He laughs. “No, I’m a teacher.” I lean against the cinderblock wall and he stands across from me. “Group isn’t a therapy session. It’s a place for people who’ve been through similar things to just … talk. It helps being around people that understand and don’t constantly say, ‘I’m sorry for your loss,’” he mimes with a sneer. “If I could have a dollar for every time I’ve heard that,” he mutters. “Are you ready to go in?” He points to the doors leading into the gym.
I nod. “I don’t really know what to expect?” I let my question hang in the air.
“You’ll see.” He winks. He opens the gym door, and like before, he holds it open for me. I step inside and find ten or so people sitting in chairs positioned in a circle. There’s a table set up near the wall with coffee, water, and donuts.
“Hey, Donny.” Ryder waves to an older balding man. “Thanks for bringing the donuts.” Under his breath, Ryder whispers to me, “He usually forgets when it’s his turn.”
I laugh lightly and it feels good. For the moment, at least, I’ve forgotten where I am.
“Amy, can you grab another chair for Blaire?” Ryder asks.
“Sure thing.” A woman a little older than me with shiny blond hair stands and heads into a closet.
“Do you want some coffee? Donuts?” Ryder leads me to the table.
“I think I’ll have some coffee,” I say, reaching for a white Styrofoam cup. I pour a little coffee in and Ryder hands me a thing of creamer.
“You look like a creamer kind of girl.” He grins. He has a nice smile and his dark eyes light up. He doesn’t look sad, or grieving, but maybe he’s not anymore and that’s why he’s in charge of the group.
“Thanks.” I take the creamer from him and pour it in.
Ryder nods and waits for me to take a seat—the empty chair now beside Amy.
Ryder takes the other empty chair, which is almost directly across from me.
“How are you guys?” he asks, taking a sip of his coffee. “Christopher, did you get that promotion?” he questions a man to my right.
“Sure did.” The man nods, smiling from ear to ear. “It’s the first good thing that’s happened to me since my Beth died.”
“Good, good. I’m happy for you, man.” Ryder sets his cup of coffee on the floor near his feet. He leans forward and claps his hands together. “As you all can see, we have a new member. Blaire, this is everyone. Everyone, Blaire.”
“Hi.” I wave awkwardly.
“Hello,” they all echo.
“Shall we go around and introduce ourselves?” Ryder asks. They all nod. “Please say your name and one thing about yourself. Anything you choose. I’m Ryder, and I hate the color orange.”
“I’m Donny, and I love the color orange.”
Ryder laughs and says to me, “Donny likes to spite me.”
The next person speaks up. “I’m Debra, and I love to knit.” She proudly points to a gray scarf wrapped around her neck.
The next eight people introduce themselves and then Ryder looks at me. “Your turn, Blaire.”
I nibble on my bottom lip as I think. “I’m Blaire,” I begin, “and I’m happy I decided to come here.”
Ryder grins. “Good, Blaire. You see, here we’re not defined by our grief. We’re just people like anyone else.”
My lips lift and spread. I’m smiling, and it’s real.
This … this is going to be good for me. I feel it.
We all chat for the remainder of the hour. I find out that Amy has two little boys and she’s newly married. Peter, the man to my left, is in college and studying astronomy. I’ve never met anyone like him before, and I find his stories about the stars to be amazing. By the time we leave, I feel happy and not once, through the whole hour, did I think about Ben. I was normal.
I’m walking to my car when Ryder jogs up beside me.
I pause outside my car and tilt my head up at him. “I just wanted to say goodbye,” he says. “And see if you’re coming back next week.”
“Yeah, I am. I … This was nice. It was nothing like what I expected.”
“That’s the point.” He grins, and his eyes crinkle at the corners. I’m finding that Ryder is an upbeat, always-looking-on-the-brightside, kind of person. I wonder who he lost, though, and if he was always like this. “I’ll see you next week.”
“Bye,” I say and lift my hand to wave. “Whoa,” I cry suddenly when I feel dizzy. I sway unsteadily and hold a hand to my forehead.
