I’LL WALK ON THE EDGE FOR YOU
I’m yours, don’t give myself back to me.
~ Rumi
Willow
THERE’S A RUMBLE somewhere in my room. I close my eyes tighter and ignore whoever is trying to vandalize it. It’s too early to open my eyes. It’s too early to confront anyone. Not after the horrible night I had. Who can be roaming around opening and closing drawers?
“Fuck, I need at least one.” That’s Hazel voice, and I stop breathing, afraid she’s going to wake me up because she needs to borrow something. I love and hate to live with my sister. I hate it because she’s always borrowing my jewelry and losing something. I love it because I can borrow her shoes, though she hated me when I accidentally broke the heel of her red Jimmy Choos. Or that time when I scuffed her suede Prada boots. “Are these my new sandals? I swear I’m going to buy a safe for my stuff.”
Yep, she hates me. What did I do now? If she bitches about me taking her things, I’ll remind her of my Louboutin lipstick. That thing cost me nearly a hundred bucks. She has no idea where she left it. I have a lot to say if she dares to wake me up because of something I borrowed. I’m ready to lash out anyway. But I don’t get a chance to say anything. She closes the door of my room. Whatever happened, it’s not important enough to wake me up.
Of course, I spoke too soon. Seconds later she’s knocking hard on my door. “I’m going to the store,” Hazel calls.
Stretching my hand, I grab my phone to check the time. It’s 6:27 in the morning. “Isn’t it a little early to go to the store?” I groan, regretting last night and promising myself I won’t touch her stuff ever again. At least not today.
“It’s an emergency.” She enters my room. “I checked everywhere in the house. We are out of tampons.”
Pushing myself, I try to look friendly. Do not throw a pillow, remain calm. She’ll leave soon. Look helpful.
“Are you sure there’s nothing?” I get out of the bed, going through all the places where I could’ve put one. “Nothing.”
“I guess I’ll need a box, too, please.” I search for my purse, but I don’t know where it is.
“No worries, I’ll pay.” She scrunches her face. “Are you okay? You look a little green.”
“Kind of, I was puking all night.”
She twists her lips. “Maybe it was the fish I made. I’ll bring you some seltzer and crackers.”
“Thank you,” I say, going back to bed.
Resting my head back on my pillows, I close my eyes. I need five more minutes. Then, I’ll start my day. Why does she have to wake me up about tampons? I’m glad she’s bringing me some. I will need them . . . As I pull up the covers, it hits me.
“No, no, no.” I start searching around my room for my planner.
Where is it, where did I put my stupid planner?
Rushing through the house, I turn everything upside down until I find my purse in the media room. Opening it, I start searching for the note where I wrote down my last period. As I continue flipping pages, my heart hammers faster. I find it and start counting the days. Five fucking weeks and five days since it happened.
No.
No.
No.
It can’t be. What other proof do you need, Willow?
All the signs are here. Last night I threw up five times. I haven’t had my period, and the biggest factor—we had unprotected sex for almost two weeks.
But I’m on the fucking pill. It’s only ninety-nine percent effective. Of course, that one percent will fuck me seven ways to the end of the world. My life is over. Over. This can’t be happening to me. No one is going to hire a second rate, pregnant actress. I can’t be pregnant. I can’t have children. My DNA is faulty—my family sucks at raising children. My mother is the best example. What am I supposed to do now?
I run to my room, closing the door behind me. Calm down, Willow. Do. Not. Let. Your. Emotions. Run. This. Show. I go through my flash cards; clinging to a positive emotion doesn’t work. There’s not one positive thought inside my head. Let go of your worries. How the fuck can I do that? Pacing back and forth, I try to think of a solution.
This can’t be happening. Of course, it’s happening. Hazel always says it, just when I have my shit together, I find a way to sabotage myself. Months of hard work wasted on a lustful week. I knew better than to have sex with him. Stay away from him, I told myself. We haven’t even discussed our relationship.
Without thinking, I text Hunter that I need to talk to him. It’s urgent that we discuss this. After I send it, I regret it. No. He shouldn’t know. He’s going to think I did this on purpose. Did I? A way to tie him to me. My subconscious played this well. Do I want that kind of love?
“Are you okay?” Hazel enters my room carrying two boxes of tampons.
“Yeah,” I answer with disdain. “Sick, but whatever. Nothing I can’t fix.”
“I’m going downstairs to the gym,” she says, carefully, setting the boxes on top of my nightstand. “You know I’m here for you.”
