Chapter 49 Blake
BLAKE
SEPTEMBER
LIFE GOES BACK TO NORMAL when I return to Hastings.
If by normal, you mean sudden bouts of paralyzing sadness and random angry outbursts interspersed with feelings of sheer and utter numbness.
After two weeks of this, I’m used to it, and to be fair, it is getting better.
I had a blood test last week, and my hormones are leveling out.
In another couple weeks, I’ll know if the reason I want to crawl in a hole and die is because of a hormonal roller coaster or because I broke up with the man I love.
It needed to be done, though. I had to enforce our rule, and not just because a part of me can’t shake the fear that he only stayed because I was pregnant.
I’ll never know if that’s true now, if he would’ve stuck around without a baby in the equation, even though he insists he would have.
When I told Mom, she said I should take Wyatt at face value, believe his words.
But the doubt still lingers. It’s been there all summer, the knowledge that I’m not enough to keep him.
He was always going to Nashville, always going to record his album.
One day, he’ll be a star. And I’ll still be me.
Aimless and ordinary. Not a supermodel like Alex or an athlete like Gigi. I don’t even know what he sees in me.
Stop wallowing.
It’s the rational voice, the one that sometimes manages to pierce through my natural inclination toward depression and self-loathing. Sometimes, I’m able to listen to it. Other times, such as now, the insecurities drown it out. It was never going to work, those insecurities snap at the voice.
Grandpa Tim has been letting me use his car to go to campus, except on Fridays when he has curling practice.
I went with him last week, and it was actually pretty fun.
Yes, these days I spend my time curling with seniors.
A drastic change from a month ago, when I was secretly getting fucked behind the boathouse.
I shove the memory aside. The summer is over.
Wyatt and I are not together. He’s off in Boston or maybe New York now.
I’ve been forcing myself not to keep tabs on him, but he’s posted a few stories on Instagram, and I couldn’t resist clicking on them.
A story of him at the piano with his mom.
Another one showing a blank page of sheet music.
Part of me wonders if it’s for my benefit, but that’s arrogant of me to assume.
He’s probably not thinking about me at all since I ended it.
My classes this semester are as boring as they were every other semester. Even my politics course, in which I get to do oodles of research on communism, isn’t lighting a fire inside me. Nothing is, really.
For the last few weeks, Little Spencer has been blowing up my phone, begging me to record another episode of the podcast, but my heart’s not in that either. Hell, I don’t even care about the documents that were emailed the other day.
Before I discovered I was pregnant, I was able to learn that Raymond Loughlin and Dolly Gallagher sold the property at the Albany address and purchased another one in Trenton, New Jersey, but no amount of searching has led me to a phone number or even an email.
If I want to verify whether Raymond and Dolly still reside at that address, I’ll have to go in person.
Which, normally? Sounds like an awesome adventure.
The Spencers even offered to come along and make a road trip out of it, yet I can’t muster up any enthusiasm, not even to possibly solve this mystery.
On Thursday afternoon, I’m leaving my politics class when I get a text from Beau asking if I want to meet at the Coffee Hut. I’m about to decline—I’ve been avoiding pretty much everyone I know since I returned to Briar—when a follow-up appears.
BEAU
Don’t say no. At this point I need proof of life, B. Please. I miss you.
I haven’t told anyone about my pregnancy or the surgery. Wyatt and I swore our families to secrecy, because it’s our business, and the last thing I needed was dozens of family friends asking if I’m all right or texting their condolences.
It wasn’t even a baby, damn it. I don’t care what anybody says. Zero chance of survival equals never a person. It wasn’t real. Which means I’m not allowed to grieve it.
Except I am. My heart clenches whenever I think about it. And each time I run my fingers over my tiny salpingostomy scar, it reminds me I had to have surgery to remove…an alternate future, I suppose. The path that shall never be walked.
But I know if I keep shutting out everybody in my life, they’ll eventually suspect something is wrong. Something heavier than Wyatt and I simply “parting ways,” as I told everyone. So I force myself to accept Beau’s invite.
I’m on campus now. I can be there in five.
BEAU
See you soon.
I meet him at the campus coffee shop. He’s in a white T-shirt and track pants with a backpack slung over his broad shoulder, his blond hair swept away from his forehead, emphasizing his gorgeous features.
He’s as handsome as ever, commanding attention from every person in our vicinity, male and female.
“Hey.” Beau greets me with a hug, frowning when he releases me. “Why do you look so thin?”
I shrug. “I’m on a diet.” Truth is I’ve barely had an appetite. First with all the morning sickness and then the depression.
“You don’t need to be on a diet.” His frown deepens as we approach the order counter. “You don’t look good.”
“Thanks,” I say dryly.
“No, I mean… Have you been sick?”
Realizing he’s not going to drop it, I lie and say I had the flu at the end of the summer and I’m only bouncing back from it now. Beau blessedly accepts the explanation, and we grab our coffees and find a table in the back of the crowded room.
Beau kicks out a chair and sits, thrusting his long legs out in front of him. He’s still watching me, his wry smile telling me he didn’t buy the flu story.
“It’s okay to admit it’s a broken heart diet.”
I’ve been so numb lately that I’ve mastered the art of showing no reaction. I don’t even blink at the teasing accusation. “What do you mean?” I play dumb.
He shrugs. “You and Wyatt ended it. You’re allowed to be upset about that. You doing okay?”
I shrug back. “I’m fine. I knew it was going to happen.”
“That he would break your heart?”
“He didn’t break my heart,” I reply. I broke his. “Wyatt and I both agreed that when the summer ended, so would our fling. And that’s what happened.” I casually sip my coffee. “How’s the semester going so far?”
“All good. Classes are fine.”
“And AJ?” I prompt.
Beau’s expression dampens. “Not good.”
Last I heard from our girls’ chat, AJ still refuses to accept Beau’s apology. They haven’t spoken since July, and we’re nearing the end of September.
“Why haven’t you fixed this?” I ask.
“He doesn’t want to fix it. He’s done.”
“He’s not done. You guys have been friends since you were in the womb.”
“He’s done, B.” Beau takes a quick sip. “We went out for beers the other night—”
I perk up. “See, that doesn’t feel done.”
“—and he told me to stop contacting him,” Beau finishes.
“Oh.”
“Said he’ll never forgive me and that a real friend wouldn’t do what I did. Called me a piece of shit and said that no years of friendship could make him look at me like I wasn’t a piece of shit.”
“Oh. Wow. I’m sorry.”
“Yeah, me too.”
I can’t imagine the Golden Boys not being the Golden Boys. Especially considering they’re teammates. “What about hockey? How’s that going to work?”
“No fucking clue. We started practice this week. We’re not on the same line, so that’s good at least, but it’s rough.
He just treats me like any other teammate.
And if it’s not about hockey, he looks right through me.
We’ll see how it goes.” Beau lets out a sigh.
“Coach Jensen has picked up on the tension, but he doesn’t get involved unless it affects gameplay.
So far, it hasn’t. But yeah, to answer your question, I can’t fix it because it’s unfixable. ”
I get that.
That’s how I feel right now.
Unfixable.