“Well, in that case, I’m just going to get a real job and pay you back every cent from that.”
“That’s the last thing I want. You know that,” I say. “And that’s going to take forever, anyway.”
Brielle walks over to the closet and starts throwing clothes into her suitcase.
“How about this? Why don’t you just hire someone a little more compatible with your sister to be your servant around here. I bet she’ll like that.”
“Of course, she will!” I close the suitcase. I try to stop her from packing like a little child. I’m pathetic and stupid, and it’s all I can be right now. “But this, this thing between us, it has nothing to do with her. I thought that you liked being here. Liked spending time with me. Was I wrong?”
Brielle sighs deeply. “No, you weren’t.”
“So why are you leaving?”
“Because it’s all getting too much. It’s not just us here anymore. And I need some time to think about everything that has happened.”
I know there’s nothing else I can say or do to change her mind. I’m not here to keep her hostage. If she wants to leave, she has every right to. No matter how much it hurts me. In silence, I watch her pack her bag. She’s no longer tossing them into it mindlessly, she’s folding each one. Her mind is made up. All I can do now is let her go and see if she comes back to me.
Chapter 18 - Brielle
Two Weeks Later
Shorter days of the approaching winter descended upon my mom’s trailer, wrapping it in a dark cloud. In the past, this place was my space to be myself. It infused me with hope and made me feel as if everything was going to be okay. But not anymore.
I came back home to get back something I felt like I lost. My sense of myself. But this place was no longer my space for solace. It wasn’t home.
As I looked around these two rooms, everything was in its place. The pots and pans were in the bottom cupboard next to the stove. The plates were on the lower shelf near the stove. All utensils were in the broken drawer next to the sink. Mom had cleaned this place before she left, and it was the cleanest I’ve ever seen it. But that wasn’t why everything felt different.
Mom’s not here anymore, I remember saying to myself. This place is all mine for a while. It’s okay to make it my own.
But these words rang hollow. The person who came back here was a stranger. Her mother was now marrying some rich Swiss guy who she’s never met. She was falling in love with a spoiled billionaire who was a little too used to buying everything he ever wanted. And beyond all that, she, Brielle Cole, was also a stranger. She didn’t know who she was. She didn’t know what she was meant to do here. She didn’t know why she left or why she came back home.
Leaving that night was the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do. I have been sitting around my mom’s trailer for days now, doing nothing, and feeling no better about what had happened. Thinking back now, I don’t even know what the hell propelled me to leave. On one hand, it was Ophelia. Her cruelty and attitude and hatred for everything that I was. But, on the other hand, it was more than just Ophelia.
It was my mom’s sudden announcement and her ability to just move on with her life. I’ve never seen my mom act that way. For as long as I’ve ever known her, she has been dwelling and living in the past. It’s as if the present didn’t exist. All that existed was her life back then, even before her cancer diagnosis…when my sister was still alive. I’ve spent years trying to get her to move on with her life. To embrace what life had to offer. And now that she has, finally, Idon’t know what to do with myself. I’m angry at her. I’m pissed off. How dare she move on? How dare she be happy?
Agh, what a petulant and spoiled brat I am! I hate myself for these thoughts, and yet it is beyond me to make them stop. They’re like a streaming video that I can’t turn off. They simply come without an invitation and continue until they are done.
When I finally do get a quiet second, my thoughts turn to other things. Wyatt.
Why did I run out on him like that? Because of Ophelia, but she wasn’t the only reason. She was only a pretense.
I’m also angry. I started to pack my bags for one reason. I was angry with my mom, and I wanted to stop her. I wanted to beg her to stay. But then when I’d realized that that was impossible, I needed to keep going. My anger at her morphed into something else completely. It became anger at Ophelia and, eventually, anger with Wyatt. Why didn’t he defend me more to Ophelia? Why didn’t he take my side? I didn’t care that I was wrong. That I acted like a child, telling everyone the secret that I had no right to tell anyone.
I could’ve used that secret to connect with O. I could’ve told just her and I could’ve opened myself up to be her confidant. I could’ve kept her secret, and she would’ve thanked me for it. But instead, I did something else. I acted like a brat. I thought that he would be mad at her, but why would he be? She’s his sister, and he loves her. He wants her in his life. He’s going to be there for her.
“Fuck you, Wyatt,” I mutter. It has been more than two weeks since I left, but my anger at him and myself has only multiplied. “No, Fuck you, Brielle.”
I’m hungrier than usual. I open the refrigerator and eat a cold slice of last night’s pizza. Nothing too nutritious can satisfy my hunger now.
That fateful night when I decided to leave runs over and over in my head. And then an unexpected thought hits me.
I’m afraid.
There. I finally thought those words out loud. The next step is to say it out loud.
“I’m afraid. I was afraid,” I say. But of what? Of being happy. Of fighting for what I wanted. For staying with Wyatt and seeing where our relationship can go.