“Hey, are you okay?” Suddenly Ryder is right there and he wraps his hand around my arm, like he’s ready to hold me up if I begin to crumble. His touch is electric and I feel it even through my thick coat.
“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine,” I mumble, waving away his concern. “Just got a little dizzy, that’s all.”
He lets me go and looks me over. “You should’ve had a donut,” he jokes. “The sugar would’ve kept this from happening.”
I laugh. “You’re probably right.” I unlock my car. “Bye … again.”
“Bye.” He laughs and walks away, toward a white Nissan Murano.
I head straight home.
My mom is waiting right by the door for me. It’s like she has spidey-senses or something.
“How was it?” she asks before I can even close the door.
I lock the door and lean against it. “Good,” I answer. “I enjoyed it.”
She’s positively beaming at my words. “I made dinner. Lasagna.”
I can smell it from here. “I’m not very hungry.” Now that I’m home, all I want to do is crash. It’s been a long day.
She frowns. “Blaire—”
“I’ll eat later,” I promise her. “I just need to lie down for a while. This was exhausting.” Even though I actually liked Group, it was pretty draining. I spent so much time worrying about what it would be like that I think I used up all my energy.
“All right.” She sighs. “If you want some in bed, just text me.”
“Thanks, Mom.” She brightens at my words, and I frown. Is this the first time I’ve told her thank you? I hope not. She’s been doing so much. Feeding me. Keeping the house clean. Heck, she even got my checkbook and paid the bills when it was obvious I wasn’t going to do it. “I love you,” I tell her, and lean over to kiss her cheek before I head upstairs.
If there’s one thing Ben’s … death … has taught me, it’s to love and appreciate everyone you care about. Young or old, they can be gone too soon.
Once in my room, I kick off my shoes and head into the bathroom.
I pull out my tampon and wipe. Nothing. Not a drop of blood now. My period has been non-existent since two days ago when I thought I’d started. Now, I’m not so sure that what I saw was actually my period.
I finish up and wash my hands but I can’t get it off my mind. I shower and change into my pajamas. I grab my laptop off the chair in my bedroom, where I’d left it last night, and get fixed in my bed. I Google spotting. I bite my lip nervously. According to the almighty Google gods, spotting can be normal during the first trimester of pregnancy but it’s not a sign of pregnancy.
I close the laptop and set it aside.
My heart is racing, but I don’t want to get too excited. I’m so afraid of being disappointed again and I don’t know if I can handle the crushing pain I felt after the last pregnancy test I took.
I turn on the TV and try to distract myself.
It’s futile, though. I can’t get it off my mind. I need to know.
I slip out bed and downstairs. My dad is parked in front of the TV like usual but my mom is nowhere to be seen.
“Where’s Mom?” I ask, tiptoeing into the kitchen. I don’t know why I’m sneaking around. It’s not like I’m doing anything wrong.
“She said she was going to take a bath,” he answers.
I nod and open the trashcan. I don’t have to rifle through it very much, because we’re not messy people. I pull out the pregnancy test, still wrapped in the plastic bag from Walgreens.
“Whatcha’ doin’, Kid?” he asks. I pull the box out of the bag and drop the plastic bag back in the trash. He raises a brow. “Thought you didn’t need that?”
“I didn’t think I did, either,” I whisper, turning the box over in my hands. I open the box and pull out the white stick. Rip it off like a Band-Aid, Blaire. I tell myself.
It’s better to know now.
I head into the hall powder room and pee. I put the cap back on the test and head out to the family room, sitting down beside my dad.
“I didn’t want to be alone,” I tell him. My throat is thick with unshed tears. I’m scared. I still want this even though I shouldn’t. I’m not in a good place mentally.
“It’ll be okay, Kid.” He pats my shoulder. “Breathe,” he adds.
I exhale. I hadn’t even realized I’d been holding my breath. “How long has it been?” I ask.
“Twenty-seconds. Cool your jets.”
I sigh and set the timer on my phone. I place the pregnancy test on the table so that I’m not looking down at it every few seconds.
“It’ll be okay, Blaire. Either way.” I know he’s picked up on my tension.
