8
Emily
I couldn’t get out of there quickly enough. There my little sister was, madly in love with this great guy, and now she had a baby. They were so happy. I should have been ecstatic for them, but I wasn’t. On the contrary, I felt like I couldn’t breathe. The situation seemed so much more real now that they were out of the hospital. I’d be lying if I said their happy family scenario made me feel good. It was just the opposite. I couldn’t be around them. I felt angry and jealous. Everything seemed so unfair. I know that I told myself in the hospital that the baby was a good thing and I could deal with it, but now I was having serious doubts about my ability to deal with anything.
Unlike Sara, I was living with a guy I wasn’t even sure I liked anymore—not to mention love. It was really difficult for me to be around them and witness all their love and joy. Sara was always the happy-go-lucky sister. Things seemed to work out in her favor regardless of the circumstances. I was feeling such conflict, and no matter how hard I tried to change how I felt about the situation, I couldn’t adjust how I truly felt. To make matters worse, feeling this way made me feel guilty. I wanted to be more accepting of the baby, but it was harder than I thought. I needed to get a grip on my emotions, because I felt like I was going crazy. I know I should be happy for her, but happy wasn’t what I was feeling.
Why was life so much easier for her? She got knocked up before she even finished college. She wasn’t engaged or married. But none of that mattered because the golden child always came up on top. Jealous? Yeah. I’ve always been jealous of her. Life was always different for me. There were so many more pressures being the oldest. I felt like I always had to be the serious, more levelheaded sibling. And I was over it. Damn, I wanted to be happy too.
I wasn’t sure if what I was feeling was simply jealousy or if there was more to it. I shouldn’t have been jealous. Sara is my sister and I love her. I know I should be thrilled they had this healthy, beautiful baby boy. And if I was honest, I didn’t want a baby right now. It seemed like a tremendous amount of responsibility and work. Law school was tough enough without adding an unwanted pregnancy to the mix. Besides, the way Sara described the delivery made me want to consider adoption as a more reasonable means of getting a child.
After our mom abandoned us, I had so many conflicting feelings about relationships. Seeing the bond between Sara, Jackson, Katharine and dad was difficult to witness. They were so excited about every little thing: the crib, the blanket, and the baby’s outfit. Heck, they got excited about changing his diaper, for Christ’s sake. They all were so happy and united. I felt like an outsider.
I wasn’t sure if I wanted to crawl in bed and cry, go for a long run, or hit something. I had been feeling out of sorts for weeks, and the baby just made my spirit even more despondent. Cognitively, I knew I had to be excited for my sister, because a child is truly a gift from God. Emotionally, I wasn’t even remotely happy for her. Sara was prettier, more outgoing, more fun and now had this beautiful baby boy. It just didn’t seem fair.
The last thing I wanted to do was go home to Martin, but I didn’t have a choice. I had a class early the next morning and needed to go to sleep. I didn’t think sleep would come easily, but I knew I had to try. My business law class at eight in the morning was a bitch. The professor was extremely demanding, and the assignments were long and arduous. With my unhappy emotional state lately, I was having a difficult enough time concentrating as it was. If I was exhausted, I knew I’d be in trouble.
I walked slowly to our third-floor apartment. I prayed Martin wouldn’t be home, but I knew he would be. He was very regimented. He functioned on a strict schedule. Even with the rigors of medical school, his behaviors were as predictable. I knew that when I walked into the apartment in eleven more steps, he would be sitting at the kitchen table with a glass of water reading something. He would look up, say, “Hi, babe,” and resume whatever he was reading. He wouldn’t ask about my day or how it was seeing the baby. He reserved those kinds of exchanges for when we were getting ready for bed.
Usually, when we prepared for bed, we’d have a short conversation. He’d kiss me lightly on the lips and we’d go to sleep. Sometimes he’d go back to the kitchen to study. I preferred when he did that. It was frustrating sleeping next to a man who wouldn’t have random sex on a whim during the week or want to cuddle and talk for hours.
On the nights he stayed up late, I usually grabbed my vibrator from my lingerie drawer and took care of myself before he came to bed, so I could sleep better. Even if I wasn’t on the pill, I doubted I’d get pregnant. We didn’t have enough sex for that to even happen.
That was another thing that drove me nuts about my sister. She and Jackson had sex all the time and in the most random places. Even when she was nine months pregnant, she told me a story about how they did it in a changing room at Bloomingdale’s. They got turned on by the mirrors on three sides of the room and couldn’t help themselves. I’d never had sex anywhere with Martin but in the bedroom.
Sadly, Martin was the only one I’d had sex with. Well, that’s not exactly accurate. There was one guy my senior year of high school I did it with in a car. Since it was my first time, it hurt pretty badly. Fortunately, it was over quick. There was a little kissing and some awkward fondling before he pulled out a condom, hastily covered his penis with it and then shoved it in me. The whole encounter totally sucked and was completely unfulfilling, and I liked to pretend it didn’t happen.
So there I was, about to unlock the door to the apartment I shared with my boyfriend of three years, and I was dreading it. Something had to change, or I was going to go crazy. Maybe I should try again to force him to be spontaneous. Yes, it’s all about attitude, Emily. You got this.
“Hey, Marty, I’m back,” I said as I walked into the kitchen, forcing a smile on my face. He wasn’t a huge fan of that nickname, but I was trying to keep the atmosphere lighthearted.
He looked up at me to acknowledge my presence. “Hi, babe,” he said. Then he looked back down at his book. God, I wanted to smack him, but I needed to stay strong.
I was feeling determination like never before. Things had to change, or I was going to lose my mind. I walked over to him, grabbed his chin, and planted a kiss on his lips. He looked at me strangely and barely kissed me back.
“How about taking a break?” I urged him with a big, forced smile.
“Not now. I’ve got a few more chapters to get through.” Of course he did. God forbid he take a few minutes to be with his girlfriend. It didn’t mater, I wasn’t ready to give up quite yet.
“C’mon, Marty. Just give me ten minutes. It’s been a tough day. I need you,” I pleaded. Oh Christ, now I was begging. I felt more pathetic than ever.
Martin looked at me like I was a mosquito that kept buzzing around his ear. “I have to get through these chapters tonight. Maybe some other time,” he said with absolutely zero affect. There was never “another time.” There were only the two encounters that were penciled in his very organized and very boring schedule in addition to our quick exchanges that occurred before bed.
“God, you are so fucking predictable, and I am so over this!” I screamed as I walked into the bedroom and slammed the door. I knew he wouldn’t follow me; he never did. He accused me of overacting now and again, and we never discussed the reasons for my outbursts. He always attributed them to hormones and left it at that.
He liked things to remain calm and constant. He didn’t like to argue, communicate about anything meaningful, or have any kind of passionate exchange, whether physical or emotional. I had to make a change. For the first time in my life, I wanted more.
I crawled under the covers and cried. I felt like I cried a lot more these days. I was unhappy and exhausted. I needed something fun and exciting in my life, or I was going to end up back at that psychiatrist my father sent me to after my parents split up. The doctor said I needed to express my feelings. I didn’t like doing that. Every time I tried to express myself with my boyfriend, he shut me down. I didn’t like telling my dad how I’d felt growing up because I didn’t want him to worry. He had enough on his plate raising the two of us on his own. Sometimes I would be able to talk to Sara, but as the older sister, I didn’t want to burden her either.
At one point the doctor put me on antidepressants, but they made me even more sullen. It felt like I was walking through hazy air. I hated being on medication. After a few months, I stopped taking them. No, I didn’t need a shrink this time. I needed to do something exciting and completely out of character.