by Vivian Wood
“Yeah, yeah, busy man and all,” Ryan said. “We haven’t all been to the Adirondacks together in years. I can’t remember the last time we were all ice fishing.”
“Eli’s party when he became a senator,” Henry said.
“That’s right,” Ryan said. He massaged his feet, wrapped in wool socks, as they hunched together on the patio. “Damn. It feels good to be on furlough. How is Mer, anyway?” he asked Eli. “She looks good on television. Weird, though. All proper and put together.”
Eli laughed. “I think she’s taking the whole FLOTUS thing well.”
“She’s even hotter now than before,” Ryan said.
“Thank you? I guess?” Eli said.
“Any time. You can just tell her that’s why I haven’t settled down. I’m holding out for a girl like her,” Ryan said with a wink.
“I highly doubt that’s the reason why nobody’s broken your spirit yet,” Eli said. “What have you got going on right now? Anything regular waiting for you at home?”
Ryan laughed. “Nothing like that. It’s different when you’re not what they think of as active duty. Women don’t really drop their panties when they find out you’re just pushing paper all day long at a military base. They want the war hero, man.”
“You’ve got plenty of exaggerated ‘war hero' stories to share,” Henry said, glad the subject was moving away from women. “I know. I’ve heard them all a dozen times, and every time they get more dramatic.”
“Fuck you, man,” Ryan said with a smile, gently punching Henry in the ribs. “I was a hero. Can’t nobody say any different.”
“Right,” Henry said. “Your renditions of Afghanistan get as ridiculous as some Michael Bay shit by the third telling.”
“Some women dig it,” Ryan said. “Actually, since you asked,” he said as he turned back to Eli, “I have picked up a little strange since we talked last. But I like to diversify, you know? Like my finances.”
“Sure,” Eli said. “You do realize we share the same financial advisor right? And I know exactly how promising your plan looks.”
“Trust me, I’m a lot more conscientious when it comes to women. I’ve got one in New York, one in Maryland, another in Florida, then there’s this chick in Oklahoma.”
“Oklahoma?” Eli said. “What the hell are you doing in Oklahoma?”
“Her,” Ryan said. “But, for real, man, she’s a Tinder thing. Just happened to be in D.C. last time I was visiting you. Henry. Man, what’s up with you? You going to fill us in on the latest little hot piece you’ve got following you around like a puppy?”
“Got nothing,” Henry said. “I’m dry.”
“Bullshit,” Ryan said. “You’ve always had it easy. I mean, I don’t know what they all see you in, but…”
“Yeah, yeah,” Henry said. “Seriously, though. I’m giving it a break for a while.”
“Must be your old age,” Ryan said. He grabbed another beer.
“Something to look forward to, then,” Henry ribbed him. “You’re only two years behind me.”
“Me?” Ryan said as he leaned back. “I’ve got my life figured out. Career and women. My theory is, you can only be serious about one of them. I made my decision when I booted up.”
“It’s the Navy,” Eli said. “Aren’t you guys known for always being horny?”
“Aren’t presidents known for knowing how to be P.C.?” Ryan shot back. “Besides, it’s not all on me. Women are always wanting more than I’ll give them! What can I do? I tell them, ‘Baby, you knew what you were getting into.’ They love to play lovesick housewife watching their man go off to war—until they realize we’re actually gone for years and can’t be Skyping them from the ground.”
“Maybe if you actually gave them, and yourself a chance, you’d feel something for one of them,” Henry said. Eli and Ryan both stopped and stared at him.
“Where the fuck did that come from?” Ryan asked as he readjusted the cool, ladies’ man exterior he’d so carefully crafted over the years.
“Henry?” Eli asked. He looked at him quizzically. “Everything alright?”
“Yeah,” Henry said gruffly. He stared at his own warm beer in his hand.
“Sounds like someone caught feelings,” Ryan said.
“Fuck off,” Henry said. It was hard to force this whole ‘boys’ outing’ thing when he was feeling like he did.
