"He's good, Lily. He's so good. I promise."
Relief washes over me in an instant, because I can see she's telling the truth. I can see the happiness in her eyes. "Wow," I say, not expecting this at all. "I'm happy for you. When can I meet him?"
"Tonight, if you want," she says. "I can invite him over to eat with us."
I shake my head. "No," I whisper. "Now's not a good time."
Her hands squeeze around mine as soon as she realizes I'm here to tell her something important. I start with the better part of the news first.
I stand up and remove my jacket. At first, she doesn't think anything of it. She just assumes I'm making myself comfortable. But then I take one of her hands and I press it against my stomach. "You're gonna be a grandma."
Her eyes widen and for several seconds, she's stunned speechless. But then tears begin to form. She jumps up and pulls me into a hug. "Lily!" she says. "Oh my God!" She pulls back, smiling. "That was so fast. Were you trying? You haven't even been married for very long."
I shake my head. "No. It was a shock. Believe me."
She laughs and after another hug, we both sit down again. I try to keep up my smile, but it's not the smile of an elated expectant mother. She sees that almost immediately. She slides a hand over her mouth. "Sweetie," she whispers. "What's the matter?"
Until this moment, I've fought to remain strong. I've fought to not feel too sorry for myself when I'm around other people. But sitting here with my mother, I crave weakness. I just want to be able to give up for a little while. I want her to take over and hug me and tell me it'll all be okay. And for the next fifteen minutes while I cry in her arms, that's exactly what happens. I just stop fighting for myself because I need someone else to do it for me.
I spare her most of the details of our relationship, but I do tell her the most important things. That he's hurt me on more than one occasion, and I don't know what to do. That I'm scared to have this baby alone. That I'm scared I might make the wrong decision. That I'm scared I'm being too weak and that I should have had him arrested. That I'm scared I'm being too sensitive and I don't know if I'm overreacting. Basically, I tell her everything I haven't even been brave enough to fully admit to myself.
She retrieves some napkins out of the kitchen and comes back to the table. After our eyes are finally dry, she begins to crumple the napkin up between her hands, rolling it over in circles as she stares down at it.
"Do you want to take him back?" she asks.
I don't say yes. But I also don't say no.
This is the first moment since this has happened that I'm being completely honest. I'm honest to her and to myself. Maybe because she's the only one I know who has been through this. She's the only one I know who would understand the massive amounts of confusion I've been experiencing.
I shake my head, but I also shrug. "Most of me feels like I'll never be able to trust him again. But a huge part of me grieves what I had with him. We were so good together, Mom. The times I spent with him were some of the best moments of my life. And occasionally I feel like maybe I don't want to give that up."
I wipe the napkin beneath my eye, soaking up more tears. "Sometimes . . . when I'm really missing him . . . I tell myself that maybe it wasn't that bad. Maybe I could put up with him when he's at his worst just so I can have him when he's at his best."
She puts her hand on top of mine and rubs her thumb back and forth. "I know exactly what you mean, Lily. But the last thing you want to do is lose sight of your limit. Please don't allow that to happen."
I have no idea what she means by that. She sees the confusion in my expression, so she squeezes my arm and explains in more detail.
"We all have a limit. What we're willing to put up with before we break. When I married your father, I knew exactly what my limit was. But slowly . . . with every incident . . . my limit was pushed a little more. And a little more. The first time your father hit me, he was immediately sorry. He swore it would never happen again. The second time he hit me, he was even more sorry. The third time it happened, it was more than a hit. It was a beating. And every single time, I took him back. But the fourth time, it was only a slap. And when that happened, I felt relieved. I remember thinking, 'At least he didn't beat me this time. This wasn't so bad.' "
She brings the napkin up to her eyes and says, "Every incident chips away at your limit. Every time you choose to stay, it makes the next time that much harder to leave. Eventually, you lose sight of your limit altogether, because you start to think, 'I've lasted five years now. What's five more?' "
She grabs my hands and holds them while I cry. "Don't be like me, Lily. I know that you believe he loves you, and I'm sure he does. But he's not loving you the right way. He doesn't love you the way you deserve to be loved. If Ryle truly loves you, he wouldn't allow you to take him back. He would make the decision to leave you himself so that he knows for a fact he can never hurt you again. That's the kind of love a woman deserves, Lily."
I wish with all my heart that she didn't learn these things from experience. I pull her to me and hug her.
For whatever reason, I thought I would have to defend myself to her when I came over here. Not once did I think I would come over here and learn from her. I should know better. I thought my mother was weak in the past, but she's actually one of the strongest women I know.
"Mom?" I say, pulling back. "I want to be you when I grow up."
She laughs and brushes the hair from my face. I can see in the way she looks at me that she'd trade spots with me in a heartbeat. She's feeling more pain for me in this moment than she ever felt for herself. "I want to tell you something," she says.
She reaches for my hands again.
"The day you gave your father's eulogy? I know you didn't freeze up, Lily. You stood at that podium and refused to say a single good thing about that man. It was the proudest I have ever been of you. You were the only one in my life who ever stood up for me. You were strong when I was scared." A tear falls from her eye when she says, "Be that girl, Lily. Brave and bold."
