Amelia

“Everything okay with you today, Amelia? You look a little pale,” my co-worker Dave asks.

Maybe it was a little too soon to come back to work, five days after the miscarriage, but I had to get out of the house. I was going stir-crazy. And Dave is so sweet. “I’m doing better. Guess I should’ve applied more blush today.” I told everyone I had the flu, that’s why I was out of work.

Dave puts his hand on my shoulder and gives it a little squeeze. “I can run to Jamie’s Bakery and get you the donuts you like.”

If only I could fall for someone like Dave. He’s good-looking, sweet, and kind-hearted, but there’s no spark or butterflies. I understood early on what chemistry was. Whenever Jackson was around, even when I was young, I’d feel it. And it hasn’t changed. My heart flutters and knees go weak even when I hear his voice. “No, don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine. Getting back to work is helping me feel better already.”

As an advertising manager, there are days that I can sit at my computer all day. And that’s what I’ve needed to do to catch up. I oversee all the employees in the department, maintain the budget, and have direct contact with the clients. Needless to say, my inbox is full.

He scratches his jaw as his eyes drink me in. He’s not buying anything I’m selling.

“Seriously, Dave. I’m okay.”

“Will you let me know if you need anything?”

“Absolutely,” I say.

He’s still skeptical, keeping his quizzical gaze locked on me until he’s almost completely out of my office. I’m grateful that he cares about me, but I can’t tell him the truth about what happened. He’d probably carry me out of the office and force me to go back home. I know that’s what Dora wanted to do when she saw me this morning. My doctor would probably agree too. It was laparoscopic surgery, so my pain level is low and the medication alleviates all of my discomfort. And working at an advertising agency isn’t exactly physically demanding. I can sit in my office all day and barely need to get up and move around.

Being home alone is absolute torture. My emotions are raw, like live wires constantly shocking me and every time I stop thinking about the baby, I’m startled into remembering and the cycle starts again. Only staying in the hospital one night was nice. It had a cold sterility that made me want to crawl out of my skin. Staying at Dora’s house for a couple nights was good, but going home seemed like the right thing to do. That was a mistake. At least at Dora’s we watched TV and talked. I wasn’t by myself with the horrible thoughts. The guilt and blame. There’s not enough room in my head or my heart for the sadness that won’t loosen its grip on me.

Jackson keeps trying to see me. I’ve sent him a couple of matter-of-fact text messages letting him know where I am and how I’m doing. I’m not heartless and he seems concerned about me. But I’m not ready to see him or the disappointment that I’m sure will be written all over his beautiful face. And I fear that maybe he isn’t disappointed. What if he’s relieved? That would be worse. It’s all a mess. We were just starting to get into a groove of being together. Yes, he was a player, but I know he cares for me and we were going to give a relationship a shot. It felt so right. And the timing for the pregnancy wasn’t ideal, but we could’ve made it work.

My work day is coming to an end. I’m grateful that I made plans with Scarlette tonight. We’re getting together for dinner. I haven’t seen her since her New Year’s Eve party over a week ago. We didn’t make the best exit. After I told Jackson that I was pregnant, he wanted to hit the road, and fast. It was embarrassing, but he played it off that he wasn’t feeling well. I guess I deserved it. The timing seemed good. A New Year’s surprise. It definitely didn’t work out that way.

Dave pokes his head back in my office and says, “Hey, lady. Any interest in some chicken noodle soup for dinner?” He walks back behind where I’m seated at my desk and grasps my shoulders and starts massaging. It takes a moment to relax, but when I do it’s heavenly. “I could bring it over to your place so you don’t have to cook. You know what they say about chicken soup.”

“Thanks for the offer, but I have plans tonight.” I tilt my head to one side and Dave digs his fingers into my exposed neck muscles.

“That’s too bad. I was ready to take care of you tonight,” he says.

“Hey, Amelia,” Dora says, swinging her hips into my office. Her mouth opens wide, like she’s going to say more, but she stops in her tracks.

“What’s up, Dora?” Dave drops his hands and comes around to the other side of my desk. “Amelia was looking tense. Thought I’d help her out. I’m taking off for the night, ladies. See you on Monday.” He tosses a smirk my way and then he’s gone.

Dora shuts my door and closes in on me. “What the hell was Dave doing?”

“You saw. Rubbing my shoulders.” The way she’s acting, you’d think she caught us in a make-out session.

“He has the hots for you.” She points her finger at my desk for effect.

“Seriously, Dora? He’s trying to be nice. I told him I had the flu.”

She’s shaking her head back and forth like it’s on a swivel. “Do you like him?”

“Yes, I like him. But that’s it. I don’t want to be with him if that’s what you mean.”

“You should try not to give Dave mixed signals. He’s a nice guy.”

It’s a mystery to me why she thinks she has to stand up for Dave, but this interaction is zapping the last of my energy. Note to self, keep an eye on Dave. If I get the vibe that he’s into me, I’ll pull back on our friendship. “Trust me, I won’t lead Dave on. But you came in here on a mission. What’s up?” I lean in and fold my hands in front of me on my desk.

“Oh, right. I was going to ask if you wanted to hang out tonight. Watch a movie.” She’s dropped her attitude and is all of a sudden back to her normal self.

“Sounds fun, but I’m meeting Scarlette tonight. Rain check?”

“Yeah. Sounds good. Call me later if you want to talk.”

“Thank you.” Dora has been great through all of this. I appreciate her opening her home to me and being a reliable friend. “You’re the best.”

“I know,” she says and blows me a kiss on her way out my door.