I nod once woodenly. There’s nothing else I can do right now but wait.
When the timer on my phone goes off in my lap, I jump. I press the button to stop it and then I sit there. I’m completely frozen, terrified to move.
“Do you want me to look first?” he asks me.
I shake my head. I know I have to be the one to do this, but I need one more second—one last moment to hope.
I exhale and reach forward, picking up the test. I don’t look right away, still clinging to a fraying shred of rope. I let go of that rope and look down.
It’s positive.
I choke on a sob and cover my mouth with my hand. I’m having a baby. Ben’s baby. It’s actually happening, and I hold the proof in the palm of my hand.
“Is that a good cry or a bad cry?” he questions. “Shit, Blaire. You’re scarin’ me.”
“What’s going on?” I look up to find my mom walking into the room. The ends of her hair are damp, and she’s wrapped in a pink robe.
I hold out the test to her and she takes it. She squints down at the small screen. Her mouth slowly parts in surprise. “You’re pregnant?” She grins.
I nod and tears—tears of happiness—roll down my cheeks. “I’m having a baby,” I whisper. It’s really happening. It’s the first good thing to happen to me since Ben died. I’m still scared shitless, and I know I have a long way to go before I’m okay, but this … this makes me happy.
My mom sets the test down on the coffee table and sits down beside me on the couch.
“Oh, Blaire, I’m so happy for you.” She hugs me.
“Thank you.” I hug her back, crying into her shoulder. She doesn’t complain, though, she lets me hold on and cry. I finally pull away and my dad holds a tissue out for me. “Thanks,” I say and take it, dabbing at my eyes.
“I’ll make you a doctor’s appointment,” my mom tells me, clapping her hands together. “You want to make sure everything’s okay before you tell anyone,” she warns.
I nod in agreement.
“Well, Kid,” my dad speaks up, “you ready to raise your own kid?”
I laugh. “I guess I have to be.” I look down. More tears form in my eyes. I take my mom’s hand in mine and squeeze. “We were trying to have a baby before … before …” I can’t say the words out loud. Thinking them is bad enough.
My mom nods and brushes a few errant hairs off my forehead. “This baby is special,” she says, tears pooling in her eyes. “This is a little piece of Ben left on this Earth. Not everyone gets that, B.”
“I know,” I whisper and wet my lips with my tongue.
Suddenly, I feel a slight bit of cool air brush against my cheek. I close my eyes.
Ben’s here—I know he is.
We’re having a baby, I tell him.
The cold air brushes against me again.
I take that to mean, I know.
My leg bounces nervously as I sit in the doctor’s office, waiting for them to call my name. My mom wanted to come with me, but I insisted on going by myself. I probably should’ve let her join me, but I was afraid she’d make me more nervous than I already am.
“Blaire Kessler?” a nurse calls my name.
I grab my purse and stand. “That’s me,” I say unnecessarily.
She smiles pleasantly. “Hi, how are you?”
“Good,” I mumble, wiping my sweaty palms on my jeans as I follow her down the hall.
The walls are painted a horrid tan color with brown trim. I’ll never understand why doctors’ offices are always painted such dull colors. She leads me into a room, and I take a seat on the crinkly white paper covered bed.
“So, Blaire you think you’re pregnant?” she asks.
I nod. “That’s what the test said.”
She smiles. “About how far long are you, do you think?”
My nose crinkles in thought. “Probably around six almost seven weeks.” I feel a crushing weight on my chest. That would mean I might’ve gotten pregnant the last night Ben was alive. I suddenly feel sick.
“Okay, so newly pregnant then.” She writes something down.
“Well, I don’t think I’m about to give birth in a toilet, if that’s what you mean.” I laugh awkwardly.
“Change into this gown,” she says, pulling one from a drawer. “The doctor will have to do a vaginal ultrasound.”
I pale. “That sounds painful.” I take the gown from her hands.
“It’s not too bad,” she says and stands. “The doctor will be in soon.”
I nod and with one last smile she leaves me alone.
