In hope’s absence,
I feel every bit of empty;
Only full of holes
I’d never noticed before.
Day 323
“Hey,” I say softly into my phone, setting the notebook I’d been scrawling in aside. “What are you up to?”
I hear him groan as he stretches, and I try to picture what he looks like. The space between us does nothing to the imagination and I’d been blessed with infinite amounts of images of this man to last a lifetime.
Every image makes me wish I could crawl into his bed and live there with him.
“My mother wants me to go with her to the market.”
He says it matter-of-factly, like his mother is this person that I’m allowed to wonder about.
“Have you told her?”
Movement on the other end of the line tells me he hasn’t hung up, even though he hasn’t answered. I hear people speaking around him and then it’s quiet, like he’s gone elsewhere for privacy.
“Not yet,” he says.
“Okay.” I leave it at this. He’s already uprooted his life and having to tell his old-fashioned parents about his pregnant girlfriend back in Boston would be a lot to deal with.
Neither of us knew what we were doing and, while the timing wasn’t the best, I planned to make the best of it.
“Have you eaten?” His question makes me smile.
“Strawberries and chicken pot pie.”
He chuckles, and I miss the feeling of it vibrating from his core beneath my palm as I lay with my hand on his chest. I miss so much about us.
“No fast food. Not good for the baby.”
“Yes, sir,” I answer with a smile. “My appointments in an hour.”
“I’ll keep an eye on my phone. Call me afterward?”
I don’t say anything as I kick at the edge of my carpet. Because there’s something inside me that . . .
“I’m still a little worried,” I tell him.
“What’s wrong?”
“The cramps are still happening and I’m still spotting.” I rush through the dirty words, a small part of me truly worried.
“The doctor said that was normal, right?”
Sabrina walks into my apartment without so much as a knock. She walks past me right to my bathroom, her heels clicking against my wood floors.
Once she’s out of earshot, I answer.
“Yeah, but . . .”
Sabrina called the doctor a few days ago, at my insistence, just to see if I had anything to worry about.
“It’ll be fine, love.”
The sound of that word, the one he calls me when he’s feeling sweet, calms me.
“I’ve got to go but call me later, okay?”
I nod and say goodbye just as Sabrina walks into the living room.
“You two kids playing nice?” she asks, running her fingers through her copper waves. Her slate gray slacks fit perfectly, of course. And somehow, her fuchsia silk top matches the shade in the pattern of her pumps exactly.
I glance down at my light blue jeans and white T-shirt. My white tennis shoes peek up at me and I shrug.
“Yes. Of course.”
“You say of course like he wasn’t being a pain in the ass a few days ago.”
“You’re a pain in the ass everyday yet here we are.”
Sabrina’s big smile is wiped off her face as soon as one of my throw pillows hits her on the side of her head.
“You’re lucky you’re pregnant,” she says as she picks up the pillow and places it back on the sofa. When I turn away, I feel a sharp pain in my arm. She pulls her hand away from pinching me, a grin on her face.
“Such a dick.”
“Gotta be more careful, shorty,” she says.
My hand reaches up to rub my arm but stops at my lower abdomen, slight cramping making me wince.
“You all right?” she asks as she leads me to sit. I lower myself and lean back into the cushions.
“It doesn’t hurt badly. No sharp pains, which I think is a good thing. From my research anyway. The spotting isn’t heavy, either. Sporadic, at best.” There’s nothing alarming about how I feel, according to the doctor and the Internet. But I still feel something awful in the pit of stomach, right above where I imagine our baby is growing.
She sits next to me, rubbing her hand on my knee in these soothing little circles.
“Just breathe and relax.”
She sounds so calm, but her face is anything but, her brows drawn together and her eyes wide.
“We have to leave soon,” I remind her.
“Don’t worry about it. We can always reschedule.”
“No, no.” I shake my head and start to stand. “I need to go.”
Since I found out about the baby, I’ve been hesitant. Hesitant to accept that I was having a child; hesitant to really acknowledge that this was happening.
Even with Sabrina at my back, urging me to start making changes this early on, my pregnancy isn’t something I’ve accepted as more than an idea.
“Nothing’s wrong,” Sabrina says, snapping me out of my thoughts.
We get our things together and she insists on holding doors and helping me into her car.
“I’m impressed that you’re driving.”
She smiles at me from the driver’s seat and places her free hand on my knee for a moment.
“Get used to it. Can’t have you on your feet all day, every day.”
I roll my eyes and stare off, eyes never landing on anything as we push through traffic. I rub the inside of my elbow where they took my blood a few days prior for my pregnancy test.
