Auctioned to Him 7: The Contract
Page 29
Wow, I’m actually fine.
I smile at myself in the mirror.
“I’m pregnant, and I’m fine,” I say.
I go into the living room and sit down on the couch. I wait for my head to get flooded with thoughts of incompetence and all sorts of doubts, but nothing comes. My mind is clear. Free. Empty. Happy, perhaps?
Chapter 19 - Brielle
That night I called the only person I could think of. I haven’t spoken to Tara in years. We went to high school together, but after high school she moved a few towns over, and we fell out of touch. From social media, I know that she has been married since we were 18 and has a ten year-old stepson. Her husband was a teen father, and he now works as a volunteer firefighter while she stays home and takes care of their son.
I don’t know what else to do. I pick up the phone and dial her number. I need someone to talk to, and I just hope that she answers.
Two hours later, Tara is sitting across from me in my living room. She’s exuberant and red-cheeked and here. Actually here.
“I can’t believe you came over so quickly. It has been so many years and still…” I say.
“Yes, of course, I’m here for you, honey. I’ve wanted to reach out to you for so long. I’m happy to be here,” she gives me another hug.
I told her what happened. I told her I was pregnant and a brief overview of what I’ve been doing with my life and my situation with Wyatt. But tonight, I cover the details. She listens carefully hanging onto each word.
“So, that’s pretty much it,” I say when I get to the end of the story. “Would you like anything else to eat?”
Tara is much bigger than I am. She was always a heavy girl, but now she’s quite large. But despite that, she’s beautiful. Her kindness oozes from her, and I wonder how every single person she encounters doesn’t fall in love with her.
“No, I’m fine,” she says. “So what do you think you want to do? About the baby?”
I shrug. I don’t know.
“Either way, you should probably tell Wyatt.”
I nod. I know she’s right. “I don’t know.”
“What don’t you know? You don’t think he’ll take it well?”
I think about that for a moment. “I actually have no idea how he’s going to take it. But shouldn’t I know what I want to do before I tell him?”
“Perhaps. But you know, it’s not just your decision entirely. Besides, he might be very supportive about either decision you make.”
“But what if I don’t want to keep it and he does? What then?”
She shrugs. The very thought of that sends chills through my body. Can I really have this baby just for him to raise it? But what if I don’t want to have it and he does? Does that give me the right to get rid of it?
“I just don’t know. That’s why I wanted to call you. You’re my oldest friend, even though we haven’t been very close recently.”
“I’m always here for you. You know that, right?”
I nod. “I do now.”
We sit together without saying a word for some time. I don’t know what to say or do, but the mere presence of her puts me at ease. Breathing gets a little easier. My jaw doesn’t clench so much.
“What about your mom? Did you tell her?” Tara asks.
Oh, crap. My mom! “No, I didn’t,” I shake my head and tell her what happened with my mom. About her sickness and recovery. About her becoming a completely different person. A person that would take a long time to get to know.
“You shouldn’t judge her so harshly, Brielle,” Tara says after listening to the whole story. “You don’t know what it’s like to be on a brink of death like that. It’s very difficult and probably terrifying. She’s just trying to live her life now. Who knows what kind of regrets she’s trying to get past now that she’s actually alive.”
I never thought of it that way. To me, as it is with probably many people, my mom isn’t a whole person with her own desires and hopes and regrets. She’s just some reflection of me. It’s crazy to say that out loud, but I never thought of my mom out of my own context. She was always my mom. Not Danielle. Not a woman who survived the death of a child and her own battle with cancer. Thinking of her now as Danielle, I see her in a different light.
Chapter 20 - Brielle
I decided to keep the baby. I’d thought about it for a while, going back and forth for more than a week, talking to Tara on the phone, going through all pros and cons. Then one day, I just woke up and decided to go with my gut. And my gut said to keep it.
After making the decision, I seemed to have come alive. Energy sprouted from somewhere within me, and I no longer spent my days wallowing or laying around on the couch. I went back to the diner and got my job back. Today is Friday, and I am going to start it on the following Monday.
When before I could barely muster up the strength to drive to the grocery store and make frozen dinners in the microwave, once I made the decision to keep the baby, I bought nothing but healthy ingredients and started to cook elaborate and nutritious dinners.
I also decided to tell Wyatt, but not until I go the confirmation from the doctor that I was, indeed, pregnant. That’s where I’m headed to now. My appointment is at one in the afternoon, and sitting here at the stop light, I can’t help but think about how different my life has become in the short weeks that all of this has happened.
The phone rings. I answer and put it on speaker.
“So how are you feeling?” Tara asks. We are now talking at least once a day, and often more than a couple of times a day.
“Good. Excited. I’m on my way to the doctor now.”
“I’m so happy for you, Brielle.”
