Chapter 3
Britain
12 weeks. Twelve weeks of just the peanut and me. If it’s only been twelve weeks, why do I look 5 months pregnant?! I pull my camisole down over my belly, stretching it taut. Like if the fabric were tighter, my belly would look smaller. News flash: It doesn’t.
I look at my reflection in the full-length mirror. The summer sun has helped put some color back on my pale, lifeless body. And thanks to prenatal vitamins, my hair is long, luscious, and golden blonde, passing my shoulder blades for the first time in a decade. Unfortunately none of that is enough to detract from the dark purple bags under my eyes. They're the only visible, outward sign of the pain and turmoil that still haunts me. But luckily, I’m able to play off my lack of sleep on pregnancy woes. If only that were the truth…
Cupping my growing belly, I whisper to the peanut, “Just you and me, kiddo. Well, you and me and the girls.” I pause, finding the courage to say out loud, “I’m so excited to see you today.” Sometimes I think if I say the words out loud, it’ll make them more true. I hope it makes them true. It’s not that I’m lying about my excitement, it’s just that there’s still so much hurt that it shrouds the excitement, darkening it. Every elation feels less like happiness and more like anxiety. The butterflies feel more like nausea laced with dread than with glee.
I’m trying, but it’s hard. It’s so fucking hard. To get out of bed every day and pretend like I’m okay when I’m not. I try to put on a brave face for the girls, but most nights I still cry myself to sleep and I pray they won’t hear me. Another news flash: I’m normally unsuccessful. Inevitably, one of them will slip into my bed at night. It’s comforting having them there, but usually it just magnifies the fact that I’m alone, and there’s room for my grown children to try to soothe me to sleep each night. I appreciate them, but I should be nursing them over their heartbreak, not the other way around.
I throw on a pair of spandex biker shorts before heading down to the kitchen, well aware the girls are already up. Caroline was texting from bed at 6:00 A.M. before she even left my room. Once she got downstairs and turned on the great room TV, Elodie joined her like a moth to a flame. The girls have always been early risers and light sleepers. But Peanut, you’re going to be my sleeper, though, right? Please?
I walk out of my primary suite and down the main staircase as the bright morning sun assaults my eyes, streaming through the second-story windows of the great room. I need it, though. I need the sun desperately. Every day feels like a battle not to fall into a deep depression. Sunlight, exercise, and staying busy are my only saving graces right now.
When I get to the bottom of the stairs, I can see into the great room and I smile slightly. Both girls are cuddled in their respective corners of our cloud sectional with throw blankets piled around them, scrolling through their phones while an episode of Below Deck echoes throughout the first floor.
“Morning, girls,” I call out to them as I make my way over to the sectional to give them each a kiss.
“Hi, Mom.” “Morning,” they both say, never glancing up from their screens. I drop a kiss quickly on both their heads, then turn toward the kitchen.
“Mom, don’t forget, you have your virtual appointment with Carla at 8:00.” I feel a stab of shame in my gut at Caroline’s reminder. When did they have to start taking care of me?
“Thanks for the reminder, baby.” I just turn around and give her the warmest smile I can manage, then head straight for the coffee pot. As I make my way into the kitchen, the interior courtyard catches my attention and I make a mental note to do my session with Carla outside.
We’re still settling into the new house, and while it wasn’t exactly what I was looking for, it’s been pretty great so far. I had originally hoped for a large cabin on Spearhead, not this sprawling villa on Robles Lake. But the timing of it all just fell into place, and logistically it just works. I’ll always keep an eye out for property on Spearhead, but lakefront lots only come available every few years. Robles seemed like a good compromise in the interim, only about 20 minutes from Georgia’s and 25 minutes from Sandy’s.
Robles Lake and Spearhead seem worlds apart even though it’s a surprisingly short distance in reality. The divergent lakes are about equal in size, but the scenery here resembles the valley floor more than the Sierra Nevadas. But Robles has a certain beauty in its own right, I suppose. It’s nestled into the rolling golden hills with sandy beaches and dusty roads, all of it seeming to be perfectly juxtaposed to the turquoise water of the lake. It is, however, a bit ironic that its name means “oaks” when there are so few trees to be found here.
The house itself is beautiful. It’s a 5-bed, smooth stucco, Spanish-influenced villa with an interior courtyard and a pool. It blends into the hillside, the color of the house a perfect camouflage with the golden grasses, accentuated with a terracotta tile roof. And while we aren’t exactly lake front, we are lake view, which is exactly what I have my sights set on…as soon as I get my coffee.
Lately, I’ve been living for my mornings, almost as much as I dread my nights. The mornings are always the brightest spots of my day. I’m always a bit more hopeful that today will be the day that it starts to hurt a little less, that the tears won’t come so easily. Every morning I sit on the patio with my one and only cup of coffee for the day, and I plan. I plan the day and that I will be better. I’ll resolve to be stronger, and to be happy, and some of the time it even works. That is, until about 8:00 P.M.
