Twisted(40)

I nod my head numbly. It feels like I’m not even here—like an out-of-body experience. Or a nightmare. Because there’s no way this can really be happening.

After everything . . . it’s just not possible that this is how it all ends.

Delores dresses me, like I’m a child. Then she helps me off the table. And together we make our way to the car.



Back in my room, Delores sits at the foot of my bed and my mother tucks the covers in around me. Her eyes shine with unfallen tears.

But not mine. Mine are as dry as the Sahara.

Barren.

My mom brushes my hair back and picks lint off the bedsheets. “You want something to eat, honey?”

Her voice is a little desperate, grasping for some action that will somehow make this better. I shake my head without a word. Because all the chicken soup in the world isn’t going to help me.

Not this time.

She kisses my forehead and leaves the room, closing the door behind her. And Delores and I sit. Silently.

I should feel . . . relieved. I mean, just a short while ago, I thought this was what I wanted, right? Out of my hands.

Problem solved.

But the only thing I feel is . . . regret. Remorse. It fills my lungs and chokes me with every breath I take. Because deep down, under all the fear and the shock and uncertainty, I wanted this baby. I loved this perfect little piece of Drew and me. So much.

I just didn’t realize it in time.

Too little, too late. You don’t know what you’ve got until it’s gone. All clichés—and all so f*cking true. Then a thought comes to me, and I throw the covers back and jump out of bed. I open my drawers and dig through them, searching fruitlessly.

Then I drop to my knees at the closet and drag out the duffel bag I brought from New York. And I rummage through it, like a widow who’s lost her wedding ring.

“Katie?”

And then I find it. The tiny T-shirt I bought that night. The one I was going to give to Drew—to announce the big news.

I stare at it and I feel the tears come. I trace my fingers over the letters: FUTURE YANKEES PITCHER. And in my head I see that little boy again. My sweet little boy.

Ours.

The one with his father’s eyes and irresistible smile. The one that will never be. I bring the shirt to my face and inhale. And I swear to God it smells like baby powder.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” My shoulders shake and a monsoon pours down from my eyes. My breaths come in gasps, and I clutch the shirt against me—the way a toddler does with his favorite stuffed animal. “Please . . . I didn’t mean it. I was just scared . . . I wasn’t going to . . .”

I’m not sure who I’m talking to—myself, or my baby, or maybe even God. I just need to say the words, so they’ll be out there and real. So the universe will know that this was never how I wanted things to be.

Delores rubs my back, letting me know she’s there. That she’s behind me, like always. I turn to her. And with my head against her chest, I cry my heart out.

“Oh God, Dee. Please . . .”

“I know, Kate. I know.”

There are tears in her voice too. Because that’s how real friends are—they share your pain. Your agony is theirs, even if it’s not in equal measure.

“It’s okay . . . it’s gonna be okay,” she tries.

I shake my head. “No. It’s not. It’ll never be okay again.”

Delores’s arms wrap around me tight, trying so hard to hold me together.

“Why? I don’t understand. Why did this happen? Drew and I are . . . and now the baby . . . and it was all for nothing. Nothing.”

I told you I’d be asking why again, remember?

Delores smooths my hair down. And her voice is calm. “I don’t know why, Katie. I wish I could tell you . . . but . . . I just don’t know.”

We stay like that for a while. And eventually, the tears die down. I make my way back to the bed and Delores sits beside me. I look at the little shirt again and shake my head. “It hurts so much. I never knew anything could feel this bad.”

“Is there anything you want me to do, Kate?”

My eyes leak quietly. And my voice is frail. “I want Drew. I want him here.”

If the world was like it’s supposed to be, he’d be here. And he’d be just as devastated as I am. He’d try to hide it, but I’d know. He would climb into this bed with me, and he’d hold me and I would feel safe, and loved . . . and forgiven.

And he’d tell me that this just wasn’t the right time. But that if I want a baby, he’ll give me a dozen. Drew is really big with the overkill.

And then he’d kiss me. And it would be gentle and sweet. And then he’d say something silly like, “Just think of all the fun we’ll have making them.” And I’d smile. And it would hurt a tiny bit less.

Just because he was with me.

Delores nods and reaches for the phone. But my hand covers hers—stopping her. Her eyes look at me with understanding, like she already knows what I’m thinking. And she probably does.

“He’ll come, Kate. You know he’ll come.”

I shake my head. “You weren’t there, Delores. He was . . . vicious. I’ve never seen him so angry. It was like . . . like he thought I was picking the baby over him. Like I’d betrayed him.”