by Lori L. Otto
The doorbell interrupts our conversation. Anna hops up to answer the door as the rest of us stay seated, chatting quietly.
“Jack!” she exclaims. “What a nice surprise, come in!”
“Just for a second,” he says, walking in with a beautiful, exotic-looking woman on his heels. Chris enters through the patio door.
“Jack,” he says, shaking his hand.
“Chris, Anna,” he says, “this is Marie.” The woman waves shyly from behind Jack.
“Nice to meet you,” my brother says. “What brings you out here tonight?”
“We were in the area, and I just thought I’d stop by to drop off a bottle of wine for the birthday girl,” he smiles, nodding in my direction. Surprised, I stand up and walk over to him. Marie hands me the bottle of wine.
“You didn’t have to do that,” I tell him, looking at the label of my favorite wine. “Thank you so much.”
“Marie,” he says to his date, “this is Chris’s sister, Emi.”
She smiles and says hello, and I do the same.
“Chris said you were having a little family thing, so I hope we’re not intruding,” he says to me, waving politely at Jen and Teresa.
“Not at all,” I assure him. “Can you stay for dinner?”
“No, we’re on our way to catch a movie,” he explains.
“Well, thank you for the wine. You know I’ll enjoy it.”
“I know,” he smiles. “How have you been?” he asks.
“Pretty good,” I tell him. “Jennifer, Clara and I have settled in nicely... we have a routine, which is good. I’ve got a ton of work keeping me busy.”
“I’m happy to hear it.”
“How have you been?” I ask politely.
“Great,” he says. “Business is good. Listen,” he says quietly, careful to not be heard by my brother or his fiancée. “I was thinking maybe you and I could host a dinner or something for the happy couple a little closer to the wedding... maybe sometime in August? Close friends?”
“Oh, yeah,” I say. “That sounds good.”
“Well, start thinking of some ideas or places. We’ll talk about it later.”
“Okay,” I smile.
“Well, I hope you have a happy birthday, Emi.”
“It’ll be even better now,” I say, holding up the bottle. “Thank you, and it was a pleasure to meet you, Marie,” I say to his date.
“Likewise,” she says.
“See you later!” Jack announces to the room so that Chris and Anna hear. They wave goodbye and I close the door behind them.
“That was nice,” Anna says, giving Teresa and my sister a strange side glance.
“What?” I ask her.
“Nothing,” she says, grinning.
“Alright,” I say. “Who’s going to open this wine for me?”
“I’ve got it,” Teresa says, stealing the bottle from my hands.
“See?” my sister says to me quietly. “Now, he seems like a nice enough guy, but again, like all the good ones, he’s taken.”
“I’m sure there are others, Jen,” I assure her. “There are millions of guys in Manhattan. I’m sure we can find two decent ones.”
“I don’t know how you’re so certain.”
“Blind faith,” I remind her. “It’s all I’ve got, remember?”
“Right.”
CHAPTER 6
By mid-July, my sister and I are both comfortable with our living arrangement and have a good understanding of each other’s limits and boundaries. It was hard at first, getting used to one another all over again. When we were younger, we fought constantly. My sister had been the only child for four years, and then my brother came along, with me less than a year later. My brother and I were fast friends, playing together, sharing toys, and as we grew older, we would always team up against our big sister. He and I just had so much time together, but Jennifer was in school by the time we were toddlers, so there was always a little distance between our older sibling and us.
Having her live with me was like another opportunity for me to really get to know her. We had a lot more in common than I ever thought possible. Our beliefs were the same, we just chose to lead our lives in different ways. Neither was right or wrong. I had once judged her and the way she lived her life, but it was just because I didn’t understand her choices. Now that I could understand where she was coming from, knew some of her experiences, I could see why she made the decisions she did.