That’s when the anxiety and fear set in. It reminds me of when the girls were both newborns, and I was terrified of the nights. I could go through our days with ease, but as soon as the sun went down, I’d turn into an anxious, tearful mess. It was the fear of the unknown that I struggled with. Would the baby sleep that night? Would I get to sleep that night? What if something happened?
I did most of the newborn nights alone since Damian was working 40+ hours and going to school for his postgraduate at the same time. Whatever happened during the night, it was my domain to manage. The pressure and the fear ate away at me. So much so, I eventually stopped going to bed, opting to just stay on the couch with the bassinet beside me, crying out of fear until I fell asleep or one of the girls woke up.
It’s the same feeling I get now. It’s this fear of the unknown. The pressure that it’s all on me now, and no matter what happens, it’s on me to manage…alone. I thought, I hoped, with time, the feeling would ease, but it hasn’t happened yet. If anything, it seems to be getting worse. I was doing okay for a little bit, when I was staying at Georgia’s with Alex. But once I moved out, every day has been a little bit harder, and I’ve cried a little bit more.
I can hear Carla now, “Grief isn’t a linear experience, Britain. You are allowed to be okay one day, then not the next.” Carla’s right, she always is, and nothing is as true as that statement. Grief hasn’t been linear for me. It’s been a zig-zagging chart of high highs and low lows.
“Whoa! Mom, you, like, popped or something.” Elodie sidelines me in the kitchen. I look down at the belly. She’s right, it wasn’t this protruding yesterday. I look up to see Elodie staring at my stomach, too.
I laugh lightly, not whole-heartedly. “Yep, sure did.” I pause for a moment, picturing Liam in the kitchen with us. I can see him reaching out for me, obsessed with me and our growing baby. I get chills, and my stomach rolls. I hate that I do this. I imagine the ‘might have beens’ constantly. The doctors appointments we would go to together. The nights we’d spend lying in bed, my body pressed against his. I imagine the whispered ‘I love you’s’ and the feel of his warm hands on me. I have to stop doing this. I have to because not only are these fantasies decidedly not real, neither was our relationship.
“So, I have my appointment with Carla at 8:00, and then a doctor's appointment this afternoon. But other than that, what do you guys want to do today?” I try my best to divert my attention to planning. This is what I do. This is how I survive.
Caroline joins us in the kitchen. “We were actually hoping you’d take us to Gigi’s this morning.” Oh.
“Sure, yeah. I can do that.” The girls and Sandy are getting on like a house on fire. I’ve never really understood that sentiment, but when I see the three of them together, laughing like hooligans, it starts to make more sense. “You want me to take you to the coffee shop or to their house? And then what time do you want me to pick you up? I can come right after the appointment, and we can do Colton’s for dinner. All of us together, maybe?”
Elodie and Caroline exchange a look, activating my “mom sense.” They’re keeping something from me.
Caroline speaks for both of them, “Yeah, that sounds good. We can also just play it by ear depending when you get done. And you can take us to the coffee shop. Grandpa wants our help making the cinnamon rolls for this weekend.”
“Mmm hmm, okay,” I say with suspicion and a hint of jealousy. I sort of wish I could just ditch my appointment and go make cinnamon rolls, too. Getting lost in the physical activity would be nice. So would hanging out with Sandy, Jim, and the girls. But I should be cherishing this alone time because pretty soon such a thing won’t exist.
“I’m gonna go sit on the patio with a cup of coffee. Anyone want to join me?” Maybe I can get one of them to spill the beans about the look they just shared.
Caroline pipes up before Elodie gets a chance, “We’re gonna go eat breakfast, then get ready so as soon as you're done with Carla, we can leave.” Elodie just nods along in response. Whenever they’re being secretive, Caroline talks for the both of them since Elodie lacks a filter. I was always able to count on Elodie to tattle on Caroline, and herself, when they were littler.
“No problem, sounds good. If you need anything, you know where to find me.” I smile and head for the coffee maker that Elodie has already prepped and readied for me, my favorite mug already sitting underneath the drip. The girls make their own breakfast, filling humongous bowls with Cap’n Crunch, while I get out my bowl for my oatmeal filled with hemp, chia, and flax seeds. Ah, to be young again.
I’m just getting settled on the patio with my coffee and breakfast when my phone pings. I don’t even have to look to know who it is. Matthias. It’s the same every morning. He’s steadfast, still, after all these weeks. My mouth turns up the smallest amount as I read the message.
Matthias
Morning sweetheart. Hope you slept well and you’re feeling better.
Britain
Hi. I slept okay, and feel a little bit better. Thanks for checking. ??
Lies. I did not sleep okay and my stomach didn’t hurt. But I wanted him to leave last night, so I told him I was nauseous and wanted to go to bed. I don’t want Matthias to know how bad I’m struggling. So, I hide it from him, which is awful. I know I should tell him, but every time I’m with him, I feel good and I think, this is all I need, to just be around him, and I’ll be fine. But again, as soon as the sun sets…I get this awful feeling that comes over me, and I push Matthias away.
I don’t think he’s caught on. At least I hope he hasn’t because I don’t want him to feel like he’s some runner-up or rebound, that I’d rather be somewhere else than with him. I want to be with him, but there’s a wall between here and there that I can’t seem to scale just yet. I open my phone and add to my ‘Things to talk about with Carla list’: Progressing with Matthias, when will I be able to be intimate with him?
