Chapter 20 Self-Sabotage Cara
THE WORLD IS CRUEL IN unexpected ways.
Like when you think you’ve been lucky enough to snag the last available parking space at the grocery store only to see that it’s reserved for pregnant women and families with young children.
Or the very real announcements from two of your best friends the same day as your twenty-fourth negative cycle in a row.
Every Mother’s Day that passes while you’re trying, every baby shower you smile through while you feel like you’re dying inside, and all the senseless comments in between.
We weren’t even trying!
Have you tried not trying?
At least you get to sleep in.
You can always just adopt.
You wouldn’t understand; you don’t have kids.
And then there’s my newest favorite, when your brother-in-law tells you he and his girlfriend of five months are pregnant right after you found out your embryo transfer failed.
When I’m lying across my best friend’s couch an hour after collapsing into her open arms, my head in her lap and her fingers threading through my hair, the twins in her belly rolling against my neck, her husband and daughter putting on a choreographed performance, I know with certainty that this world is as cruel as it is beautiful.
Olivia pushes a blue peanut M&M between my lips, followed by a red Skittle, and I sniffle, closing my eyes as her fingertips dance gently across my temple, brushing a stray tear away.
As cruel as this is, this reminder of the family I crave, it’s strangely comforting.
Olivia’s warmth, the way she takes care of me in the simplest way, by just being here, letting me feel it all.
The teensy hearts beating rhythmically in her belly, right behind my ear.
Pattering footsteps, words that only half make sense, and shrieking giggles.
Cruel, and yet devastatingly beautiful too.
The song ends, and Carter bows and waves while Ireland blows kisses at Olivia and me, hollering, “Fank you! Fank you!” like we were merely their humble audience.
Did I mention they’re wearing matching Princess Belle dresses?
“You see me, Auntie Cawa?” Ireland asks, swiping her bangs off her forehead. Her green eyes light when she spies the candy bowl in her mom’s lap, and she shoves her hand inside before stuffing an entire rainbow in her mouth. “Snacks!”
Despite my mood, the corner of my mouth lifts. “I saw you, baby.”
“One at a time, Ireland! And not the—ugh.” Olivia claps a hand to her eyes, sighing. “Not the Skittles and M&M’s at the same time. Gross.” She gestures aggressively between me and her daughter. “You see what you taught her?”
I let Ireland push a sweaty handful of candy into my mouth. “You’re welcome.”
“Aw, crap. Ollie!” Carter gestures at his shoulder. “My muscular shoulders and shredded biceps were too much for this dress! I ripped my tulle cap sleeve!”
“How do you take him seriously in a yellow ball gown three sizes too small?” I murmur while Olivia stares at him in silence.
“Oh, easy. I don’t take him seriously, ever. Period.”
I snort a laugh as Carter gasps, narrowing his gaze. Olivia arches her brow, and it takes no more for than three seconds before the two of them grin.
“It is unbelievable how much I love you,” she rumbles under her breath, and Carter smirks, plopping down on the couch, Ireland in his lap.
“Haha, you looove me.” He stretches his arms over his head in a big, obnoxious way. “I’m impossible not to love. Don’t know why you tried to resist for so long.”
She rolls her eyes. “Yeah, a whole month.”
“Felt like a lifetime of agony.”
Olivia sighs, shifting my head off her lap, struggling to climb to her feet before reaching for Ireland. “Okay, little lady. Off to bed with you.”
“What?” Carter twists Ireland away. “No way! We’re having fun! Right, princess?” With her ankles in his hands, he kicks her legs out. “Get back, Mommy!”
Olivia fists her hips, cocking a single brow, and Carter scurries to his feet, passing off his daughter while tipping his head and murmuring a nearly silent “Yes, pumpkin.” When Olivia smirks with satisfaction, the tiniest piece of my world rights itself.
I am surrounded by family, by people who feel like home, even on days like today, when I feel like I’m wandering a strange city, searching for shelter from the storm that’s beating down on me, taking its toll on my body, my heart.
“I’m gonna head to bed too,” I murmur, scrubbing my tired, raw eyes as I climb to my feet.
My muscles ache with the effort, and I place my hand over the cramps in my lower belly as I head to the kitchen to refill my water, Carter following along.