“I’m going to tell Wyatt as soon as the doctor confirms it. You wouldn’t believe how much energy I suddenly have. I was moping around for weeks, and now I just can’t wait to get up in the morning and start the day.”
* * *
And then…the world fades to black.
* * *
Some time later.
* * *
“Brielle? Brielle?” Someone’s calling my name. But it sounds very far away like it’s at the other end of a long tunnel.
I give up. My eyelids are just too heavy. I can’t open them. Not yet.
* * *
Some more time later.
* * *
“Brielle? Brielle?” This time, the words are closer. They are no longer a tunnel away. My eyelids are a little less heavy. I manage to open them. Harsh light floods in blinding me.
“Brielle? She’s opening her eyes! Brielle?”
The voice sounds familiar. The sound of it makes my heart seize up.
“Brielle, please wake up. Please.”
I try harder. Someone’s rooting for me. Someone very important.
When I finally open my eyes, I see Wyatt. The concerned look on his face morphs into relief. His eyes are filled with hope.
“W-y-a-t-t?” I manage to say. There’s something in my mouth. But someone removes it. My mouth is dry. My lips are chapped. I’ve never been this thirsty.
“It’s okay. You’re going to be okay.”
* * *
Some more time later.
* * *
I wake up and sit up in a hospital bed. I don’t know how much time has passed or what day it is. All I know is that Wyatt is no longer wearing his casts, but is walking around on his own.
“I love you,” he says over and over again. “Do you know that? I love you. I should’ve told you a long time ago, but I was afraid. And I didn’t know how to say it.”
I stare at him. I don’t understand what he’s saying. Or why.
Tara’s also there. She looks guilty. Happy to see me, but guilty.
“What’s wrong?” I ask. And then I remember.
“You were in a car accident. A tractor trailer ran the red light. You’re lucky to be alive,” Tara says.
And then I remember. It’s not just me.
“And my baby…” I ask.
>
No one says anything. I don’t know if Wyatt knows. But by the look on his face, I suspect that he does.
“What happened to my baby?” I ask. No one wants to say it. It’s not good news.
“You lost the baby,” Tara finally says. “I’m so sorry.”
* * *
The world fades to black.
Chapter 21 - Wyatt
Tara was the one who called and told me about the accident. I drove to the hospital in a daze. From the tone of her voice, I could tell it was bad. Strangers don’t just call other strangers about accidents if things aren’t bad.
When I finally got there, I saw a girl laying in a hospital bed. She was Brielle, but at the same time, she wasn’t Brielle. Gone was the exuberant, feisty girl who became one of my closest friends over the last few months. Gone were her laughter and her smile. Instead, what remained was some sort of fragile shell of a person she once was.
And then Tara told me about the pregnancy. About how she was going to keep the baby. My baby. A million thoughts swirled around in my head. Thoughts that I was ill-equipped to deal with. Thoughts that I had to simply put out of my head just to get through the days.
Brielle lay in an induced coma for three days. We didn’t know if she was going to live or die. I stayed the whole time. When I called O and told her what happened, she came to stay with me. She didn’t have to. I asked her not to, but she insisted. It was like something was different about her too.
“I love you. I love you,” I said to Brielle when she first opened her eyes. I didn’t say it when we were together and lived to regret it. So now that she was awake, I wasn’t going to miss my chance again.
“I love you,” I say to her again this morning. “I want you to know that I always did.”
She smiles at me. She knows about the baby but doesn’t say anything else about it. We try to focus on today. I try to make her laugh. I read funny stories to her from my phone. I show her funny videos of cats and dogs. Finally, she cracks a smile. A few hours later, she manages a laugh.
* * *
My sister had wanted to see her for the last two days. Ever since she woke up. But I didn’t want her to. Things between them got so bad and so complicated, I didn’t want Brielle to be uncomfortable in any way. Finally, after Brielle finally laughs, I decide to ask her about it.
“O is here. She has been here this whole time. For the three days that you were in a coma and the last two days that you were awake.”
“Really?” Brielle looks surprised.
“Yes. And she wants to see you.”
Brielle shakes her head.
“Please?” I ask again. But Brielle again shakes her head.
“She doesn’t want to see you,” I say to O, who’s waiting outside.
“No, I have to see her.”
“You can’t.”
I’m adamant, firm in my position. “If Brielle doesn’t want to see you, then that’s it. You can’t.”
I think she believes me. I think that she accepts Brielle’s decision. But I should know better. As soon as I start to walk over to the vending machine to get a cup of some terrible hospital coffee, O marches right into Brielle’s room.
“Brielle, I’m so sorry,” I hear O say.“I’m so sorry about everything. I was such a bitch to you. I don’t know what came over me. But I shouldn’t have acted that way.”
I come back to the room to pull O out.
“You can’t be here,” I say. “She doesn’t want to see you.”