“Breathe, Blaire,” I whisper-hiss to myself. I exhale a long breath and change into the gown. I sit back down and let my now bare legs dangle beneath me. The paper is scratchy beneath me, and I find myself wringing the cotton gown between my fingers. My eyes flicker to the clock above the door. It ticks endlessly as I wait for the doctor arrive.
When the door finally opens I mutter, “Oh thank God,” under my breath. I’d been about to lose my mind.
“Hello, Blaire.” Dr. Hershel smiles pleasantly and washes his hands in the sink. He’s been my doctor for years now. He’s probably in his fifties, with brown hair only beginning to gray at the temples. He has kind green eyes that are always full of laughter.
“Hi,” I squeak. My nerves are through the roof.
“Don’t be nervous,” Dr. Hershel says, drying his hands and tossing the paper towel in the trashcan. The nurse comes in behind him and hands him my folder. “Let’s take a look here,” he mutters, laying the folder aside. He sits down on the stool and begins fiddling with some items hooked up to a monitor.
I’m pretty sure I’m about to throw up.
I wish Ben was here.
He should be here.
This moment belongs to him as much as it does me, and yet here I am, alone. So, fucking alone.
I should’ve let my mom come with me, but it’s not the same.
“Let’s see your baby,” he says.
“Wait,” I hold out my hands, “shouldn’t you do a blood test or something first?”
His lips quirk. “Pregnancy tests rarely lie. We see a lot of false negatives, but they’re usually pretty accurate when it comes to positive.”
I nod. “O-Okay. Proceed.”
He chuckles. “You’re funny, Blaire.” I wasn’t trying to be funny. “Put your legs in the stirrups.”
I cringe. Stirrups. I don’t know why, but I hate that word the way some people hate the word moist. I do as I’m told and lie back with my legs up. Such a flattering position. I close my eyes and cover my face with my hands. I do better if I don’t see what’s happening. I jolt when I feel something slide inside me. Oh, Jesus.
And then a moment later …
I lower my hands and my mouth parts. “Is that?”
“Your baby’s heartbeat?
” Dr. Hershel asks for me. “It is. It’s a bit early to hear the heartbeat, but it’s a strong one. It looks like you’re almost seven weeks pregnant, like you predicted. You see that?” He points to a tiny dark blob that flickers on the screen. “That’s your baby. Congratulations.” He smiles up at me.
I immediately burst into tears.
Happy tears.
Sad tears.
Angry tears.
Basically, they’re every sort of tear rolled into one. I’m excited and relieved to know there’s a baby inside me, but sad and pissed off at the same time because Ben’s not here to experience this with me. He’ll never hear the sound of our baby’s heartbeat. He’ll never press his hand to my stomach and feel our child moving inside me. So many nevers when I thought I had a life full of forevers.
“I’ll print off some ultrasound photos for you,” Dr. Hershel says. Neither he nor the nurse comments on my tears. I’m sure they get them a lot.
“Thank you,” I croak, wiping my eyes with the backs of my hands.
This is really happening, I think to myself.
I leave the doctor’s office and sit in my car staring at the grainy black and white photos. I touch the tiny blob reverently. That’s my baby.
My phone rings from the depths of my purse, and I rifle through it to find the slender silver phone. It’s my mom.
“Hello?” My voice is thick with emotion.
“How’d it go?” she asks. “Is everything okay?”
“Yeah, I’m definitely pregnant,” I say. “I got to see the baby and hear the heartbeat. The doctor said it was early, but it was so strong, Mom. It’s like the baby knew I needed to hear it.” I sniffle and look for the small pack of tissues I keep in my purse. I pull one out and wipe the dampness from beneath my eyes.
“Oh, sweetie,” my mom breathes in relief. “I’m so happy for you.”
“Thanks,” I reply. “I’m happy too, but …”
“But what?” she prompts.
My lower lips trembles, and my knuckles turn white where I grip my phone. “But I wish Ben was here.”
I can hear her intake of breath over the phone. “I know, sweetie. I know.”
I lean my head back, and my throat bobs when I swallow past the lump in my throat. “It’s all so unfair.”
Bring Me Back Page 11