Chapter Thirty-Three
"What am I going to do with three car seats?"
I'm sitting on Allysa's couch, staring at all the stuff. She threw me a baby shower today. My mother came. Ryle's mother even flew in for it, but she's in the guest room sleeping off her jet lag now. The girls from the floral shop came and a few friends from my old job. Even Devin came. It was actually a lot of fun, despite the fact that I've been dreading it for the past several weeks.
"That's why I told you to start a registry, so none of the gifts would be duplicated," Allysa says.
I sigh. "I guess I can have Mom return hers. She's bought me enough stuff as it is."
I stand up and start gathering all the gifts. Marshall already said he'd help me carry them down to my apartment, so Allysa helps me throw everything inside trash bags. I hold them open while she picks everything up from the floor. I'm almost thirty weeks pregnant now, so she doesn't get the easier job of holding open the trash.
We have everything bagged up and Marshall is on his second trip down to my apartment when I open Allysa's front door, prepared to drag a trash bag full of gifts to the elevator. What I'm not prepared for is Ryle, who is standing on the other side of the door looking back at me. We both look equally as shocked to see each other, considering we haven't spoken since our fight three months ago.
This encounter was bound to happen, though. I can't be best friends with my husband's sister and live in the same building as him without eventually running into him.
I'm sure he knew I was having the shower today since his mother flew in for it, but he still looks a little surprised when he sees all the stuff behind me. It makes me wonder if him showing up just as I'm leaving is a coincidence or a suitable convenience. He looks down at the trash bag I'm holding and he takes it from my hands. "Let me get this."
I let him. He takes that bag and another one down to the apartment while I gather my things. He and Marshall are walki
ng back inside the apartment as I'm preparing to walk out.
Ryle grabs the last bag of stuff and begins to head toward the front door again. I'm following behind him when Marshall gives me a silent look, asking me if I'm okay with Ryle going downstairs with me. I nod. I can't keep avoiding Ryle forever, so now is as good a time as any to discuss where we go from here.
It's only a few floors between their apartment and mine, but the elevator ride down with Ryle feels like the longest it's ever taken. I catch him staring at my stomach a couple of times and it makes me wonder how it must feel, going three months without seeing me pregnant.
My apartment door is unlocked, so I push it open and he follows me inside. He takes the last of the stuff to the nursery and I can hear him moving things around, opening boxes. I stay in the kitchen and clean things that don't even need cleaning. My heart is in my throat, knowing he's in my apartment. I don't feel scared of him in this moment. I just feel nervous. I wanted to be more prepared for this conversation because I absolutely hate confrontation. But I know we need to discuss the baby and our future. I just don't want to. Not yet, anyway.
He walks down the hallway and into the kitchen. I catch him looking at my stomach again. He glances away just as quickly. "Do you want me to assemble the crib while I'm here?"
I should probably say no, but he's half responsible for the child growing inside of me. If he's going to offer physical labor I'm going to take it, no matter how angry I still am at him. "Yeah. That would be a big help."
He points toward the laundry room. "Is my toolbox still in there?"
I nod and he heads toward the laundry room. I open the refrigerator and face it so I don't have to watch him walk back through the kitchen. When he's finally in the nursery again, I close the refrigerator and press my forehead against it as I grip the handle. I breathe in and out as I try to process everything that's happening inside of me right now.
He looks really good. It's been so long since I've seen him, I forgot how beautiful he is. I have an urge to run down the hallway and jump into his arms. I want to feel his mouth on mine. I want to hear him tell me how much he loves me. I want him to lie down next to me and put his hand on my stomach like I've imagined him doing so many times.
It would be so easy. My life would be so much easier right now if I would just forgive him and take him back.
I close my eyes and repeat the words my mother said to me. "If Ryle truly loves you, he wouldn't allow you to take him back."
That reminder is the only thing that prevents me from running down the hallway.
*
I keep myself busy in the kitchen for the next hour as he remains in the nursery. I eventually have to walk past it to grab my phone charger from my room. On my way back down the hallway, I pause at the door of the nursery.
The crib is assembled. He even put the bedding on. He's standing over it, gripping the railing, staring inside the empty crib. He's so quiet and still, he looks like a statue. He's lost in thought and doesn't even notice me standing outside the doorway. It makes me wonder where his mind has wandered.
Is he thinking about the baby? The child he won't even be living with when it sleeps in that very crib?
Until this moment, I wasn't sure if he even wanted to be a part of the baby's life. But the look on his face proves to me that he does. I've never seen so much sadness in one expression, and I'm not even facing him straight on. I feel like the sadness he's feeling in this moment has absolutely nothing to do with me and everything to do with thoughts of his child.
He glances up and sees me standing in the doorway. He pushes off the crib and shakes himself out of his trance. "Finished," he says, waving a hand toward the crib. He begins putting his tools back inside the tool case. "Is there anything else you need while I'm here?"