“I know. I’m leaving. I just wanted you to know that. Okay? I feel terrible about all this.”
I’m about to drag O out, but Brielle stops me.
“It’s okay,” she whispers and sits up in her bed. “Go on.”
O apologizes in the way I’ve never seen her apologize before. I’ve never heard her be so sincere and honest. She talks about how awful she felt after her boyfriend dumped her and she wound up pregnant. She talks about how lost she’d felt and how coming back home was the only place she felt safe. And she talks about how much she hated Brielle for being there.
“I’m sorry, okay,” O sits down on the bed next to Brielle. “I was awful. I just wanted to apologize for being so awful and ask you to forgive me.”
Brielle takes a moment.
“Okay,” she finally nods and smiles. “Okay.”
Chapter 22 - Brielle
I have been back “home” with Wyatt and O for three weeks. He says that this house is my home, and slowly but surely, I started to believe him. Did I really have another home? The trailer where I grew up and lived with my mother for all of those years wasn’t really a home anymore. Not really. She was gone, traveling around Europe with her new boyfriend. And now that she was basically an entirely different person, the place that we had shared no longer felt like home.
I continued to get better and better every day. The car accident had some residual effects, of course. Goosebumps run up my arms whenever I hear the screeching of the tires or a honk. But otherwise, I was starting to feel like my old self.
“At least you never lost your memory,” O keeps saying. She’s right. I remember almost everything leading up to the accident and everything after I came out of that coma. What I remember most about her was how shitty she treated me when she first came to live here. But, the funny thing about life is that, just when you think you have something figured out, it changes on you.
“From the way O and I are getting along now, you’d think it was she who fell into a coma,” I remember joking with Wyatt. To say that O is now nice to me is to say the understatement of the century. She’s kind, sweet, accommodating. She’s starting to show now, and every day that goes by, every day that the baby grows bigger inside of her, the nicer she seems to get.
“I thought the hormones were supposed to make her worse,” Wyatt asks laying in bed with me one morning.
“Maybe only in the first trimester,” I shrug.
* * *
It has been three weeks since I left the hospital, and it has been longer than that since we talked about our own baby. The only real casualty of that fateful car crash. I don’t know how to bring it up, and I get the feeling that Wyatt doesn’t want to bring it up. Though I love this new O, who has somehow become one of my closest friends, seeing her belly swell does make me sad. I’m excited for her, but I am also devastated for my own child.
Everything about the accident is unfair, but it is out of my control. What I can control is how I react to it. How I allow it to affect my life. At least, that’s what I read on some new age self-help site. And when I first read those words, I thought they were the answers that I was seeking. I felt better. Calmer. But now, I realize that everything that has happened to me over the last year has been pretty unfair. It was just the accident that was particularly unfair and bad. But what is there to do? Nothing. I have no control over this. None of this.
It is in this mercurial state that I checked my email on my phone. The sun is shining brightly outside, and Wyatt keeps wanting me to go horseback riding with him, but I can’t muster the energy to get out of bed. Now that Wyatt got me a phone with better cell reception and actual coverage to allow me to go online, I have very little energy to do anything but lay around in bed.
There’s an email from Danielle. My heart drops and, at first, I don’t dare open it. What the hell does she want? I don’t know what my main issue is with my mom, but something about the thought of her makes my whole body tense up. On one hand, I’m happy for her. At least, I want to be. I’m happy that she found someone to spend time with, someone who can afford to take her to Europe. I’m glad that she’s living her life to the fullest. After everything that she has been through with losing my sister and getting diagnosed herself and nearly dying in the process, she really deserves to be happy. So why can’t I be happy for her? Perhaps, I’m a selfish, self-centered girl who wants her to be unhappy for the rest of her life. No, that can’t be it. It’s more than that. At least, it’s not all that.
“I was in a fuckin’ coma, Mom! How much worse could things get?” I talk at my phone. I want to toss it across the room, but it’s not the phone’s problem that I don’t want to get this email. I take a break, breathe in and out, before continuing.
“Great news: I’m getting married!” I read the line over and over. It’s at the end of the email. I read all the words around it and read it again, but it still doesn’t make sense.
“We want to get married in LA when he comes here on business next month. It’s not going to be a big wedding, just our closest family, and friends. I’ll write you more about it later, when we get the details figured out! How exciting!”
Getting married? Is my mom kidding? How the hell is she getting married!?
I get up and pace around the room. I can’t breathe. My chest hurts. I crack my knuckles and wince from the pain. I didn’t do it right. Fuck. How is this happening? She doesn’t even know this person that she’s marrying. They’ve only known each other a few months! That’s not enough time, at all.
“Can you believe it?” I ask Wyatt as soon as he comes into the room. He doesn’t know what I’m talking about it. I show him the email. It takes him forever to read it and respond.