On the ride to the restaurant, I go back and forth about whether or not I should tell Scarlette about the miscarriage. She never knew I was pregnant. I don’t think she’d tell anyone, especially if I ask her not to. And she’s a great listener, always ready to lend advice when need be. She knows about everything Jackson and I have been through since Ireland. Maybe it’ll be best to see how the evening goes before I decide what to tell her.

Checking myself out in the rearview mirror, I pull some concealer out of my purse and dab it under my eyes. I apply some lip gloss and brush through my hair. Nothing I do seems to improve my worn out, pale appearance. Sure, my body could’ve used a few more days to recover, but my mind was teeter-tottering on depression. It was go to work or be sucked into the vacuum of sadness. Work won.

Scarlette is waiting for me at a table in the back of the Italian restaurant. The smell immediately improves my mood. Fresh garlic and doughy bread. It’s the first meal that’s sounded and smelled good in days.

“Hi,” I say, adding as much cheerfulness to my voice as humanly possible.

Scarlette stands and gives me a hug. When she pulls back and scans my face, it’s clear that she can see something is wrong. Her eyebrows knit up and the back of her hand comes to my cheek. “Are you feeling okay?”

Blinking rapidly, I attempt to hold back my tears. Seeing her and her concern turns on the tap to my emotions. “Not really.”

“Oh, no. What’s wrong?”

Sitting down in a chair, I grab the napkin and dab my eyes before a real stream can get started. “I’ve got some bad news, but I need you to promise that you won’t tell anyone.”

She takes her seat across from me, never taking her eyes off me. “Of course, I won’t say a word.” Through tears and hard swallows, I fill her in, not skipping over anything, including how I can’t seem to face Jackson anymore.

“Wow, Amelia. I am so sorry to hear that.” Her hand rests on mine and she squeezes it. “I’m here for you if you need anything. To talk, or cry, anything.”

“Thank you.” I appreciate her genuine kindness.

“Can I give you a piece of advice?” she asks.

“Of course.”

“You should talk to Jackson. I saw him at McLoughlin Contracting a couple days ago. He isn’t in good shape. Braeden doesn’t know what’s going on. He asked Jackson if he needed a couple days off. Jackson just grumbled off and told Brae he was fine.”

Shit. I didn’t expect to hear that. “He’s really that upset?”

“Braeden says he’s been off for a few days now. Nobody can do anything right. He’s taking his frustrations out on everyone. Please see him. You guys should be together now. This is a difficult thing for both of you. You don’t have to do this alone.”

Damn hormones. I tear up again. The napkin is covered in black mascara. When a waiter comes up to the table to take our order, he hands me a new, fresh napkin. We tell him what we’d like to eat. Gnocchi for me and lasagna for Scarlette.

“Is it awful that I feel like I need some time? I want to see him, just not yet. The wounds are too fresh.”

“I thought you two were going to try and have a relationship. This isn’t the best way to make things work.”

A sob-laugh bubbles up. Of course, she’s right. But the thought of facing this loss with him feels overwhelming. We were going to have a baby, and then I lost it. What if he looks at me and decides he can’t be with me anymore? “We’ll talk soon. What about you and Brae? How are things going with you two?”

Her lips pull up tight at the sides, she’s conflicted. She doesn’t want to talk about her happiness in the midst of my misery. I don’t blame her, I’d be cautious too. “We’ve been great. Getting ready to go back to Ireland soon.”

“I completely forgot you guys were doing that. You’ll have so much fun.” I try to sound happy. Because I am for her. What I wouldn’t give to be planning a romantic getaway with Jackson. To be carefree and have no worries or doubts sounds amazing.

The waiter brings over two giant plates of steaming Italian dishes. At the first bite of garlicky butter sauce with gnocchi and shrimp, my mood elevates.

“You’ve got to tell me about all of your plans in Ireland this time around,” I say.

Nodding and smiling from time to time, I half-heartedly listen to her about her trip. I want to ask more about Jackson, but I don’t. I almost finish my entire plate of food. This should help because I haven’t eaten much since the miscarriage. Maybe I’ll order takeout from here every day until I feel like cooking again.

“How was the gnocchi?” Scarlette asks, sitting back in her chair and stretching her arms over her head.

“It was amazing. What about the lasagna?”

“Better than I can ever make. Thank goodness Brae likes to cook.” We both laugh.

“This was good for me. Thanks for meeting me. And, please, don’t say anything about the miscarriage to Braeden. I don’t want Jackson to get upset with me for telling anyone. I just needed to let it out. You know.”

She puts her fingers over her lips to signal that her lips are sealed. “Your secret is safe. But please, make sure you keep communicating with Jackson. He must be beside himself because he can’t see you.”

“I’m going to have to see him tomorrow at my brother’s engagement party. I’m nervous, but since we’re at my brother’s party it shouldn’t be too intense.”

“Good. I’m sure it’ll be good to hug him, see his face.” Her eyes are full of warmth and support.

Sinking back in my chair, I can see it now. The physical part will be easy. My body is drawn to his, but I want to keep my shit together. “It’s Will’s day. I’m not going to do anything to draw attention away from him and Julia.”

“Jackson won’t want that either.”

“I hope not,” I say.

“Give yourself a break. You guys suffered a huge loss.”

She’s right. If the party wasn’t tomorrow, I’d have to see him soon. I do miss him. “Thank you for tonight.”

“Anytime.” We get up, hug each other, and pay our bill.

Driving home, I dread the silence that lies ahead of me. Should I call Jackson and ask him to come over? I pick up my phone and scroll through my contacts. Thinking better of it, I toss my cell on the passenger seat and out of my reach.