Was Ryan actually right? Did he feel something for Ellie more than infatuation? What’s wrong with you? You’re listening to Ryan now? Between the two of them, even Henry had more experience with so-called relationships than Ryan. Nothing serious, of course, but he doubted Ryan had ever even taken someone on a real date.
“Okay. Okay, I’ll bite,” Ryan said. “What do you think, Mr. Relationship Expert? Where do you think I’ve gone wrong?”
Henry just shrugged. He wanted out of the conversation, to talk about anything except women. Yet his mind wouldn’t stop reminding him of Ellie.
Later that night, Ryan was in a beer coma, and Eli was passed out from sheer exhaustion. Henry couldn’t sleep. He stayed up, told them both he was going to watch the water for a while and have another beer.
“Told you,” Ryan said. “Old man. Soon enough you’ll be taking golf seriously and having pleats pressed into your khakis.”
“Go to bed, kid,” Henry had said. “Past your curfew.”
He could hear both of them snoring in the other rooms. They’d both left their doors open. Henry scrolled through his phone. It had been years since he was active on Facebook—or at least that’s what everyone thought. In actuality, he’d deleted his former profile and created a new, blank one. He just liked to lurk, not actually post or share himself. It got too complicated. All those birthday reminders, people tagging him with women whose names he’d already forgotten, and invitations to events he had no interest in attending. It had become a place to force social obligations, and that was something he was no longer interested in. Doing things because he felt he had to, not because he wanted to.
Henry typed in Ellie’s name. Her profile was pretty locked down, but he could swipe through her profile pictures and the handful of photos she was tagged in. There was Ellie on commencement night, nervous and flushed with Sean’s arm wrapped around her. There she was a year ago at some sorority event, the Greek letters emblazoned across her chest. A filtered profile pic of her and Eli before the whole presidential thing. Her and her mom in a yoga pose. A throwback Thursday pic of Ellie at fifteen years old. She looked both familiar and wildly foreign. He’d known her at fifteen, though he’d never taken much notice of her.
Sure, he’d noticed when she was in high school that she’d started to grow up. When he’d seen her at that party just a few months later in that too-tight dress, he’d felt protective of her. Their entire lives, she’d been Eli’s very baby sister. A thirteen year age gap was big. If Henry'd had a sister, he’d want them to be closer in age. With thirteen years, she might as well have been in an entirely different family.
At that party, he could tell Ellie was testing out her new role. Her new body. She had kept tugging at that dress to make it more modest. At the time, she’d kind of annoyed him. He’d been talking to some girl, he remembered. And Ellie had ruined his “game.” Not that you had any, he thought to himself.
But that dance? He’d always remembered that dance. All the other people, drunk and slurring along to the lyrics, they’d disappeared. When he’d held Ellie in his arms that night, it was the first time he’d seen her as anything more than Eli’s little sister.
She’d been moving toward being grown but was still so innocent. Ellie had held so tightly to that cheap alcohol in her cup, it was like her security blanket. Henry had been careful not to say anything to her, to not lecture her for drinking at sixteen years old. He remembered being sixteen. How all he’d wanted was to push the limits and wake up to be twenty-one years old. Funny. Now I’d give anything to go back to that kind of innocence, he thought. There was probably no tee
nager, no college kid, in history that ever listened to people who told them not to rush. Enjoy it. Youth was a beautiful and so fleeting thing. If Henry could do it all over again, he’d certainly do it differently. Not be so ungrateful to Aunt Mary. Not treat those string of girls like they were dispensable. Maybe… maybe never sign up to serve.
Since coming back from the cabin, the nightmares had kicked into overdrive. He’d tried everything, including nearly daily check-ins with his therapist, but he couldn’t shake them. “Have you tried talking to her?” his therapist had asked, but he just shook his head. The doctor put the notebook down in his lap and removed his glasses. “Henry,” he started.
“I’m not ready,” he’d told him, and he'd accepted it. But the look of pity he'd shot him almost made him sick.
He’d poked around every corner of Ellie’s profile. He glanced back at the rooms where Eli and Ryan were still snoring away and went to his call log. Just call her. Just call her.