I set my phone down on the patio table and look out over the lake. There’s hardly a cloud in the sky, the water smooth as glass due to the early hour, and the memories just as fresh and biting as if it all happened yesterday. The irony that this is where I met him is like a slap across the face. I’m sure he barely remembers it, but not me. There was something about him even then that I was inexplicably drawn to and yearned for. Even then, before I knew what it meant, I was his.
I cuddle into the outdoor sofa with my laptop perched on its arm. I’m still nursing my coffee, stretching it out as long as possible so it feels like my second cup, not my rewarmed first, and I’ve got my box of Kleenex by my side at the ready. The good news is I don’t feel queasy and nervous before today’s session like I did last week, which means I’m acclimating into routine therapy again. But I can’t fool myself into thinking that I won’t feel like utter crap by the time this is over. So with dread, I open the Zoom invite link and wait for Carla to join.
The interior courtyard that sits in the center of the house is still a bit sparsely decorated, but I’ve got my sofa and side table, my laptop and coffee — the essentials. And the girls made good on their promise to get ready for Sandy’s as soon as breakfast was over. They’ve also made themselves scarce from the main level for my session. I don’t ask them to do it, but I’m glad they do. No one wants to watch their mom break down every night, let alone every therapy session, too.
The laptop dings as Carla joins our meeting.
“Wow, Carla. Your hair looks amazing.” She’s gotten rid of her bob. The severe bob she’s had for six years is now a chic pixie cut.
“Thank you, Britain. How are you feeling today?” She never lets me small-talk my way out of discussing my feelings.
“Well, about the same, I guess. I'm still having a hard time at night. Still crying a lot.” I shrug.
“Has anything changed over the past week?” She always asks this, it’s her underhanded way of inquiring whether I’ve been in touch with Liam.
“No.” She just nods her head, wanting me to elaborate on my answer, but I don’t want to. If she asks a yes or no question, she’s going to get a yes or no answer. After we’re both silent for a moment, she tries again.
“How are things going at the new house? How do the girls feel about their new home?”
“New house is good. Still trying to make it feel like ours, but it’s nice. I like that it’s sort of secluded, but we’re still close enough to town and the doctor’s office and hospital. I also like that it doesn’t have any old memories like Georgia’s house.” Or like Liam’s. “And the girls seem happy. They’ve bonded with Sandy and Jim this past week. They’re actually going to their house today while I’m at the ultrasound. And they’re also getting to see Alex more, too, which I think is great. They’ve never had a ton of family around, besides Damian’s dad, so I think they’re just soaking up their new connections. If they’re unhappy, they haven’t said so. But even if they were, I don’t think they’d tell me.” I laugh ironically, “They’re looking out for me now, not the other way around…I feel like a terrible parent.” Ugh.
Carla nods her head again, “I think it’s great that the girls are getting to connect with Sandy and Jim, and that they’re going over there today, I think it’ll be a good opportunity for you to have some alone time.” She doesn’t say it explicitly, but the sentiment is clear. Alone time. No kids, no family, no Matthias around. They’re my crutches. I start to feel anxious just thinking about it. Alone.
“Right, alone…”
“Yes, alone.” The tears are already starting to cloud my vision. “When was the last time you were alone, Britain?”
“Well…” Crap, I don’t know. There were those few days in June, after the girls left for Disney, before Sandy and Matthias came out to help me pack. But then Jess was there, so, no. It’d have to be when Liam was in Sonoma for work. When he picked up my ring. When we were together, and he loved me. “It was when I was staying at Liam’s and he had a work trip.”
“Hmm,” Carla ponders. “Why do you think that is?” Isn’t it obvious?
“Because I’m scared to be alone.”
“Why?”
“Because then I’m just like Georgia. Because when I’m alone, there’s no one to interrupt the thoughts that make me spiral into darkness. Because if I’m alone, I’m scared I won’t be able to get out of bed and keep…going.” Ouch. I know I’ve subconsciously been thinking all of this, but verbalizing, making it real, feels like a dagger slipping under my ribs. The pain is sharp and tangible. I fold in on myself as the tears consume me and I try my best to hide my face in my hands.
I’m a terrible mother. Pathetic and weak. No wonder he didn’t want me.
“Britain, does anyone else know you’re feeling this way?”
I sniff out my answer, “No.”
“Could you talk to someone around you about it? Maybe Jess? Alex? Or even Sandy?” Definitely not Sandy. I love Sandy, but she’s still Liam’s mom. I also don’t know if she talks to him or not. And not Alex. God, he’d just stick to me like glue, making sure I never leave his sight. Jess. She’s probably the only person I could tell, but at what point do people get tired of dealing with your lame shit? She must be exhausted by now.
“I could talk to Jess about it.”
“Alright,” she nods solemnly, “that’s part of your homework. Talk to Jess before our next session, which I’m going to move up to next Monday. Okay?”
“Yeah,” I sniffle. “Okay.”