Chapter 13
Rain
My phone rests precariously between my cheek and my shoulder.
“When will you tell him?” my father asks, his deep voice carrying over the speaker.
“When I am ready, Daddy,” I say, keeping my tone steady. “So don’t bother yourself too much.”
I look down, continuing to scoop the leftover food into small plastic containers destined for the refrigerator.
“He deserves to know where his children are,” my father pushes gently. “And he also deserves to know you are pregnant with his child.”
I freeze, the plastic spoon hovering over the counter. My left hand instinctively drops, my palm flattening against the slight curve of my belly. “No, he doesn’t. Actually.”
“What if he did nothing with that woman?” my mother’s voice chimes in from the background, ever the voice of reason.
I shake my head, a wave of exhaustion rolling over me. I am already tired of this conversation. I spend enough hours of the day analyzing his ghost without my parents bringing him up to me.
“Come on, tell me,” my father continues.
“Mummy, Daddy, please. Let's just end it.”
“He has been coming here every single day, darling,” my mother says, her voice softening. “That’s why we are asking.”
A dry, breathy laugh escapes my throat. “I heard he comes every day, but how is that even my business?”
“I don’t know,” she murmurs. “I just thought that maybe it will change your mind?”
“I don’t know. Maybe just have a chat with him.”
Before I can form an answer, my father’s voice cuts back in.
“You are such a pushover, Sarah,” he tells his wife.
“What if he actually did something with his first love?” He shifts his tone, mocking the words first love with a heavy dose of disdain.
“And plus, your daughter needs some time. The only thing I am vehemently against is her not mentioning to him where the kids are. She can keep the one in the belly hidden, but the ones that already know him?” He lets out a breath. “Nah.”
I lean back, the cool granite of the counter pressing against my spine. “I called you guys to wish you both a happy birthday.”
A shared chuckle echoes from the receiver. “Oh, yeah,” my father says. “Yes, yes, thank you.”
“You will see,” my mother teases. “The young man will get you a basket of eggs, and me, he will get a storehouse of honey and jam, perhaps.”
They both laugh, the familiar sound of their inside jokes warming the line.
“Your gifts are on the way, by the way,” I tell them, a faint smile touching my lips.
A sudden rustle of movement sounds on their end, and my mother speaks up. “Sure, baby, thank you. And have a nice day ahead.”
“No, let me talk to my baby,” my dad interjects.
“Oh, interesting,” my mother huffs. “And I’m your what?”
“You’re my first baby, Sarah. It is both our birthdays today, so please let us live in romance.”
I hear a soft murmur from my mother, and then she goes silent, leaving just my father on the line.
“So, darling,” his voice turns serious. “Tell me, how have you been going for your prenatal?”
“Mario has been helping,” I say. My hands are finally done with the food containers, and I cross my arms, resting my weight atop the counter.
“Do you miss him?”
The question hits me without warning. It doesn’t take a second for a single tear to spill over my lower lash line, tracing a hot path down my cheek. I wipe it away with the back of my hand, my throat tightening. I swallow hard, forcing my voice to behave. “No.”
“Baby, I know that’s a lie,” my father says softly. “But take your time. Don’t let anybody try to dissuade you, or try to make you feel as though you need to hurry back.”
The dam breaks. The moisture floods my eyes, and a small sob escapes my throat, followed by a trail of heat running down my nose.
“You are loved at home, baby,” he whispers.
The line stretches into stillness. Sobs wrack my body, my shoulders shaking in the middle of the kitchen while my father simply waits on the other end, holding the space for me. After the trembling stops and I manage to catch my breath, he speaks again.
"Are you done?"
A watery chuckle escapes me. "Yes, Dad."
"That’s good, then. Whenever you need anything, or maybe a man to do something, you have to remember you have a father, alright? And I will walk through a storm to get to you if I have to, alright?"
"Oh, Daddy, you’re going to make me cry again," I say, a new set of tears already blurring my vision.
"No, I know. The pregnancy hormones are also contributing to it," he says with a soft laugh. "But I just have to let you know how loved you are so you don’t make any drastic decisions alone. Your mother will do the same thing, too."