The signal had dropped. He toggled back to Facebook, and it had slowed dramatically. He could only load photos of what he’d already scrolled through. “Shit,” he said, and stared at his phone. You fucked up good.
He’d lost her. Probably a long time ago, and he was too stupid to even realize what he'd had. It was too late; she was long gone. Why had he wasted time playing those games at Eli’s events in the past few weeks?
Why didn’t you just slap me? Make me realize? he asked in his head to an Ellie who wasn’t there. Who probably never would be again.
28
She didn't tell anyone else. “Ellie! You need to go to the doctor,” Sam had urged. “You can’t—you can’t even know for sure, not really, without a blood test.” But Ellie knew. And anyway, going to the doctor, that official paperwork, it would make it all too real. The day after Sam had rushed over, large blended smoothies in hand from Ellie’s favorite drive-through café, Henry had called.
First, Ellie had genuinely missed the call. When he called again, she stared at her phone and willed it to stop until he gave up. Henry never did leave a message.
She couldn’t speak to him. Nerves were drowning her. How could you talk to the father of your baby and not tell him everything?
“What can I do?” Sam had asked.
“Nothing.”
“Come on. Let me help. Tell me what I can do,” Sam had insisted.
“Really. Just… I needed to tell someone. That’s all.”
Ellie kept on with her support of Eli, too. It was endless lunches, fancy dinners, and PR opportunities. But it kept her busy. At least until the night she had to race to the bathroom and barely made it before she threw up. I thought morning sickness was in the morning. A quick Google search confirmed that was a misnomer. It turned out she could randomly vomit any time of the day.
Two weeks after she told Sam, a shift occurred. Was having a baby really such a terrible thing? A lot of young mothers made it work, many of them without the father. Ellie had caught herself at baby store windows, lingering over the displays of old-fashioned bassinets that were coming back in style. I think I’d like to not know the sex, she thought. Instead, she gravitated more toward yellow and green onesies with motifs like ducks and penguins. Give her child a chance to develop their own identity instead of immediately getting plastered with labels by others.
She was taking a walk when she crossed paths with a young mother who must have been her age, and her heart squeezed again. When she saw that girl who cradled her baby with such love, Ellie got it. That’s what it was all about. And she could do this.
Six weeks in, and Ellie had finally given in to Sam’s insisting on her seeing a doctor. It was official. “Congratulations!” the OB-GYN had gushed, and Ellie beamed. “You’re pregnant, according to the blood test.”
“How long does it take?” Ellie asked. “You might have to mail them to me. I have to go to a luncheon for my brother—”
“That’s right,” the doctor said. “The ladies’ brunch for leukemia, right? I can have it mailed to you, no problem.” Sometimes Ellie would still forget. Everyone knew who she was because of Eli.
“You won’t—you won’t say anything to anybody. Will you?” Ellie asked.
The doctor softened and patted her knee. “Don’t worry,” she said. “Doctor-patient confidentiality is real. Even for the president’s family.”
“Thanks,” Ellie said gratefully.
“How’s the morning sickness?”
“Not sticking to the morning,” Ellie said as she stepped off the exam table. “But good the past couple of days.”
“I can prescribe an over-the-counter option for nausea. Pick it up at reception.”
At the luncheon, Ellie commended herself for sweet-talking all those rich old ladies. She was getting better at this, the whole presidential family thing. And Eli seemed grateful. Their mom largely wanted to stay out of the spotlight, and Eli knew better than to pressure her. “Besides, she’s a loose cannon,” he’d told Ellie. “Who knows when she’ll go off on a tangent about the benefits of Ayurveda or something? She means well, but I can’t risk turning off the more conservative supporters.”
“It’s not like yoga’s witchcraft, Eli,” Ellie had said.
“Yeah, well. You’d be surprised by what some in this country think.”
Ellie kept her back straight and her ankles crossed as she sat at the front table. She’d been repeating the names of each of the women that she met silently to herself. They loved that. Feeling important, like somebody really cared. Ellie couldn’t blame them. She wouldn’t have minded that kind of doting herself.
