Chapter 7
We were back in his apartment by four. The clinic paperwork sat on the kitchen island in a thin manila envelope, the ultrasound print still warm from my hand. I hadn't opened it again since the car.
I set my purse down and my phone lit up.
Three missed calls. All from the last two days. Two from my mom, one from Maya.
I stared at the screen. I hadn't realized I'd been avoiding the light.
He was behind me, pouring water. He saw it.
"You didn't tell them," he said.
It wasn't a question.
I didn't answer right away. I turned the phone face down.
"I didn't tell anyone," I said.
He set the glass down too hard. Water sloshed over the rim.
"Not even your mom?"
I shook my head. My throat was dry.
Maya had been my best friend since college. She'd been the one who drove me to the ER when I had the miscarriage two years before I met him. The one before him. A different man, a different life, where I'd bled in a bathroom at seven weeks and called her because I didn't want my mom to hear me cry. I'd learned then how to handle things alone and call it strength.
He picked up my phone and turned it over. The screen lit again. Mom, Maya. He held it out to me.
"Call her," he said. His voice was quieter. "One of them."
I wanted to say no. I wanted to keep that last private piece to myself. But the envelope on the counter felt like it was taking up all the air in the apartment.
I took the phone. My hands were shaking.
I called Maya.
She picked up on the second ring. "Anna? Oh my god. Where have you been?"
I sat down on the edge of his couch. He stayed by the island, far enough to give me space, close enough that I knew he was listening.
"I've been here," I said. "I'm sorry I didn't call back."
"Are you okay? Your mom called me. She said you weren't answering. I was about to come over."
I closed my eyes. I could hear her kids in the background, the faint sound of a TV.
"I needed to tell you something," I said. "I found out I'm pregnant."
Silence on the other end. Then a sharp breath.
"Anna. How far along?"
"Eight weeks. Maybe nine. I just came from the clinic."
"Eight weeks and you didn't call me?" Her voice cracked. "Why didn't you call me?"
That was the question. The same one he'd asked in a different way that first afternoon on the floor.
I looked at him. He was watching me, his hands flat on the counter, his jaw tight.
"Because I didn't want anyone to tell me what to do," I said. My voice was thin. "Last time, when I lost the baby, everyone had an opinion. My mom wanted me to try again right away. You remember how I was after. I couldn't do that again. I needed to figure it out myself first. So I didn't tell my mom, I didn't tell you. I didn't tell anyone."
Maya was quiet for a second. I heard her move to another room. A door closed.
"Honey," she said, softer now. "You don't have to figure everything out by yourself to be strong. That's not strength, that's just being alone."
Tears started before I could stop them. I wiped at my cheeks with the heel of my hand.
"I know," I whispered. "I just didn't know how to say it."
He pushed off the counter and came closer. He didn't touch me. He crouched down in front of the couch, the same way he had that first day, but his posture was different now. Smaller.
"I hid it from everyone," I said into the phone, but I was looking at him. "Not just him."
Maya heard the shift in my voice. "Is he there?"
"Yes."
"Is he... is he being okay?"
I swallowed. "He's listening."
Maya let out a breath. "Put me on speaker if you want. Or call me back. But Anna, I'm here. Your mom is worried sick. You have to let us in."
"I will," I said. "I will tell her tonight. I just needed to tell you first."
"Okay. Okay, I'm not going anywhere. You hear me? My phone stays on."
After we hung up, the apartment was very quiet. The late light from the windows cut across the floor in long rectangles.
He was still crouched in front of me. His eyes were red at the edges.
"You went to every appointment alone," he said. It wasn't a question. It was realization. "The pharmacy. The first test. All of it."
I nodded.
"You let me think you were hiding it from me," he said. His voice was rough. "Like I was the one you were protecting yourself from. But you were hiding from everyone."
"I was protecting myself," I said. "Period."
He put his head down for a moment, his hands clasped between his knees. When he looked up, something had changed in his face. The intensity from that first day, the possession, had thinned into something else. Guilt.
"I wasn't there," he said. "For any of it. And you got used to me not being there."
I didn't have an answer for that. The phone buzzed again on the couch between us. Maya: Call me when you tell your mom. I'm here.
He saw it. He didn't reach for the phone this time.
May you like
"She's waiting," he said.
I knew he meant Maya. And my mom. All the people I'd shut out. The envelope was still on the counter, waiting to be opened with someone else this time.