“And what relationship is that?” I’m now talking to myself. “You had sex a few times, so what? That hardly constitutes a relationship. Lots of people have sex without much of a relationship. I’m sure that Wyatt has had sex plenty without being in any relationship.”
I say those words out loud, partly because I feel like I have to and partly because I want to make them true. But they aren’t. We didn’t label it or define it, but what Wyatt and I had, had been a relationship. At least the beginning of one. And that was worth a lot. To both him and I.
“And I ruined it,” I whisper.
Another two weeks pass without one incident. I see that I’ve fallen into darkness, engulfed with boredom, but I can’t do anything about it to change it. The world outside is sunny and sparkly. The sky is bright blue without a single cloud, but it doesn’t bring me any happiness. I know I need to get up off the couch and go outside, at least for a walk, but I don’t have the energy. All I muster to do all day is to dial to get some food delivered. Even going to the grocery store seems like a task that’s too big to conquer.
This has to stop, I say to myself. I need to get a job. At least my old one. Then I can start thinking of what else to do with my life. But instead, I just pick up my phone and read the gossip magazines. Cellulite and how to lose ten pounds are the most important problems in the issues, and I’m terrified of stepping on the scale. I feel like I have gained at least ten pounds, if not more, in the last month.
Wait a second. Has it been a month already?
Suddenly, I’m filled with energy. I run over to the kitchen and leaf through the old calendar. It’s three months off, but the year is correct.
“Shit. Shit. Shit.”
My hands grow cold and my fingers get numb. I touch my neck and it feels like a stranger is touching me. I shudder and zip my hoodie.
“No, this can’t be. No. No. No.”
I shake my head. But it definitely can. I grab the keys to the car. On the way to the pharmacy, I pray that it’s not true.
“Please, please, don’t let this be true. This has to be a mistake. We just did it a few times. This can’t be happening.”
I turn up the radio to drown out my thoughts, but they refuse to go away. It wasn’t just one time. It was twice. And both times, we didn’t use any protection. Why? How could I’
ve been so stupid??
I’ve never had sex with anyone without protection before! What if he has some sort of disease? What if I have it now?
But a mysterious illness is not the most important thing on my mind.
When was the last time I had my period? I try to remember. I count the days, but I can’t quite remember. All I know is that it definitely wasn’t this month.
Fuck!! I scream and shake myself grabbing onto the steering wheel.
“No, no, no. This isn’t happening,” I whisper to myself. I try to calm myself down, but nothing works.
I get home from the pharmacy in a daze. There were like a million different pregnancy test brands at the pharmacy. How the hell are you supposed to choose one? I couldn’t, so I bought three different ones. I read the instructions. They are not too difficult, only three steps, but I still have trouble understanding. Eventually, I take one into the bathroom and pee on the stick. I leave the stick in the sink. I have to wait three minutes for the results to develop.
Three minutes. Doesn’t sound too long, but it also sounds like an eternity. I turn on the television, but all the channels annoy me. They are too loud and too bright. The shows are too stupid.
I need a drink.
I search the cabinets for my mom’s not-so-secret stash. I find a bottle of wine and pour myself a glass. This will calm me down. I put the glass to my lips and take a sip.
Shit!
I spit it all out.
What if I’m pregnant? I can’t have a drink while I’m pregnant!
Agh! I scream. I’m not much of a drinker, but I hate how when the craziness of the situation finally calls for a drink, I can’t have one!
“That’s fucking perfect!” I say. I put on the kettle instead. Tea. Soothing, calming tea. It will put me at ease. At least, a little bit.
I listen for the kettle to get louder and louder until it gives off one last puff and turns off once and for all. I take a moment to choose just the right kind of tea bag. Ginger tea is one of my favorites, but before I left I bought another kind of tea, Jasmine green tea with orange. I’ve yet to try it.
I rip off the foil and place the tea bag into my cup. The timer on my phone goes off. Three minutes are up. The results of the pregnancy test are up, but I can’t look at it yet.
That’s funny, I smile to myself. For the last hour, I’ve acted like a crazy person rushing around – running to the car, speeding to the pharmacy, speeding back home – all in an effort to find out if I’m pregnant or not in the shortest amount of time. And now that the test is done, I need more time.
I bring my tea cup to the kitchen table and sit down. I can’t look just yet. My whole life is about to change completely, if the result is positive, and I can’t bring myself to face that quite yet.
The tea is boiling hot, but I take a sip anyway. I dunk a biscuit into the tea and take a bite.
Well, this would definitely explain why I’ve been so hungry and lethargic.
When I’m done with my cup of tea, I walk over to the bathroom. “Be brave. Either way, it’s going to be okay,” I say to myself.
I walk over to the sink and pick up the pregnancy stick.
“You’re pregnant.”
The words are in blue, and they stand out against the whiteness of the pregnancy test. I thought that I would throw the test down and sob and cry if I saw that I was pregnant. But I don’t. Instead, I feel calm and at peace. I’m not terrified or upset. I’m fine.
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.
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