As the executive director of the recipient foundation began to close his speech, Ellie felt a cramping deep in her stomach. A pressure began to build in her pelvis. Is this normal?
She shifted in her seat, but that made pain shoot up her back. Ellie expected pregnancy to be uncomfortable, but like this? And in the first trimester? She’d already started to mentally prepare herself. Vet school was on hold, maybe indefinitely, as far as she was concerned. She still hadn’t told her mom but figured she had time to plan out that conversation. The pain subsided a bit, and Ellie looked around the table. It was full of successful women of all ages, yet she suspected none of them were on traditional career paths.
“Excuse me,” she said to the woman seated beside her. She looked to be about thirty-five and was a pretty, if somewhat plain, brunette. “I’m just curious. How are you involved with the organization?” she asked. Ellie couldn’t think of a polite way to ask, “Do you work?”
“Oh!” the woman said. “I used to sit on the board, but I’ve eased back a bit in recent years. Rodney, my husband, is always so busy with work-related events. I’m a wife and mother first, but I still try to make time for volunteering, which I’m so passionate about.” Her speech was clearly practiced, and Ellie got the idea that she wasn’t going to get much honesty out of this one.
“Alexa is so committed,” said the woman who sat on the other side of Ellie. “I wish I had her stamina after three kids! I just have the one, but I still feel swamped. Thankfully, my husband, Chris, simply demands that I make time for my SoulCycle classes.”
“Gwennie’s so sweet,” gushed Alexa. Ellie leaned back and allowed the two women to fawn over each other. Soon enough, the rest of the table joined in. It didn’t take long to suss out that most of them volunteered sporadically—at least when they weren’t attending luncheons.
“Let’s take a selfie, girls,” said the apparent matriarch with silver hair across from Ellie. She made sure to usher Ellie into the center, and after scores of these events she knew why. Now that the drama had somewhat died down from the Sean incident, it was once again trending to tag yourself in a photo with the president’s only sister. At least until the news finds out I’m knocked up.
As Ellie stood, an unbearable pain stabbed through her abdomen. “Dear, are you feeling alright?” asked the silver-haired woman. Her voice was masked in concern, but there was certainly a glimmer
of excitement in her eyes.
“I’m not sure,” Ellie said. All the women frowned. You always said you were perfectly fine at such a venue, even if you were bleeding out onto the floor. “I think maybe I need to go—”
She struggled to finish her sentence, though she didn’t know what she wanted to say. To the restroom? The doctor? To Henry? Ellie had never fainted before, but just like everything in life she recognized it when it was upon her. An immense feeling of tiredness so powerful she couldn’t keep her eyes open.
How did I get on the floor? “Eleanor. Eleanor.” It was the matriarch, and she called Ellie by a name she hadn’t gone by since she was a child. “Call an ambulance,” she said, her voice rich with excitement.
“There’s no need,” a booming voice said. Suddenly there were skilled hands on her. Of course. Any event endorsed by the president, whether Eli was there or not, was going to be flooded with Secret Service agents.
It was like being blackout drunk, with only a few flashes of awareness able to poke through the blackness. The ride seemed to take forever, and it was bumpy. She felt carsick on top of everything else but couldn’t open her lips to speak.
“BP is dropping,” another strange voice said.
She must have been getting wheeled through a hospital. The fluorescent lights nearly blinded her even through her closed eyes.
“…not viable…” said another new voice.
“…how far along?”
Ellie wanted to tell them, but she couldn’t. Is my baby okay? She felt like she was trapped in sleep paralysis and used up all her energy trying to get that sentence out. Nobody heard her.
“Dr. Marin, is she fit for anesthesia?” Whoever he was, he was taking forever to answer. Her nose itched, and she wanted to scratch it. She realized in a flash it was because there were tubes stuck in her nostril.
“In my opinion, it’s the best course of action,” he said.
No. She didn’t want to go under. It terrified her. All the statistics she’d heard and read said that it was the anesthesia that actually killed you more often than not. It wasn’t whatever they did to you during it.
