Chapter 2 Samantha
Samantha
In eleventh grade, I won the Junior Hunt Seat Medal.
By twelfth, I was named USEF’s Junior Equestrian of the Year.
After that, I discovered that it’s not really great to be the kind of person who peaks in high school. At the time, everyone expected me to continue to soar.
I didn’t, though.
When my friends left for far-flung places to further their educations, I spent even more time at the barn. I went to the College of Central Florida so I could ride more, and I was a general studies major, because everything other than horses felt boring and unnecessary.
Only, my freshman year, I suffered hurdle after obstacle after setback.
My horse had a high suspensory injury followed by a surgery.
One horse I was working for my trainer colicked, another pulled up lame with fetlock arthritis, and yet another got EPM.
That year, instead of reaching new heights, I kind of crashed and burned.
I competed in one show all twelve months.
It was depressing.
Really depressing.
My friends called, telling me about the jobs they got, the men they met, and the majors they were pursuing, and by comparison my life felt like an episode of that sitcom, Community.
Before long, I was still riding, whatever horse I could catch a ride on, and they were getting engaged. Graduating. Generally soaring, while I sank further still. I went to the engagement parties, one in Texas, one in Colorado. I cheered. I sent gifts, and I told them I was super, duper excited.
I was. Truly.
But I was also a little depressed for myself. On the night that Natalie called to tell me she was pregnant, I gave her my heartiest congratulations, and then I called some friends and went out drinking.
That was also the night I met Brent.
He was just a guy at the bar, but had a kind smile.
It’s the only thing I remember thinking about him. . .until I woke up next to him in bed. “Oh, no.” I yanked the sheets up to my neck. “I—who are you?”
His smile was kind even then, which is how I remembered. “Brent.” I cleared my throat. “That’s your name, right?”
His smile widened.
“But why are we. . .?” I blinked. “And how did we get here?”
“You really don’t remember?” His smile wavered then. “Because you seemed excited enough last night, I swear.”
I half-ran to the bathroom, taking the entire comforter with me, and puked up most of what I’d had to drink. He was kind through my entire panic-attack, especially when he found out he was my first.
A night I didn’t even remember.
He was very, very nice, but he was also a little boring, and we didn’t really have anything in common.
He gave me his number, and he told me to call if I ever wanted to get together again, but I knew I didn’t.
At least, not until three weeks later, when I took a very important test, and I got two clear pink lines.
Dialing him up was one of the hardest things I’d ever done.
I had no idea what to expect when I asked him to meet me for coffee.
“I—thanks for coming.”
Brent was wearing loafers.
I’m not sure why I fixated on that, except that my dad wore loafers.
My grandpa, too. I’d never really known anyone my age who wore them, and to make it worse, he was wearing them with jeans.
“Of course.” His smile, again, was very kind.
“I thought you weren’t going to call, to be honest, and I thought it was a shame.
You’re so beautiful, and I wanted a chance to give you a night you’d actually remember. In a good way.”
My whole face heated up. “I’m not—that’s not something I have ever—”
His eyes flew wide, his mouth dropping open.
He waved his hands. “No, not—that’s not what I meant.
I was just saying I wanted to take you out, take you dancing, and show you a good time.
I wanted us to have a chance to have a proper date.
” He inhaled sharply, and then he smiled again.
He held out his hand. “Brent North. Can we start over?”
“I’m not sure we can.” I stared at his hand. “Because. . .” I looked up at his face. “I’m pregnant, Brent North, and since you’re my first and only, it’s got to be yours.”
If I thought his eyes flew wide a minute before, I was wrong. He looked exactly like a horse at the barn, Magnificus, when he saw a plastic bag rolling in the wind. “You’re—” He coughed.
He kept right on coughing.
I finally stood up and patted his back. “Are you alright?”
He grabbed my water and downed the entire glass. Then he set it down. “Sorry I drank all of that. I was not expecting you to say that, but if you’re pregnant, then I think we should get married.”
“You think we should what?” I tilted my head. “I think I heard you wrong.”
He smiled his really nice smile. “No, you heard me right. I think we should get married. You’re healthy and gorgeous. I’m young and have a decent job. I’ve always wanted a family. If we’re going to have a kid, why don’t we do it the right way?”