In the summer, for six hours a day, Clara goes to daycare a few blocks from our apartment. Jennifer has gotten a part-time job as a receptionist in midtown. She typically drops off Clara, then heads to work, puts in four hours, then picks her daughter up and comes home. This gives me some much-appreciated alone time to work, or to just clear my head, if needed. In the late afternoons, I’ll typically take a break at Central Park with my niece, and give Jennifer an hour or two to herself before dinner. It’s a pretty good routine, and I know it’s been really good for me, having them here.
Jennifer hasn’t been on a single date since moving in. She has filed for divorce, and seems to be well on her way to putting that era of her life behind her. I can see changes in her, good changes. She is finding interests in her own things, making a life for herself on her own. I’m very proud of her, and I can see happiness coming back into her life. In a way, it’s been good for me to help her out, focus on her. I had plenty of idle time this year, and really didn’t need any more of it. There were times when I felt I was just sinking... but being there for my sister has somehow kept my spirits afloat.
Frustrated with my current freelance project, I dig out my colored pencils and an empty sketchbook from my desk to attempt to “draw” my idea... it’s supposed to look like a childlike drawing... surely I can manage that. Or not... page after page, the scribbles don’t look like the right scribbles. Too messy. Too sophisticated. Too red. Too black. Too freaking frustrating! I begin to rip out the pages, taking my aggression out on the inanimate object that’s making me feel like I have no talent whatsoever at the moment.
Holy... oh my god. I lose my breath at the image in front of me. It’s his sketch. Nate’s... his clean lines and detailed illustrations are unmistakeable. I thought this was a new sketchbook. My sketchbook. How... what?
It’s a sketch of a room, a little boy’s room. The position of the window and architecture of the beams let me know immediately it’s the guest room where Jen and Clara sleep. A crib is positioned to one side, and a large, red dog– whom I immediately recognize as Clifford from one of my favorite books when I was little– watches over the tiny baby’s bed. The wall is tinted sky blue, dotted with clouds and birds. Two trees flank both sides of the brown wooden crib, which I now notice sits directly in front of a dog house painted the same brown color. Small, printed letters sit at the bottom of the drawing: “IF IT’S A BOY - 12/27 - Nathaniel J. Wilson”
My throat gets tight and my eyes water, the emptiness I felt in the pit of my stomach so many months ago returning immediately. Were it not for the accident, I would be eight months pregnant.
I turn the page quickly, hoping to find refuge in the solace of another blank page, but I’m instead assaulted by an equally picturesque scene. Pink, purple and red stripes and green and yellow polka dots are the background for this image of another one of my favorite storybook characters. Corduroy, the little bear in his green overalls, is reaching over for what he thinks is his missing button, just like the cover of the book. I look closer and realize the polka dots are all buttons. The crib in this picture is white with tiny bow accents on the four posts. “IF IT’S A GIRL - 12/27 - Nathaniel J. Wilson”
God damn it, Nate! I throw the sketchbook across the room as a loud scream escapes my taut throat before the sobs. Alone in the apartment, I grasp my stomach tightly, cradling the baby that isn’t there, rocking my body back and forth... rocking the tiny child that will never be. The mental anguish quickly becomes physical pain.
I thought that I had accepted th
is loss long ago, when I had made peace that Nate was gone, and that he was with our child. Our child. Our sweet child. I was supposed to be a mother. Soon.
People should be throwing me a baby shower right now, celebrating the upcoming arrival of my little girl... I’m convinced it was to be a girl, from the dream I had. We would have a couples shower. Our families would be there, and friends. We would be unwrapping gifts, pink onesies galore and cute little dresses that the grandmas just couldn’t resist. It’s just not fair.
I crawl to the bed, curl up with a pillow and cry until there are no more tears. God, please let me see him. Please let him come to me. I want to see him. I want to see our little girl. I want to be with them. Please, God, please. Why did you take them from me? Can’t I go, too? I briefly allow myself to fantasize that another freak accident will deliver me to them. Is it wrong to wish such things? Do I?
I don’t wish it. I don’t think that I wish it, anyway. I force myself to remember my family and friends, people I would miss, who would miss me dearly.
