Chapter Twenty-Four
Marama
On Tuesday, the first thing I do when I get up is vomit into the toilet.
When I’m done, I rinse my mouth, then sit on the edge of the bath.
The last time I was pregnant, I didn’t have morning sickness.
After it was over, I read that studies suggest that women who experience nausea and vomiting during the first trimester may have a lower chance of pregnancy loss, and I wondered whether my lack of it was a signal that something wasn’t right.
Does it mean that this time I’m less likely to miscarry?
I look down at my stomach. That’s a good thing, right?
A miscarriage is a horrible experience, and I don’t want it to happen again.
I start trembling. If I don’t miscarry, and I do go through with it, it means I’m more likely to have a baby.
A real, live, human being who will depend entirely on me, and me alone.
Emotion sweeps over me, and I burst into tears.
Connor didn’t want me, and neither does Spencer.
His reaction to the news didn’t surprise me, but it devastated me, nevertheless.
His reputation and other relationships mean more to him than I do.
It’s hard to swallow, and I feel crushed.
I thought I was special to him. And maybe I am; I can’t believe he felt nothing for me. But he didn’t love me enough.
I cry solidly for a minute, until my throat is raw and I feel exhausted.
Then I slowly dry my tears and splash cold water on my face.
I look at my reflection in the mirror. I look awful; there are big dark shadows under my eyes, my hair is limp and lifeless, and my skin looks dull and blotchy. No wonder nobody wants me.
Oh man, talk about a self-pity party. I lift my chin, take a deep breath, and let it out slowly.
I know it’s not true, but even if it is, it’s no excuse to feel sorry for myself.
I’m worthy of love, and I don’t need a man to complete me.
Even though I don’t agree with him, I do understand why he doesn’t want a relationship, and I’m not going to get on my knees and beg him to have me.
It rankles that it wasn’t my fault that I got pregnant, and yet I’m the one who’s going to have to deal with the consequences. It’s so easy for the guy to walk away. I can’t do that. The only thing I can do is terminate the pregnancy, and then I’ll have to carry that guilt for the rest of my life.
If I did have a termination, I would be free. I’d be able to travel the country in my van, beholden to no one, and I wouldn’t have to think about anyone except myself and my art.
Then I cringe, conscious of sounding selfish and immature. You’re thirty now, Marama. You’ve got to grow up some time.
Slowly, my hand creeps to my stomach and rests on it.
I’m not religious as such. I enjoy reading about Māori gods and goddesses, but they’re more like interesting myths and stories for me.
However, after saying that, I’ve always thought of a child as a blessing, and it’s impossible to shake that now.
I’ve been given a gift. Do I really want to throw it away because it doesn’t fit perfectly with my life?
Thoughtfully, I turn on the water and have a long, hot shower.
Afterward, I dry my hair and swirl it up in a ponytail, then pull on a pair of jeans and a loose sweatshirt.
I put on some concealer to hide the shadows under my eyes, and add some eyeshadow and mascara.
There—at least I look a bit more presentable now.
I need to concentrate on feeling good for myself, not for a man.
I think of Spencer, and my eyes sting. But I hold the tears in, grab my purse, and head out of the door.
I jump in the Alfa Romeo and head over to Kahukura—the commune close to Midnight, which is owned by Scarlett Stone, Orson’s girl.
I’m picking her up and we’re going over to the city for lunch.
She’s spent most of her life in the commune, and she admitted to me the other day that although she loves it there, and she’s relieved that Orson is happy to get a place on Waiheke so she can continue to run her therapy classes there, she wants to feel more comfortable in his world.
I suggested I introduce her to a few of my friends from Emerge—a female-run Auckland arts group.
It’ll be nice for her to make some more friends, and good for me to take my mind off my current situation.
She’s waiting when I arrive, and we head off to the ferry.
It starts to rain as we board, which is a shame, but we buy a coffee and sit inside and watch the drops run down the windows as we chat.
Scarlett’s younger than I am, but her mother was Māori, and she’s also an artist and includes art in the therapy sessions that she runs for abused women at the Kahukura shelter, so we have a lot in common.
I’m tempted to confide in her about being pregnant.
I don’t really have anyone else I’m comfortable talking to.