“How about we start with a date?” I offered him my hand. “Samantha Stiber.”
“Wow, Stiber?” Brent crinkled his nose as he took my hand. “Well, North will be a trade up in the name department.”
“That’s rude.” I huffed and pulled my hand free. “I like my name.”
He threw his hands up. “Sorry, sorry. Maybe you won’t even want to take my name, and that’s also okay.”
That was more like it. “Yeah, we’re getting a little ahead of ourselves.”
But after I talked to my mom and my sister and thought it over, and after two or three dates where I started to see the good and somewhat funny things about Brent, I relented. We told everyone we wanted a spring wedding, but really, I wanted a wedding before I had a prominent baby bump.
When my friends showed up, Vanessa and Natalie, the loudest women in the world, squealing from the moment they climbed off the airplane, I was prepared to tell them my real reason for getting married so fast.
“Okay, what do you still need help with?” Natalie asked, dragging a massive bag along behind her. “Because we are so excited, and you did so much when we got married, so we are ready to repay the favor.” She beamed.
“We are just both so happy you found your Prince Charming.” Vanessa’s eyes, so bright, so hope-filled, turned on me full-force.
“And you need to give us all the details of how you met. Stat,” Natalie said, squealing again. “Because this is just the very best day in the world.”
“No, that’s two days from now, dummy,” Vanessa said. “Tomorrow’s the rehearsal dinner, and today’s just a prep day.” She sighed, rolling her eyes. “Focus.”
Natalie flung her arms around me. “Sam knew what I meant.”
And I did. I knew just what they meant. Both of them were deliriously happy married women, and they were already young mothers, too.
They wanted the exact same things they had for me, and I couldn’t bring myself to admit that I was settling.
. .because I’d gotten knocked up. I couldn’t say the words.
So instead, I sent a quick text to my sister, warning her that they didn’t know I was pregnant, and I avoided champagne in every single way known to man over the next two days, and my friends had no earthly idea I was even pregnant when I started bleeding two weeks after my wedding.
Brent was at work, so I was sitting in that doctor’s office on the cold, hard chairs all alone. Waiting. I twisted my wedding ring around and around on my hand until my fingers started to swell. Then I started pacing around the room like a herd-bound horse in a show stall.
Until it occurred to me that pacing and walking might be dangerous for the baby if it was in trouble. I sat back down.
Brent texted me rather unhelpfully.
Is the baby okay?
I turned my phone off.
They finally took me back to wait in another room about half an hour later. And then after waiting and waiting and waiting, I talked to a doctor who did a very cold, very uncomfortable trans-vaginal ultrasound.
“Is it okay? Is the heart still beating?” I craned my neck so that I could look at the screen, but the grey blobs on the screen meant absolutely nothing to me. “What does it show?”
The doctor sighed. She looked pained. “Yeah, so, it’s not great news.
There’s no longer a heartbeat.” Her voice was flat, and her lips were compressed into a thin line.
“I’m really sorry to tell you this, but it looks like the bleeding’s evidence of a miscarriage.
They’re quite common this early in the pregnancy. ”
I bolted upright on the exam table. “That can’t be. I married the father because I was pregnant.” I was breathing too fast, but I couldn’t seem to stop. “That’s the only reason we got married.”
The tech next to the doctor looked horrified. “You did what?”
The doctor’s head shake was tight. “I’m really very sorry. I know this is never the best news. But you’re quite young and you look very healthy, so I’m sure—”
I burst into tears then, so I have no idea what she said next.
It took me almost half an hour to pull myself together enough to hear what they were saying about the passing of the fetus, and what to do under various circumstances.
It took another forty minutes before I could compose myself enough to leave the room, and then I walked to my car in a haze.
I knew people lost babies. I just never thought I would lose a baby.
I had names picked out. Rupert was for a boy and Delores if it was a girl.
We had picked out colors for the nursery.
It was our baby, and now it was gone. A lump of cells that would be evacuating my body posthaste.
I wanted to call Natalie and Vanessa and bawl.
I wanted someone to hug me. I wanted someone to tell me that everything would be alright, because I wasn’t sure whether that was true.
And I couldn’t call my friends, because they didn’t even know I was pregnant.
They would be so confused.