“To laugh at me?” My voice drips with spite, and I’m on the verge of collapse.
“I’m sure it’s hard for you to talk about whatever is going on with you, but I’ll be here when you need me.” Her voice is neither condescending nor loud. “I bet there are a lot of emotions you have to work through before you can discuss it.”
“It’s upsetting me even thinking about it,” I respond, lowering my gaze.
“Okay.” She walks to the door. “Are you sure you don’t want my help?”
I shake my head, looking at my hands. The door closes, and I feel like I’m drowning. No one will be able to rescue me. Sitting on the floor, I start thinking about the possibilities. Not one of my options is helpful. A child is a big responsibility. There’s no way I can give this child up. It doesn’t take long before I feel Hazel’s movements. In no time, she’s sitting right next to me, not saying a word. Not touching me, just being there, waiting patiently.
“I think I’m pregnant.” I let the words out after a long time has passed.
“I can see this must be a huge surprise,” she says, taking a deep breath. “How would you like me to help?”
Hugging my legs, I stare at my toes. “You were right. I always do something to screw up my life.”
“With all due respect, Willow. I said that a long time ago, and that was me being stupid and neurotic. Sometimes, you shouldn’t listen to me.” Hazel takes my hand. “I know how you feel. I’ve been there.”
“Pregnant?” I gasp in surprise.
“Scared, thinking I might be pregnant, feeling alone.” Her voice stays calm. “I had just moved here from Santa Cruz. Elliot and I were careless during our last night together.”
Thinking about the eighteen-year-old Hazel breaks my heart. She had just moved to New York. I wasn’t very attentive to her in those days. Poor kid, scared and lonely.
“What happened?”
“For days, I thought about the outcome.” She traces lines on the carpet. “Elliot had lost his scholarship, and he was working a lot to help his family. His dad had just died. It was up to me to handle what I had done.”
“You should’ve come to me.”
She laughs. “You warned me so many times. How could I come to you? You’d think I was as stupid as Elliot’s older sister.” Hazel shakes her head. “Those days were the longest, most excruciating days of my life.”
“What happened?”
“Stress,” she responds. “A week after, I got my period.”
“Do you think it’s stress?”
She shakes her head and smiles. I feel so stupid, but also safe. Hazel gets it, and I’m not alone. “I don’t know. Maybe you were sick because of my cooking. Fitz texted me last night that he was sick. Maybe he’s right, and I don’t know how to cook.”
“But you look fine.”
“I didn’t eat here last night,” she reminds me. “Scott and I had that dinner with some potential clients.”
Hazel squeezes my hand. “What I know is that you’re not alone, and the sooner you find out, the better.”
“What would you have done?” I ask her.
She angles her head, shrugging. “I was going to talk to Gramps. Ask him to help me.”
“Elliot?”
“He had his own problems. In my crazy scenario, I raised our child by myself. Then when he was settled, he’d come for us. I read too many romance novels.” She smiles. “My advice to you is that you find out soon, and talk to Hunter. Communicate.” She winks at me. “Try that with Hunter, talk everything through. Don’t assume.”
“Can you get me a test?” I reach for my purse to grab my wallet. She shakes her head and leaves.
Hunter arrived only minutes after Hazel left my side. His face pale, his breathing shallow.
“Are you okay?”
“Hi.”
“Willow, you texted me that we need to talk,” he says, his mouth set on a grim line.
Just say it, Willow. Let it out and face the consequences. “I might be pregnant.”
His shoulders slump, he exhales loud and says, “Thank fuck.”
“What?” I shriek.
“I thought you were going to break up with me.” His voice filled with honesty and some worry.
“Expecting a baby is better than breaking up with you?”
He nods.
His reaction is the fire that ignites my rant. Blaming myself for letting things go too far between us when I don’t think I’m ready for anything. I haven’t learned to love myself enough. How can he expect me to love him? He thinks he can handle me, but it’s almost impossible. I don’t have a disease. I have a disorder. It won’t be cured, only managed. If we have children, they will probably face the same fate we did. Not once does he stop me. He listens without changing his calm facial expression. And I hate that he won’t react. I hate that I feel better after unloading everything. I hate that for two seconds, I want him to hug me and tell me that everything will be fine.
“I hate that for the rest of my life I’ll be wondering if you are with me because of a baby or because of me.”
He shoves his hands in his pockets and nods.
“You never read those birthday cards, did you?”
“Which ones?”
“Last year, when I decided to send you flowers every hour. The day that . . .” his gaze lingers around my room.