I love my mum, but I don’t know how she would react to my admission that Spencer is the father.
He’s a little younger than Dad, but they are business associates, and he’s been to the house often with Eleanor, so I understand that it might be weird for her.
I’m going to have to think about what I’ll tell them if I decide to keep the baby.
Maybe I should say I had a one-night stand in the city.
It would be a little embarrassing to admit I got pregnant by an almost-stranger, but at least it would explain why the guy wasn’t around.
So I can’t really talk to Mum about it, and I’ve kind of drifted away from most of my friends.
When I moved to Wellington, I left my school and uni friends behind, and most of them have moved on now, scattered to the four corners of the country.
Most of the friends I made in Wellington were couples, and it’s strange how many of them drift away when you’re single.
I’ve got on really well with Scarlett since I met her.
But she might tell Orson, who’ll probably let it slip to Kingi because he can’t keep a secret, and then the cat will be out of the bag and I’ll never get it back in.
It wasn’t Spencer’s choice to make a baby, and he doesn’t deserve to be punished for it.
I understand how it would impact his career.
People aren’t kind to men of his age who fall for younger women.
I need to keep it to myself, which means no confessions to anyone.
So we chat about art and the commune, and it’s close to midday when we arrive. I head the Alfa Romeo out to The Velvet Table—a small but classy cafe in Parnell, a suburb known for its galleries, boutiques, and charming streets, close to the Auckland Domain or park.
We go inside, and I spot the other four women already there, sitting at a table by the window.
“Oh dear,” Scarlett murmurs.
I chuckle. “Don’t be nervous. Come on.”
I lead the way over, and the others look up and smile as we approach.
“Morning!” I say, and introduce Scarlett, then each woman in turn.
Lou is a potter; Anna runs a perfume business; Jane is a painter, working mostly in watercolors; and Iris is an older woman who makes the most beautiful wedding cakes.
We take a seat and give our orders for a light lunch and coffee.
“Awful weather,” Iris says once the waiter has gone away with our order.
“And it’s so cold for April,” Jane adds, shivering, even though she’s wearing a beautiful lambswool sweater.
“So, Scarlett,” Lou says, “you run Kahukura! That must be so rewarding.”
Scarlett nods. “Oh yes, very much so. I like being able to use my art to help others.”
“That’s so great to hear,” Jane says. “Not every artist has such scruples.”
Anna makes an odd movement, and Jane jerks, then stifles a laugh.
Did Anna kick her under the table? Why so?
I glance around the table, but none of them are looking at me.
I shift in my chair. There’s an odd atmosphere…
or am I imagining it? I look at Scarlett, but she’s busy talking about her therapy sessions, and she doesn’t appear to have noticed.
The conversation moves on. Scarlett asks them about their current creative projects, and they spend a while describing what they’re working on. I stay mostly quiet, feeling uneasy.
Our coffees arrive, then lunch, and we start eating while Iris talks about her latest order, making a whole cupcake station for a wedding. “Have you two set a date yet?” she asks Scarlett.
Scarlett blushes. “No… we haven’t discussed marriage yet.”
“He hasn’t proposed?” Iris looks astounded.
“Not yet.” Scarlett replies calmly, but I look at Iris with irritation.
What a rude thing to say. They’ve only been dating for a month.
Orson’s crazy about her, and I’m sure he is going to propose, but at the moment they’re just getting to know one another.
Scarlett comes and stays with him at Midnight or in his apartment in the city, and he occasionally stays over at the Village.
It’s all very new for them. And rude to comment on it, especially considering that Scarlett has hardly been out of the commune, and I’ve told them she’s hoping to make friends and acquaintances in the city.
“I must admit, we were all surprised when we heard who he was dating,” Anna says. “His last girlfriend was… from a very different background, shall we say.”
Scarlett’s smile fades, and she fiddles with the serviette on her lap.
Now I’m getting annoyed. Nobody likes to be reminded that their partner has had previous partners.
And what the hell is Anna implying by ‘from a different background?’ I’m going to assume she’s talking about Scarlett’s upbringing.
Please God, don’t let her be referring to the fact that she’s Māori.
“So,” Lou says, “Marama, you need to tell us about the exhibition at Lumen. We’ve all read about it.”