I shake my head as I walk over to the crib and admire it. Since I don't know if it's a boy or a girl, I decided to go with a nature theme. The bedding set is tan and green with pictures of plants and trees all over it. It matches the curtains and will eventually match a mural I plan to paint on the wall at some point. I also plan to fill the nursery with a few live plants from the shop. I can't help but smile, finally seeing it all start to come together. He even put up the mobile. I reach up and turn it on and Brahms's Lullaby begins to play. I stare at it as it makes a full spin and then I glance back at Ryle. He's standing a few feet away, just watching me.
As I stare back at him, I think about how easy it is for humans to make judgments when we're standing on the outside of a situation. I spent years judging my mother's situation.
It's easy when we're on the outside to believe that we would walk away without a second thought if a person mistreated us. It's easy to say we couldn't continue to love someone who mistreats us when we aren't the ones feeling the love of that person.
When you experience it firsthand, it isn't so easy to hate the person who mistreats you when most of the time they're your godsend.
Ryle's eyes gain a little bit of hope, and I hate that he can see that my walls are temporarily lowered. He begins to take a slow step toward me. I know he's about to pull me to him and hug me, so I take a quick step away from him.
And just like that, the wall is back up between us.
Allowing him back inside this apartment was a huge step for me in itself. He needs to realize that.
He hides whatever rejection he's feeling with a stoic expression. He tucks the toolbox under his arm and then grabs the box the crib came in. It's filled with all the trash from everything he opened and put together. "I'll take this to the Dumpster," he says, walking toward the door. "If you need help with anything else, just let me know, okay?"
I nod and somehow mutter, "Thank you."
When I hear the front door close, I turn back and face the crib. My eyes fill with tears, and not for myself this time. Not for the baby.
I cry for Ryle. Because even though he's responsible for the situation he's in, I know how sad he is about it. And when you love someone, seeing them sad also makes you sad.
Neither of us brought up our separation or even a chance at reconciliation. We didn't even talk about what's going to happen when this baby is born in ten weeks.
I'm just not ready for that conversation yet and the least he can do for me right now is show me patience.
The patience he still owes me from all the times he had none.
Chapter Thirty-Four
I finish rinsing the paint out of the brushes and then walk back to the nursery to admire the mural. I spent most of yesterday and all of today painting it.
It's been two weeks since Ryle came over and put the crib together. Now that the mural is finished and I brought in a few plants from the store, I feel like the nursery is finally complete. I look around and feel a little sad that no one is here to admire the room with me. I grab my phone and text Allysa.
Me: Mural is finished! You should come down and look at it.
Allysa: I'm not home. Running errands. I'll come look at it tomorrow, though.
I frown and decide to text my mother. She has to work tomorrow, but I know she'll be just as excited to see it as I was to finish it.
Me: Feel like driving into town tonight? The nursery is finally finished.
Mom: Can't. Recital night at school. I'll be here late. I can't wait to see it! I'll come by tomorrow!
I sit down in the rocking chair and know that I shouldn't do what I'm about to do, but I do it anyway.
Me: The nursery is finished. Do you want to come look at it?
Every nerve in my body springs to life as soon as I hit Send. I stare at my phone until his reply comes through.
Ryle: Of course. On my way down now.
I immediately stand up and begin making last minute touches. I fluff the pillows on the loveseat and straighten one of the wall hangings. I'm barely to the front door when I hear his knock. I open it and dammit. He's wearing scrubs.
I step aside as he makes his way in.
"Allysa said you were
painting a mural?"
I follow him down the hallway toward the nursery.
"It's taken two days to finish," I tell him. "My body feels like I ran a marathon and all I did was walk up and down a step ladder a few times."
He glances over his shoulder and I can see the concern in his expression. He's worried that I was here doing it all on my own. He shouldn't worry. I've got this.
When we make it to the nursery, he stops in the doorway. On the opposite wall, I painted a garden. It's complete with almost every fruit and vegetable I could think of that grows in a garden. I'm not a painter, but it's amazing what you can do with a projector and transparent paper.
"Wow," Ryle says.
I grin, because I recognize the surprise in his voice and I know it's genuine. He walks into the room and looks around, shaking his head the whole time. "Lily. It's . . . wow."
If he were Allysa, I'd clap and jump up and down. But he's Ryle and with the way things have been between us, that would be a little awkward.
He walks over to the window where I set up a swing. He gives it a little push and it begins moving from side to side.
"It also moves front to back," I tell him. I don't know if he even knows anything about baby swings, but I was pretty impressed by that feature.
He walks over to the changing table and pulls one of the diapers out of the holder. He unfolds it and holds it up in front of him. "It's so tiny," he says. "I don't remember Rylee being this tiny."
Hearing him mention Rylee makes me a little sad. We've been living apart since the night she was born, so I've never been able to see him interact with her.
Ryle folds up the diaper and puts it back in the holder. When he turns to face me, he smiles, lifting his hands to motion around the room. "It's really great, Lily," he says. "All of it. You're really doing . . ." His hands drop to his hips and his smile falters. "You're doing really well."
A thickness seems to form in the air around me. It's suddenly difficult to take in a full breath because for whatever reason, I feel like I need to cry. I just really like this moment and it saddens me that we couldn't spend the entire pregnancy full of moments like these. It feels good sharing this with him, but I'm also scared I might be giving him false hope.
It Ends With Us Page 27
