wasn’t there before.

I’ve convinced myself that I did the right thing … for the baby, for Mom, for Emmeline. Even if it wasn’t the right choice for me, at least the ones I care about are benefitting. It’s the only thing that helps me sleep at night—if I manage to fall asleep at all.

“I’m not hungry.” My voice is hardly more than a whisper. I don’t talk much these days.

She throws her hands in the air. “You’re never hungry.”

I don’t have the energy to respond.

“Look at you, wasting away.” She points at my withering body beneath the baggy clothes I wear so I don’t have to look at my flat stomach all day long. I’ve been wearing the same Led Zeppelin top for three days. I’ll change later. “You need your strength. You’re leaving for college in a few months … do I need to call your doctor?”

The idea of leaving Illinois and relocating halfway across the country, away from my sister, only compounds the loneliness that colors my life these days, but withdrawing my enrollment would be a stupid move.

Almost as stupid as falling for Nolan.

For the first few weeks, he texted me half a dozen times, asking how I was feeling or if I needed anything. I always told him I was fine. Nothing more, nothing less. I didn’t want anything from him, and I still don’t.

Toward the end of those first weeks, I stopped replying. Eventually he stopped texting. I never told him I saw him in the nursery with the adoptive mother. His so-called “friend” whom he kissed as they admired my baby. The way I saw it, there was no point. Everything he ever told me was a lie, and I was tired of being lied to. Besides, there’s nothing he can say or do to change any of this. It’s best we go our separate ways.

I never want to see him again.

Mom carries Emmeline’s dishes to the sink and plucks her phone from the charger. “I’m calling Dr. Conrad. We’re getting you out of this funk.”

“I’m an adult,” I remind her. An adult who has given birth … “He’s a pediatrician.”

“Then I’ll call your OB,” she says. “I bet your hormones are all out of order. And maybe you need a mood stabilizer. Oh, and something to help you sleep.”

We’re used to medicating things here. Between Emmeline’s muscular dystrophy and Mom’s bouts with cancer, pills are all we know. Anything to numb the discomfort of the cards we’ve been dealt.

She presses the phone to her ear and wanders into her bedroom at the end of the hall, closing the door until her voice becomes an indiscernible mumble. When she returns, she grabs a pen and jots a note on the calendar on the side of our sunflower yellow fridge.

“You’re going in Friday at nine,” Mom says. “Everything’s going to be fine, Sophie.”

She’s said those exact words a hundred times lately. But at least she’s not saying, “I told you so. I told you he’d break your heart.” Though I’m sure she thinks it every time she looks at the shell of me moping around the house.

Emmeline studies me with the saddest blue eyes I’ve ever seen. My chest caves when I realize I haven’t spent any quality time with her since coming home from the hospital. We don’t watch movies anymore. I haven’t painted her nails or braided her hair since I can’t remember when. We haven’t locked ourselves away in our room, listening to vintage music and pretending the world outside no longer exists.

The realization hits me, unapologetically hard and heavy: I’ve neglected my sister—my favorite person in the world—since the moment Nolan came into my life.

Heartbreak is a bitter, jagged pill.

But it just might be the guilt of everything I’ve sacrificed that does me in.

Rising from the table, I dump my untouched food into the trash, rinse my plate, and wheel Emmeline to the bedroom.

“You want to listen to some Fleetwood?” I ask.

Her concerned expression lightens for the first time in forever. “Yeah.”