I nod into the room, knowing his words carry nothing but truth. "I love you, Dad."
"Yes, I know. And I love you, too."
"Yes, I know."
The line clicks, and the call ends. I set the phone down on the counter, a faint sense of relief washing through me. The conversation leaves me feeling grounded.
I slide both palms over the fabric of my shirt, caressing the small swell of my belly.
The thought of birthing a new life, of bringing another child into the world, brings a flutter of happiness to my chest. I am glad I have the cushion of my family to help me through it.
Then, his face crosses my mind again. My fingers slow, and my hand eventually slides down, dropping back to my side.
The doorbell rings.
I walk toward the entryway, turning the lock to pull the door open.
"Mummy!" Rose screams. She barrels through the opening, her small arms throwing themselves around my knees. Samuel follows right behind her, his school bag dragging against the rug.
I squat down, capturing them both in a tight hug, burying my face in Rose’s hair.
"Is my little brother okay?" Rose asks, pulling back to look at my face. Ever since she figured out what the sudden change in my waistline meant, she hasn't stopped asking the same question.
"Yes, your little brother is okay," I tell her, offering a warm smile.
I lift my head to look at Samuel. He isn't smiling.
His small lips are pressed into a straight line, his dark eyes holding a shadow of resentment.
He thinks what I am doing is wrong. He hates that I am keeping him from seeing his dad, and as I look at his stubborn expression, a hard knot of guilt tightens in my chest. He is right.
"Can I join in?" Mario’s voice carries from the doorway.
With my mood already dampened by Samuel's stare, I simply give a half-hearted nod, standing back up. The kids break away, running free into the living room to drop their bags. Once they are out of the way, I turn to Mario, my patience wears dangerously thin.
"Samuel thinks I am not doing well by not letting him see his dad," I say, my voice cracking. "And I agree."
The tears start all over again, spilling over my cheeks.
"Ugh, I hate these hormones," I mutter, stamping my foot against the floor in annoyance.
Mario offers a small smile, his expression full of understanding, and opens his arms wide. I step forward, leaning my forehead against his chest as he wraps his arms around my shoulders.
"I know, Rain. I know you're scared," he murmurs into the room. "And probably, you want him to suffer a bit. That’s why you left with everyone. Remember you told me? You felt like he wouldn’t miss you, but he would miss the children?"
I give a tight nod against his shirt, the truth of my own pettiness stinging my throat.
"I think he has missed his kids enough," Mario says, his voice steady. "Let them see him." He pauses, the stillness returning for a brief second. "Tomorrow."
I immediately push away from his chest, my eyes widening. "Tomorrow?"
He nods. "Yes. Tomorrow."
A sudden wave of fear chokes my throat, making it hard to swallow. "But... but..." I stammer, my hands trembling slightly. "How will I get them there? I can't face him."
"I will drop them off, and I will bring them back if he permits," Mario explains, his tone calm and reassuring. "If not, you will probably have to set some ground rules with him."
Every instinct in my body wants to shake my head, to hide away in this house forever, but I force myself to nod. It is the right thing to do for the children.
"How are you and the baby, Rain?" Mario asks, changing the subject.
A small, genuine smile breaks through my tears at how out of the blue the question is.
***
Later that night, the house is dark. Cody has been texting my phone since the very day he came home to find that empty entryway and my note. Tonight is no different. I sit on the edge of the mattress, the blue light of the screen illuminating the text. It is a poem this time.
I wish I could turn back the hands of time,I wish I could hold you in my arms again,I wish I could see your smile again,I wish I could go back to home again.
A soft beep sounds the moment I finish reading the last line. A new message pops up underneath the stanza.
I miss you Rain. I don’t know what to tell you to make you come back, but I miss you so much.
Another beep follows immediately.
Tell the kids I love them.
The notifications stop. I stare at the screen, a sad smile touching my lips. My chest aches with a strange mixture of longing and lingering hurt. I set the phone face down on the nightstand, turning onto my side in the wide, empty bed.
To force the thoughts of him out of my head, I close my eyes and begin to count. One, two, three... I focus on the numbers, mapping a steady path toward a thousand, using the old tactic to find sleep before the memories can take over.