Staring at the white textured ceiling, the only thing in the apartment that doesn’t remind me of Nate at the moment, I try to think of excuses to get me out of this evening’s plans. Jen had twisted my arm earlier in the week, and I somehow committed to going out with friends tonight. I want to back out, but I’ve done that the last two times they’ve invited me to do something, and I just feel like I have to do this at this point if I want to remain their friend. My brain tells me that the distraction will be good for me. My heart just wants to stay here... try to sleep, in hopes of a dream where Nate will visit me. Even if it’s just for a minute... God, one more minute with him, with them... that’s all I’m asking. It’s not too much. Is he watching me? Is she okay?
I close my eyes and sit up too quickly, my equilibrium a little off at the sudden movement. I dip my head into my hands and wonder how I’ll be able to keep my mind off of the thoughtful murals that Nate had created... or the small child that would inhabit the space surrounded by his paintings... which just brings me full circle to the man I love. It’s like the wounds are all reopened, and I’m bleeding out. Slowly, I make my way to the bathroom and begin running hot water for the shower.
Feeling resentful against my friends– although they have my best interests at heart, I know– I force more tears out of my bleary eyes. I don’t want to go to some trendy dance club, but I don’t want to let everyone down, either... and I certainly don’t want everyone to know that I’m reverting back to the dark place they all thought I was emerging from. I was doing okay. Why did I have to find those drawings?
Fuck! I don’t want to go I don’t want to go I don’t want to go. I remember how excited Jen was when I told her I would go, though. And Teresa had promised we would have a good time...
“Emi, you okay in there?” I hear my sister yell through the bathroom door. “You’ve been in there an awful long time.”
I glance at the clock on the wall, wiping condensation off the glass shower door. I’m surprised to see I’ve been in here for twenty minutes. “Fine,” I lie, looking down at my pruned fingers. I take a deep breath and accept that I am not backing out. Focus on something else, Em. I let my inner cheerleader try to pump me up. Maybe I will have fun. Maybe something will help me to forget about my everyday existence for a few hours.
Until this morning, I had come to terms with the facts of my life, and I was beginning to feel somewhat happy with my reality– I was learning to be happy again without Nate.
Eight months pregnant. I clinch my stomach again as the cheerleader struggles to push her way back in. I hate her sometimes.
Is it fair to hope that the night will have some pleasant distractions? Is it right at all? Or should I still be mourning? And I have to wonder, how will I be in a month, when the baby would have been born? Will I feel different? My head begins to hurt... from the crying, from the questions, who the hell knows why nowadays? I finally climb out of the shower as the hot water runs out and pull a towel around myself.
“Anni-Emi, I have to go potty!” my niece whines from outside the door. I immediately feel bad for hogging our one bathroom.
“Okay, Clara-bee, I’m sorry,” I tell her as I open the door, a rush of cool air a vast contrast to the steam room I’ve been hiding in. She pushes past me and closes the door quickly.
“Sorry,” I mumble to Jen, forcing a smile.
“No worries,” Jen says. “Chris and Anna should be here in a few minutes to pick her up. Did you decide on what you’re wearing?”
I shrug, uncaring, and stare at the contents of my closet in a daze.
Jen went out yesterday and bought a new dress. She had invited me to go, but I was sure I had something suitable. I find some black slacks and a silver chemise in my closet that I hadn’t worn in ages. A pair of black heels completes the look.
“Are you alright?” Jen asks me, undoubtedly noticing the puffiness under my eyes.
“I’ll be fine. Just a rough day,” I tell her. I think she’s just so excited to get out that she chooses not to press me further, not wanting anything to spoil the night. Any other day, I might think she was being selfish, but not today. I don’t know if it’s normal or okay for me to feel like this. I’m not sure what to do about it.
“Mommy, you look pretty,” Clara tells her mother, standing on her tip-toes and peering into the mirror that Jen is leaning toward. I feel another pang in my stomach. Mommy. Such an innocent word that is doing so much damage to my soul. It’s like the air is knocked out of me, as if my lungs have collapsed. I let out a sigh as I walk out of the room to grab a tissue.
