24. Gigi
CHAPTER 24
Gigi
I’m sorting through the baby books that Mom got for us when my phone dings.
Luke
Do you have to work tomorrow night?
Sighing, I type an answer back to Luke. I’m about to give him a piece of my mind and tell him what a piece of shit he is, but quickly delete the message. Deep, deep down, I know Luke means well. It’s not his fault his love language is working himself down to the bone to prepare for an unknown future.
I haven’t worked the dinner shift in weeks.
I drop my phone to the ground and lie on the rug in the nursery. I miss him. I miss my husband. I wish he’d open up to me more. I wish he was less stressed. I wish he would enjoy the moment with me. As a tear cascades down my cheek, my phone dings again.
Luke
I’ll see if anyone can cover for me at the bar tomorrow night. I’ll take you somewhere nice and then we can talk about everything.
Another one drops. And another. And another.
Will we make it? I know I’m not a real psychologist yet. Right now, I’m not even attending classes. I can’t help but wonder sometimes. It’s clear as day to anyone who knows us that Luke and I are two polar opposites. I talk a lot, and he doesn’t like people. I thrive on human interaction, and Luke likes to spend his time studying. Although not that long ago, he spent a lot of his time with me, too.
What makes me doubt in the longevity of us, though, is how we deal with conflict. I’m a talk-it-out kind of girl and Luke is an I-need-space kind of guy.
Yesterday was the second time he left me high and dry after a stressful situation. The first time was when we told our parents that we were dating. I guess people in glass houses shouldn’t throw stones. I did leave for New York, after all. Maybe this is my karma. Maybe he still resents me for it. Maybe he resents me for the pregnancy. If it weren’t for me, he wouldn’t be spending every waking moment trying to hoard as much money as he can before A and B arrive.
Congratulations, Gigi. You’ve made a wonderful mess of everything.
My phone lights up again. Luke is texting me, telling me he loves me. A smile forms on my lips, but I don’t feel happy. Instead, my mind goes back to an article I read this morning about couples and their firstborns. Apparently, a lot of couples end their relationships during the first year after having their first child.
I wonder how much higher the rate is when the firstborns are twins. How much higher it is when the couples are young parents. I wonder how much worse it gets when the young parents in question are two completely different people.
A memory of my childhood replays in my brain. A conversation between Mom and Dad that I witnessed when I was seven. Another tear drops. Then another. Then another.
“We can move out to the suburbs, Jakub,” Mom pleads. “We don’t have to stay here.”
They’re both sitting at the dining table, and between them is a stack of papers and envelopes that the postman brought us this morning. It’s the third time since Christmas. And every time, before they start fighting, they always turn on the TV for me, putting the volume real loud. I love cartoons, but I hate how Dad always looks stressed and how Mom always seems sad when this happens.
After what feels like hours, Dad grunts as he shakes his head. “We’ve talked about this and the answer is no.” His tone is firm, just like when he’s angry with me. “My family is here. Yours are, too.”
Mom’s eyes widen, her mouth hanging open. If the last two times taught me anything, this is the time when they’ll start the screaming match. “Don’t you dare use my family as an argument to stay in New York! You know I don’t speak to them anymore.”
“And you never fail to blame me for that, Bianca,” Dad sneers. I don’t like the look on his face.
Both of them stare at each other with so much hatred, kind of like the mean girls and boys at school.
My knees are in front of my chest and I’m tugging them close to me. I feel so alone. I wish I had a brother or sister, at least I could have someone to distract me when they fight.
Babcia was there the first time this happened. She rolled her eyes and told me that because Mom and Dad had me when they were eighteen, they now have to grow up while I grow up, too. And then she warned me not to have sex until I’m thirty.
“Where are you going?” my mom yells. “We’re not done here, Jakub!”
I steal a glance in their direction, and I see Dad putting on his winter coat. “I’m going to work. Since you insist on going to nursing school, someone has to pay for the bills that are piling up.” He comes my way, kissing my cheek. “See you later, kid. I love you.”
Once Dad has left, Mom comes to sit next to me. As we cuddle on the sofa watching my favorite show, My Little Pony , I brave myself and ask Mom something I’ve been meaning to ask.
“Mamma,” I say, looking up at her. “Why don’t you and Dad just get a divorce?”
She laughs at me, her arms pulling me closer to her. “How do you even know that word, baby?”
“Luanna said her parents fought a lot, and then they got a divorce. Emma’s parents are divorced, too, but I don’t know whether they were fighting or not.”
Mom looks at me and I think I made her sad, because she looks like she’s about to cry. She cups my cheeks with her hands and says, “Gigi, I’m going to try my best for this family. Don’t you worry, okay? You need your mom and your dad in the same house.”
I nod. I don’t want to upset her more, so I don’t tell her that Luanna and Emma seem happier after their parents don’t live in the same house anymore.
A sharp pain in my lower abdomen stops my trip down memory lane.
“Fuck!” I curse, clutching my stomach. “Ah, fuck!”
This might be Braxton Hicks contractions. Dr. Patel warned me this would happen. Planting one palm on the wall, I try to breathe in through the nose and breathe out through the mouth. Not working. I hurry down to the bedroom and sit on a gym ball I bought from Craigslist, moving my hips in a circular motion. Not working . I try to ignore the ache and go to sleep hugging my pregnancy pillow. Not working.
After three and a half hours of trial and error, but mostly error, trying to make myself feel better, I give up and call Luke. It’s probably nothing, but I need to see a doctor. I bet they can give me something to make the pain go away. Dr. Patel told me that Braxton Hicks contractions would feel uncomfortable. Dr. Patel is a liar.
I groan in frustration when Luke doesn’t pick up my calls. “I’m going to fucking kill him!” I yell to nobody.
Barging into Kai’s room, I almost cry when I see that he’s not there. I give him a call and he picks up on the third ring.
“What’s up, Gi?”
“I need a ride,” I manage to say calmly, but my nose is wrinkling and sweat is leaking from every single pore.
“I’m actually in Marble Crest.” Kai chuckles. “Funny story, actually. I met this girl on Tinder and I?—”
“Got to go, Kai,” I interrupt him and hang up the phone.
I’m about to book an Uber, but then I remember how much money I have in my bank account. Fourteen dollars. Not enough for a ride to the hospital. The urge to kill my husband pops back up again. It was his idea to live below our means and save every cent we can in another account. Why does the love of my life have to be a penny pincher?
Luke is probably going to throw a hissy fit over this, and Andrew will probably haunt me from his grave, but I don’t care right now. Beggars can’t be choosers. My mom won’t make it here in time before I pass out from the pain, and I don’t have any other friends. I open my contact list and dial the number of the person whose messages I’ve been ignoring since the baby shower.
“Gigi, I’m glad you called,” he answers. “I want to apologize. I was an ass. And I guess I owe you an explanation.”
“Zach, I need your help.” I don’t know if he understands me. I’m starting to cry. Not out of sadness this time, but out of the waves of pain that won’t stop coming. I need it to fucking stop. “Please.”
On the other end, I hear the sound of his keys jingling. “Where are you?”
“Home.”
“I’m on my way. Stay put.”