“Thanks for letting me crash.” I guzzle the water, avoiding eye contact, but there’s no way to avoid all that yellow tulle.
“And would you take off that ridiculous dress already?”
“The only thing ridiculous about this dress is that it can’t even make it through a simple choreographed performance.
” He strips the dress off, and I nearly tell him to put it back on.
His T-shirt says DILF, but the inside of every letter is a collage of his Calvin Klein underwear shoot from last year. “I’ll be leaving a one-star review.”
“You do that.” I pat his chest, and he catches my hand as I turn to leave, stopping me. The concern swimming in his eyes squeezes my throat.
“We love you, you know. You always have a place here.”
Upstairs, I unfold the pajamas waiting for me on the guest bed, huffing a laugh.
There are nine inches between Olivia and me, made up entirely of torso and legs, but I slip into the cozy clothes anyway before heading to the bathroom, where I find a plethora of skincare products waiting for me.
I’m closing the bedroom door when my best friend’s soft voice drifts down the dark hall, luring me toward the sound.
As I lean in Ireland’s doorway, watching the two of them rock together, the way they gaze at each other, like the entire world stops and ends with them in this moment, snuggled together, my chest tightens.
Ireland lays her cheek over Olivia’s belly, patting it gently as she looks up at her mom. “Baby?” she asks.
“Two babies.” Olivia smiles, stroking Ireland’s face, before pressing a kiss to her nose. “Three babies.”
Swallowing against the tightness in my throat, I turn away.
“Hey,” Olivia calls softly. Her eyes roam my body when I spin back to her, sparking with amusement. “Those fit… nicely.”
I glance at my ankles, surely not meant to be on display in what Olivia considers to be full-length pants. “The Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants gave me such unrealistic expectations for sharing clothes with my friends.”
“The Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants is a pile of horseshit.”
I cross my arms over my chest, sniffing. “On Planet Bullshit.” With a small smile, I tell her, “Night, Ollie,” leaving before she can stop me.
I make it into my room. Press my back to the closed door and try to breathe through it.
I make it into the bed, beneath the covers.
I make it through the first five minutes, staring up at the ceiling as my chest heaves, each breath more ragged, until my throat feels raw and swollen.
Until the fear wins. Takes me so wholly and without warning. Grips me by the throat with a crushing, punishing grip, forcing me to look at the spot next to me. So fucking empty, I feel its dead weight in every single bone in my body.
I slide my palm over the cool sheets, and a vision bursts behind my eyes and knocks the air from my lungs.
A future where I’m only surviving, walking this earth without my other half by my side.
The hollow feeling is agonizing, and my body collapses in on itself as the sobs rip through me, tearing up my throat, drenching my world in a hurricane I can’t outrun anymore.
The sounds are tortured, gutted, and I grab the pillow where Emmett’s cheek should be, burying my face in it as I give it up.
The control, or the belief that I still had some semblance of it.
I give up the fight, the very last bits of myself that I can’t find anymore.
I give up the woman I’ve always been, and I accept that I don’t know who I am anymore.
That I’ve lost myself. A future I’ve spent my life dreaming of.
How does somebody come to terms with that?
Why does the rest of the world expect me to be able to do it easily?
Why does it feel like nobody fucking understands what it means to watch your dream of being a mother, of creating something so precious and perfect with the person you love most in this world, slip through your fingers like fine sand, disappearing at your feet like it was never real?
This isn’t a job I didn’t land. This is a life being torn viciously from my grasp.
And it is Not. Fucking. Fair.
A knock at the door has me shooting upright, and I slap at the tears cascading down my cheeks as Carter strolls in, carrying a full tray, wearing a chef’s hat and an apron that says Let’s Eat Our Feelings.
“Good evening, madam. Tonight we’re serving chamomile tea, and Carter’s famous slutty brown—” His eyes land on me, the smile slipping from his face. “Oh. Shit. Oh shit.”
“I’m totally fine!” I weep, snot bubbling as Carter places the tray on the bedside table, frantically fumbling with the ties on his apron.
He gives up in a fit of rage, tearing it over his head, and as he strides toward me, I cry harder.
“I’m fine, Carter! I’m just—I’m just…” He stops in front of me, every inch of me trembling as he takes me in, a version of me he’s never seen, never known.
Small and broken, like the three words I whisper next. “I’m not okay.”