“Well thank you, sweetie,” I hear Jen say as she finishes touching up her makeup.
“Mommy, can I go?”
“No, you get to go to Chris and Anna’s, remember?”
“I don’t wanna go,” she begins to whine. “I wanna dress up and go with you!” She folds her arms and sits on the floor, beginning to wail loudly. It’s rare that she throws tantrums, but when she does throw one, she makes it count. I’m glad that something has happened to require my full attention, even if it is my niece squealing. It jolts me out of my coma-like state. I walk into the guest bedroom and open the chest on the floor by Clara’s twin-sized bed. She has dresses in it of multiple Disney princesses, so I pull out a few and take them to her.
“Hey, Clara-bee,” I interrupt as she takes a breath.
“What?” she pouts.
“Do you wanna be Cinderella or Snow White?”
“Neither.” She furrows her tiny brow.
“I’ll curl your hair for you,” I offer.
“Can I put on makeup?” she asks. I look at Jen and she nods, picking up some tinted lip gloss and powder and handing it to me.
“Yes, if you stop crying and let the tears dry, we can put some makeup on, too.”
“Okay,” she says, standing up and walking to me. I take Clara into the guest room as we hear a knock on the door.
“I’ll get it,” Jen announces.
Clara and I put on the Cinderella dress as I heat up the curling iron. I hear Jen in the living room explaining what’s going on, and then she adds something indistinguishable under her breath. Anna comes into the guest room with us.
“Clara?” Anna asks.
“Uh-huh?” my niece answers.
“Do you want to go out for ice cream when you’re finished getting ready?”
“Uh-huh,” she repeats.
“How are you doing?” she asks me.
“Fine,” I tell her.
“You don’t look fine, Emi,” Anna says.
“Thanks,” I say, rolling my eyes and biting my quivering lip.
“Em... why have you been crying?”
“Not in front of Clara,” I whisper. “Not now.”
Anna stands silently, staring at me, her brows angling in curiosity. I just shake my head at her.
“So, thanks for taking care of Clara tonight,” Jen interrupts from the doorway.
“Any
time,” Anna says. “Hey, Emi, I was wondering if we could go do a fitting next week for the dresses. Are you up for that?”
“Of course,” I say, a little annoyed at the insinuation that I might not be okay to do my maid-of-honor duties for her upcoming wedding. “Just name the time and place.”
“And maybe go to the florist? I have some final decisions to make and I’m having trouble.”
“Sure thing, Anna. We’ll make a day of it.”
“Cool,” she says as I put the finishing touches on Clara’s makeup.
“Clara, come sit down so I can curl your hair.” She plops down on her bed, smiling anxiously. “Now be still, okay?”
She nods her head wildly. “Not like that, silly. Be still.”
“Okay,” she whispers, careful not to move at all as I take her fine hair and wrap it around the curling iron. Anna hands me some hair spray when I’m finished.
“You’re perfect!” I tell my niece, handing her a mirror. After she inspects herself, I pick her up and hold her tightly, her tiny arms returning my hug.
“Thank you, Anni-Emi!”
“You’re welcome, Clara-bee.” An errant tear drops from my eye, and I quickly wipe it away before anyone notices. “Are you ready to go have your ice cream?”
Again, she nods quickly.
“Alright, pumpkin,” her mom says. “You be good for your aunt and uncle, got it?”
“Got it,” she says emphatically. Jen hands Anna an overnight bag and we all hug goodbye. Clara is in high spirits as she walks out the door.
“I’m so excited!” Jen says when the door closes. “I haven’t been out in so long!”
“Should be fun,” I say, the muscles in my face struggling to form a smile. I’m not as excited as my sister, and have a hard time faking it. It seems a little strange. In addition to feeling sad, I feel guilty. But in the end, I know I shouldn’t sit around the apartment and mope. It’s just a night out with the girls. Period.