I shake my head.
He bobs his head once, closing the distance between us.
“I love you, Willow. Simple. I love you. With or without a baby, I want to spend the rest of my life with you.” He takes my hands. “Your flaws are your best feature. The way you wear those scars like battle wounds from a war that will never end. My love for you grows daily. Will I propose to you if you are pregnant?” He pauses, looking around my room. “No. I wouldn’t. If and when I propose to you, it will be because you love me. Which I’m starting to think isn’t the case.”
He releases my hands, looking out the window. “If you are expecting a baby, I will love him or her with all my heart. Because it’s ours. I won’t stop loving you. I don’t blame you at all. It was my responsibility to use a condom. For that, I apologize. I should be careful with you. Our relationship is too fragile to behave recklessly.”
“I bought a dozen tests.” Hazel saunters into my room, halting when she sees Hunter. “Oh, you’re here.”
“Sorry about my cooking,” she apologizes to him. “I think it was bad.”
“Ya, think?”
Hazel hands me the bag. “I guess I’ll leave you two to it?” She doesn’t wait for me to beg her to stay.
I take out one of the boxes inside the bag and look at Hunter. “I’ll call you after I find out.”
“No, I’m here to support you. Willow, I adore you. This isn’t easy for you—I know that.” He closes his eyes for a moment. “If you are pregnant, I’ll respect your decision and support you.”
That last sentence is reassuring. Unlike Hazel, I have Hunter’s support. God, I feel like I’m taking two steps behind after pouring all my insecurities on him. Don’t think about that, concentrate on finding out what’s happening with you. Peeing on the damn stick doesn’t take long. I place it on top of the box, wash my hands, and lean against the wall to wait. Hunter enters and takes my hand.
“Honestly, what do you want to happen?” he asks.
“I don’t know.”
We wait the longest sixty seconds in the history of the world. Hunter is the one who takes the stick and reads it.
“I would suggest a blood test, but so far the result is negative.” His voice is guarded, shaky. He sounds like he’s telling me about his last case, but hiding the shattering news. “If you make an appointment, I’ll go with you.”
No baby, I repeat to myself, staring down at my flat stomach. That’s good, that’s okay. Then why the fuck do I think my world is falling apart?
“Okay.” My chin quivers and I feel the threatening tears pushing their way out of my eyes, but I don’t allow them.
“You were right,” he says, leaving the bathroom. I follow, hoping he’ll tell me what he means by I’m right. “We shouldn’t be together.”
“Oh.” I fight the pricking tears. He’s leaving me. The words I said were, let me get my fucking act together, please. I never said . . . my knees buckle, but I reach out to the nightstand to steady myself. “I’m almost sure I said give me time,” I mumbled, looking at the carpet.
He gives me a sharp nod. “The point is that there’s no use in being next to you right now,” he says with a definite tone.
I hear the glass shattering noise inside my chest. If I am quiet enough, I’ll hear the shards hitting the floor.
“I love you,” he declares, and the words feel like a punch in the gut.
Sorry, I love you, but not enough. How many times have I heard that before?
“But I’m enough,” I respond. “I might not be enough for you, but I’m enough for myself.”
He gives me a loving look, and I want to hate him so badly. “Look, Willow, I know you have feelings for me, too,” he says. He exhales heavily, placing his hands on his waist while looking up to the ceiling.
“What I’m getting at is that we can’t be together until you recognize those feelings for yourself and you’re ready to voice them to the entire world.” He walks to the door. “You are enough. You are everything to me. I understand that you have a disorder. It’s a complicated illness and part of who you are. The storm you talk about, that’s you. You have a powerful personality. Things are so intense when you are around that you tilt my entire world.”
He smiles. “And I fucking love it. I want to be the man who can observe you silently from afar, learn every flaw, every quirk, and at the end of the day, love you even more.”
Then he sobers up, shaking his head. “My biggest wish is to be your exception. Because you are my exception. I want to be the lucky bastard who won your heart because you own mine. But I’m definitely not your father.” His voice is low, determined. “I choose you, but I also choose myself. I promise to validate your feelings, but you have to learn to validate mine. I will be by your side, only if you are willing to see me as your partner. You are not in this alone, but you have to recognize everyone who stands next to you.”
He runs a hand through his hair. “As I told you, I’ll give you time. Come back to me when you are sure about us, your feelings, and what you want for our future.” He sighs heavily. “Stop being scared of the what ifs, and be ready to live in the now,” he says, walking out of the door and my life.