Sabrina had been adamant about having an appointment sooner than the typical eight-week. We’d only approached the sixth week, still so early, but she was in mommy mode, booking appointments and feeding me as soon as I looked a little ill to combat the morning sickness.
“Feeling better?” she asks as she parks her car inside the garage. I nod, and she turns the car off. When I push the door open, she rushes up and helps me out.
“I’m not handicapped, Sabrina.” I soften my words with a small smile. It wasn’t her fault she was better prepared for the child that Gavin and I had made by accident.
It wasn’t her fault that something about this entire thing didn’t feel . . . right.
We walk inside, and Sabrina speaks to the receptionist. I stare at her profile, her skin, free of freckles, her dark brow, the bump in her nose that Yiayia always attributed to her Greek heritage.
I’d always loved Sabrina’s dark hair. But I loved a Sabrina who was happy with her appearance more. Still, I was curious.
When we’re seated in the waiting area, after I finish the stack of paperwork, sending pictures of some of the ridiculous questions to Gavin, I turn to her.
“Why don’t you wear your hair dark?”
“Makes me look pale and dead.” She’s got her face in her phone, even as she answers me.
My hand reaches for it and she yanks it away before shoving it into her purse.
“Is one of the symptoms of pregnancy an increase in annoying behavior?”
“Could be,” I answer with a grin. “Or I just know you well enough to know that your answer is total bullshit. If that were the case, you’d just up your spray tan.”
Sabrina rolls her eyes and glances around the waiting room. There’s a woman sitting in the corner, her large belly protruding from beneath her shirt like a balloon.
“I look like her.” Sabrina’s answer is quiet, something we both know to be true. “And I don’t want to.”
And there was her truth.
“She was beautiful.” Sabrina nods at my words.
She was. Even in her anger and unsteadiness, she was beautiful. There were times when she softened, and we could see the woman beyond her demons.
But they always came back and, while she was a slave to them, we were the ones subjected to their cruelty.
“Denise Milas?” a nurse asks when she pokes her head into the waiting room. I stand and head toward her, my footsteps quicker than usual. We make our way through the hallways and the nurse is introducing herself, making small talk, but my mind is elsewhere.
Sabrina wordlessly takes my hand and squeezes it as she speaks to the nurse. We enter a room and she lets it go so I can sit on the hospital bed.
The nurse takes my weight and blood pressure.
“I’ve had some spotting,” I blurt out. “And a little cramping.”
She smiles, eyes patient.
But she offers no words of encouragement, nothing to persuade me off the ledge.
“I’ll be back with the doctor,” she tells us.
As soon as she leaves, I turn to Sabrina.
“Was that weird, or is it just me?”
She shakes her head and stands next to me, placing her hand on my back and rubbing small circles that help me breathe.
There’s a knock at the door and a man pokes his head inside with a laptop in his hands. The nurse is with him as he makes a small introduction.
I watch the both of them intently.
His middle-aged good looks; the lines of concern on her face that aren’t reflected on his.
“She isn’t getting examined?” The nurse’s voice is hushed but I perk up.
“I can. I don’t mind at all.” I offer a smile, but the doctor shakes his head.
The nurse gives me one last look and then walks out.
Something about this entire thing has me feeling nauseous and I don’t know if I can blame it on the morning sickness.
“I have the results of your blood test,” he announces. “When was the first day of your last period?”
When I answer, he looks through his phone and I can see a calendar come up. There’s a frown on his face as he maneuvers on the laptop.
Sabrina is still rubbing my back when he looks up at her and speaks. It’s all a bunch of information I don’t give a shit about. Until he pauses and speaks again.
“Unfortunately, this is not a viable pregnancy. Your hormones levels . . .”
I feel like I’ve been hit in the chest. I can’t take a breath, I can’t do anything but sit here, deaf and sightless.
My breath comes back in a rush and my face crumples as a small sob escapes my pinched lips.
Sabrina’s hands are on me, pulling me close, and the doctor is now silent as I cry. Her sniffles are quiet and when I look up at her, the sorrow in her features will forever remain imprinted.
I take a deep breath and the doctor clears his throat, starting to speak again.
“I can’t tell you when it’ll happen, but it will happen. Feel free to call us with any questions.”
Sabrina shakes his hand and I bolt out of the room, passing the nurse, who regards me with lifted brows and lips settled in a line.
She knew, I tell myself as I walk out, trying to ignore the ache that I’d been told was nothing by everyone.
I knew. I knew it and the guilt starts to creep in. The complaints, the frustration when I found out I was pregnant. The way I kept the idea of it as only an idea and not embracing that I was going to be a mother.
