Tyler wants me home for Aspen’s first Christmas, and when I decline the invite, like I’m just any other normal guest in their life, he doesn’t let me off that simple. “We can fly down and spend it with you.” I don’t say a word, and in my husband’s mind, I can imagine him already planning this New Mexico Christmas together. I’m not sure how to approach this subject with him. I take the coward’s way out and wait to speak with Grace at my next therapy session.

“What is really the issue, Emma? We have processed the grief with the trauma, and you recall good things associated with the pregnancy. In your mind, you know Aspen is wanted, and when you carried her, you remember those times as some of the best in your life. What is at the root of the issue?”

She dives into the problems at hand and cringes. “I don’t feel anything for her.”

“Then maybe you should be around her. I know it is a different kind of love, but you don’t develop feelings for a significant other through telepathy, Emma. You need to be physically present to make it work. I’m not telling you to go home but let them visit. If need be, they can stay in a hotel, where they are not in your face. And when you need time away, you can come back here.”

Before I can say anything that would explain the fear on a greater level, I start to breathe in deeply, almost panting, and I can’t catch my breath. I’m afraid I will pass out if I don’t get my breathing leveled out in a couple of minutes. Grace, unlike what she has done so many times, stays planted in her seat and watches me. She is not approaching me with her calming touch as I have grown accustomed to. Instead, she instructs me from her seat. “Now, Emma, take deep breaths.” But I need her to help me. Looking at her, as if she is reading my mind, I know she knows what I want.

“That is okay, Emma. I know you can self-soothe yourself, sweetheart.”

“No. I. Can’t. Grace.” I barely get out.

“Yes, you can. You are due to live a life free from this commune. Honey, you are not meant to be here all day away from your family. You can do this.”

I take in a calming breath, but it doesn’t feel that way. I’m struggling to breathe as I count to five and then exhale to another count of five. In less than five minutes, I’m starting to breathe normal. Grace doesn’t wait to finish this hard subject. “If you truly don’t want Tyler to come for Christmas with Aspen, then you need to call him before he makes any further plans.” Handing me the phone, she looks almost disappointed in me.

“It is too soon, Grace,” I state.

“Yes, you have claimed that, but, Emma, them coming is a good thing.”

* * *

Christmas is lonely. Most everyone has left to go home for the holidays. Ellie, who is in the substance abuse program, doesn’t feel she is ready to leave, though she has been incorporated with all the other occupants and is not in what we dub the withdrawal building. Most everyone with substance abuse are not allowed out of that building or off the grounds for at least three months, depending on their specific treatment plan. Once they can stand on their own two feet, they normally mingle with us for a while until they feel safe entering the world with all the pressures of drugs or alcohol.

I sometimes wonder if Kent should look at this facility for Amanda. Like myself, she has tried so many treatment facilities and none have stuck yet.

Jolie couldn’t travel, not that she would visit her parents anyway. When I get back to our room after my last therapy session, I see Jolie in bed sleeping. She sleeps a lot lately. I guess I remember feeling that way when I was pregnant. After shutting the door, I grab the new book Tyler sent me for Christmas, along with a large box of other things, and sit with my little lamp book clip, thinking of all he has done for me. Even though he was disappointed I nixed his trip here with Aspen and his attempts to have me fly home, he still went out of his way to make sure I had everything I needed for Christmas.

Christmas was always my favorite holiday. I would make sure every room had a tree in it and any other Christmas decorations the room warranted. Mom and Dad, never marrying, still made my Christmases so special. Dad stayed the night on Christmas Eve so he could see my face in the morning when I’d run in the room, taking in all that Santa left us. Everyone thought it was weird, with my stepdad and all, but Kent did everything he could to make sure I never felt slighted by having to pick between Mom and Dad.

Picking up The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo, which I’m sure Ty shook his head at as he tried to find the recent Taylor Jenkins Reid book, I’m one chapter in when Jolie wakes, staring at me. “What’s up?” I ask.

“You were so quiet that when I looked over at you and that poor excuse for a light, I was startled. You are going to ruin your eyesight if you don’t watch it.”

I can’t help but chuckle at her. “You already sound like a mom,” I say.

“I guess I do, honestly. I need more practice so continue with your messed-up shit so I can correct you. This way I can really get my practice in,” she jokes.

“Oh, I can do some messed-up shit, that is for sure.” I then throw a pillow her way, and for a second, I hope she forgets she’s pregnant with her rapist’s baby, and I forget I can’t even look at my child without a world of guilt crashing down on me.

After we finish trying to whack one another with our pillows, I sit in front of her. “So what are we going to do for the holidays?” she asks. “It’s just you and me, sister.”

“Um, I guess we can go into town and do some shopping. Not that any of the packages would get anywhere before Christmas,” I say since it’s the twenty-third.

“I have a better idea. Let’s go down to the living room and watch some old Christmas movies,” she suggests. “Growing up, my parents and I would watch a movie each night, mainly the old ones like White Christmas or the Holiday Inn.”

I hear a pang of remorse in her voice. “It sounds like you had a good childhood.”

She inhales a long breath. “I really did, but now, I’m not sure I’ll ever get it back.”

“No, I think you will. Once they meet their grandson or granddaughter, they will.” I try to comfort her because something about Jolie makes me want to wrap her up tight and protect her.

“Granddaughter. This little one will be their granddaughter.”

She has never mentioned the sex of her baby in the six weeks we have lived together. “A little girl, that’s wonderful.” And I try to pull anything from the air about the little girl I have waiting for me at home. Trying to avoid that thought, I say, “A name, does she have a name?”

“No, I’m awful with names. Do you mind me asking since you have a girl what were some of the names on your short list?”

I smile because names were hard for us, too, but in the end, we chose Aspen and Denver (if we happened to have a boy) to use in honor of a trip we planned between our IVFs. “Well, our first IVF didn’t take, so we picked a new set of names between the first and second try, which was successful. But before we picked Aspen, we had all unisex names we could use for a boy or girl. Ayden, River, Peyton, Preston, Reagan, and Connor. So if you like any of those names, have at it. It’s not like I’ll have anymore.”

Grabbing my hands, she says, “No, you may change your mind.”

Shaking my head adamantly, I say, “NO. I almost died in childbirth, and they had to perform an emergency hysterectomy. Believe me, my baby making days are over.”

I see I have embarrassed her, and before I can tell her it is okay, she slaps her hand over her mouth. “Shit, Emma, I’m sorry.”

“No, sweetie, it’s all right.”

Looking down at her feet, which I’m surprised she can do, she only says, “Man, if I could get my feet actually in my mouth, I guess that is what I would be having for dinner.”

Jolie does make me laugh at her witty little comment. “It’s okay. I’ll feed you something better than feet for dinner.”

“And what is that?” she asks.

“Ah, any pregnant woman’s dream.” She waits for my dramatic delivery. “Ice cream!”

“Old movies and ice cream sound like a wonderful night to me. What are we waiting for?” Good question, but before I can say anything, the pregnant woman with her mind on ice cream is out the door, heading to the kitchen. Ah, I recall those days. Remembering I have one thing to do before I call Ty, I say, “Jolie, give me a second.”

I want to talk to my husband on my own and not be interrupted, but for that to occur, I know I must call my dad first. I am doing it because I feel obligated. Before Ty, he was the number one man in my life and my best friend. Even though I love my mom immensely, it never compared to the bond I have with my dad. Picking up the phone on the first ring, I am glad to hear his voice. He is not judgmental or rude. He wants to hear about everything from my treatment to the retreat. His questions give me hope that we can recover from this.