Chapter 15
Chapter Fifteen
Hot water pounds against my shoulders as I press my forehead against the shower wall. Steam fills the bathroom, but it does nothing to quiet the chaos in my mind. How am I supposed to tell him? How do you even start that conversation?
The water runs down my face, mixing with tears I didn’t realize I was crying. All those months we tried, all those negative tests, and now… now that we’re over, now that he’s gone, my body decides it’s time?
I turn the water temperature up higher, as if I could burn away the reality of my situation. My hand drifts to my stomach. There’s a life growing inside me. Our child. A piece of us that will exist even though we don’t anymore.
After the shower, wrapped in a towel, I force down a piece of dry toast. The nausea isn’t as bad when I eat something plain, keep my stomach from getting too empty. Mom used to say that about morning sickness too–one of the many pieces of advice she’d shared before cancer took her.
My feet carry me to my art room before I consciously decide to go there. The door creaks as I push it open–how long has it been? Dust motes dance in the beam of light as I pull open the blinds. The room smells of dried paint and possibility.
A blank canvas sits on my desk, patient, waiting. Like it knew I’d come back, eventually. I grab a pencil, letting muscle memory guide my hand. No pressure, just simple lines. A cardinal takes shape under my strokes–like the ones I see at Mom’s grave. A butterfly joins it, delicate wings spread in flight.
Mom would know what to do about the baby. She’d hold me while I cried, then make tea and help me figure out a plan. But she’s gone. My dad… well he’s also gone.
I was five when he left. Old enough to remember his laugh, the way he’d swing me up onto his shoulders, but too young to understand why he never came back. Mom found out he was cheating with his secretary–such a cliché it almost seems made up. He moved to California with her, started a new family. Never called, never wrote.
Sometimes I wonder if he ever thinks about me. If he knows mom died. If he cares. Twenty-five years of silence says probably not. I may try to find him one day.
I prop the finished piece against the wall, studying it. Two creatures that shouldn’t go together–a cardinal and a butterfly–sharing the same space peacefully.
My hands shake slightly as I pull out my phone and open FaceTime. Lilly’s face appears after two rings.
“Hey stranger! I was just about to–wait, are you in your art room?”
I nod, trying to smile. “Yeah, I… Lil, I need to tell you something.”
Her expression shifts immediately to concern. “What’s wrong?”
“I…” My voice catches. Come on, Alexis. Just say it.
“I’m pregnant,” I whisper, the words tumbling out just as a shadow falls across my doorway.
The metallic clatter of keys hitting the floor makes me flinch. I look up to find Jeremy frozen in the doorframe, one hand still raised where his keys had been. His face drained of color.
“I’ll… call you back,” I tell her before ending the call.
His eyes move from my face to my stomach and back again, like he’s trying to solve a complex equation.
I wrap my arms around myself, suddenly cold despite the August heat seeping through the windows. The dust from his work boots spreads across the hardwood floor as he shifts his weight–he must have come straight from the job site.
“I…” His voice cracks. He clears his throat and tries again. “I should…” He gestures vaguely at his fallen keys but doesn’t move to pick them up.
More silence. The ceiling fan whirs overhead, stirring the air between us. A bead of sweat rolls down his temple, leaving a clean line through the workday grime on his face.
“When…” He stops, shakes his head. Starts again. “I mean…” Another head shake.
He takes half a step into the room, then stops, like he’s hit an invisible wall. His eyes catch on my painting–the cardinal and butterfly. Something flickers across his face.
“You’re drawing again,” he says finally, latching onto this safer topic like a lifeline.
“I’ve been at it here and there.” My voice sounds strange to my own ears. “Needed to… to do something today to distract myself.”
His hand goes to his hair–that familiar nervous gesture that used to make my heart flutter. Now it just makes my chest ache.
“I should go.”
Part of me wants to stop him, to make him stay and figure this out right now. But what is there to figure out? We’re divorced. We’re having a baby. Both things are true, and neither of us knows what to do with that reality.
“Yeah,” I whisper. “Okay.”
He bends slowly to pick up his keys, his movement careful like he’s underwater. Standing up, he takes one more look at me, opens his mouth as if to say something else, then turns and walks away.
I listen to his footsteps down the hallway, counting them. Thirteen steps to the front door. The familiar squeak of the third floorboard. The door opening, closing.
The cardinal in my painting seems to watch me with its eyes, as if waiting to see what I’ll do next. I wish I knew.