Because I wasn’t going to be.
And now I didn’t know if I ever would.
I’ve pushed through the doors and made it outside when Sabrina catches up to me.
“We’re going to call around for a second opinion,” she tells me, her mind already working through plans B, C, and D. “But for now, I need you to relax.”
“Call around?” I whip around to face her. “You picked him! You said he was the best.”
“Even the best can make mistakes,” she tries to reason with me, holding her arms out. But I’m beyond reason.
“I want it out! I want it out of my body, I don’t care. Now that it’s done, I don’t want . . .” My words fade into hysteria.
Sabrina leads me to the car and I don’t want to call Gavin.
I don’t want to tell him, after he’s finally accepted that this is happening, that it isn’t anymore.
I don’t want to lose the possibilities.
I cry silently, all the way home.
And once I’m in my apartment, I sit on the floor with Carlos laying his head on my lap.
“I have to call Gavin,” I murmur as I rub his ears that flop back when I let them go. Sabrina’s sitting on the couch with my laptop open. She’s already started making calls and I am useless in her pursuit for a better ending.
“You should,” she tells me, as if it weren’t already bound to happen.
I start to get up and Sabrina sets the laptop aside to help me.
“I’m fine,” I say, even as the ache blooms and I hiss.
She helps me into my bed and hands me my phone from my purse.
“I’ll be out there if you need me.”
She closes the door behind her, but not before I see her eyes full of worry. It was a look I’d seen when we were much younger than we are today, and I hate that I’ve brought her back to that.
A few taps on my phone’s screen and Gavin’s number is staring back at me as I take this moment alone to breathe.
Rip it off like a Band-Aid, I tell myself and press the green button to call him. The first ring sounds so loud.
He picks up on the second.
“Hello,” he answers, his voice sounding tired.
“Hey,” I whisper.
“Everything all right?”
“No.”
There’s shuffling on the other end of the line and then what sounds like a door closing.
“What is it?”
Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Go.
“The doctor said this isn’t a viable pregnancy.”
I try to sound strong but I’m a mess of shallow breaths and tears.
He sighs.
“I’m so sorry, Denise.”
Something twists inside of me. It digs its roots and floods my veins until the ugly words fly from my lips.
“You didn’t want it anyway,” I whisper. And it was like the words I’d said to him before came back to haunt me.
Quit telling me you don’t want the baby. Because one day I might not be able to forgive you for it.
“But I never wanted this, Denise. I would never want this for you.”
It doesn’t matter. Not what I want, not what he wants. None of these things matter.
“Sabrina’s looking for other doctors but . . . I’m afraid to even hope.”
“If there’s anything that can be done, Sabrina will find it. In the meantime, just relax. We’ll take it as it comes.”
“I can’t . . .” I turn in my bed so I’m lying on my back. “I can’t afford to have hope. Because it’ll kill me if it doesn’t happen.”
The sounds of him breathing on the other end of the line makes me wish he were here beside me. That I could lie in his arms and feel so utterly untouchable.
Gavin always made me feel like the world would stop at his feet before it would ever be able to reach me.
“What is it you want then?”
“If it’s dead, I want it gone.” I repeat the sentiment I shared with Sabrina, to him. “I want my body back.”
“You just have to wait this out, love.”
Not even that word can soothe me completely.
“I just wish you were here,” I tell him as I start to cry again.
“Me too.”
Voices start picking up on his end of the line and he covers the phone, I assume, muffling the words I wouldn’t understand anyway. He responds to whoever is speaking to him and, after a moment, we’re back to silence.
“You just stay calm and relaxed. Stay in bed, make sure Sabrina is taking care of everything you need. I have to help my father with something but I’m only a text message away, okay?”
That’s where he’s wrong.
He’s more than a text message away and it all just makes my heart cry.
But I tell him okay and say goodbye.
After a moment, Sabrina knocks on the door.
“I wanted to wait until you got off the phone,” she says when she comes in.
“What is it?”
“There’s a doctor who might be able to help but I have to wait for her to call back.”
I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to keep hope at bay, but it’s impossible. My futile attempts are blown away like tumbleweeds.
“Hungry?”
She sounds as hopeful and happy as I’m trying not to be.
Still, I tell her I am, and she heads to the kitchen to order us some food.
In her absence, that dangerous hope fills me.
I place my hand over my abdomen. At first, my plea is silent.
And then . . .
“You can do this. Just hold on,” I whisper, tears in my eyes.
It only took me hearing that I would lose it for me to want it.