September
Subject: RE: [none]
Hi stranger.
It’s been a while, huh?
First of all, let me say, I’ve spoken to my parents. To Isla and Penny. And you are speaking to Jesy, and not Jerry.
And more importantly…
There is no baby.
Honestly, it’s one thing for Jerry to announce my pregnancy without consulting me; it’s another thing altogether to not tell the full story.
So, I was supposed to go have drinks with Isla and Penny back at the beginning of August. But the day before, I started feeling really… rough. I’ll spare you the details, but a flippant comment from Jerry made me pick up a pregnancy test.
To my surprise, it was positive.
Now, I know you don’t need to be privy to my sex life, but the chances of me falling pregnant are pretty fucking slim. We’re not going at it like rabbits. He wraps up, and I’m on the pill.
But one of those suckers slipped through, I guess, and I’m holding a pee stick in my hand telling me my life is going to change forever.
And then the bleeding started.
I didn’t even have time to get my head around being pregnant before there was no more baby.
Did you know when you miscarry, it’s not a splash of blood like it’s portrayed in the media? And it’s definitely not over in a day. No. It’s like a period.It’s slow and painful, and it makes you remember, with every second, what you’re losing.
I’m fine.
No, honestly, I am okay. My month of absence gave me plenty of time to think, to grieve, to process. And I’m ready to get back to some level of normality.
My friends and family don’t know about the miscarriage yet. I wanted to tell you first, and not just because Jerry forced my hand.
You know, when I was sitting all on my own, Jerry off doing whatever he was doing, I was very aware of your absence. We went from talking all the time to not talking at all. For almost two months, what with you being busy with Rebecca and then my month-long absence.
You know what I realised?
I missed you.
I kept thinking you’d know what to say. You’d comfort me in a way that didn’t make me feel like that woman who had a miscarriage, and… well, you’d hear what I had to say without judgement.
Because I’ve had some pretty dark thoughts these past few weeks.
I was so angry with you this time last month. I’d read your email, but I was still so angry to even think about replying. And then…
Life is fragile. Gone in a single second.
I do believe you’re sorry, and I just want to move past things. I want my friend. My confidant. My peace.
What do you say, buddy?
(Virtually) yours,
Jesy.
1 Sep | From: Brian Trainer | To: Jesy Pattinson
Subject: RE: [none]
I missed you, too, friend.
Welcome back.
You have received an instant message from:
ISLA
Isla: Back to normality, hm?
Jesy: For the most part.
Jesy: Sorry for making you worry.
Isla: Water under the bridge.
Isla: You had reason.
Jesy: Nah. I was talking to Brian last night, and I remembered what I spat at him during my big rant. It would have taken two seconds to tell you all I needed space, but I was okay.
Jesy: It was a shitty thing to do.
Isla: I think you can be forgiven, hen.
Jesy: I don’t want to be.
Jesy: I don’t want to get off scot-free just because this sad thing happened to me.
Isla: So, you want me to be angry at you.
Jesy: Please.
Isla: You’re a… umm… You’re a terrible person, and you should be very ashamed of yourself.
Jesy: Thanks.
Jesy: I feel better.
Isla: Masochist.
Isla: You’re doing okay?
Jesy: I’m doing okay.
Isla: Love you, Jes.
Jesy: Ah. I love you, too.
8 Sep | From: Jesy Pattinson | To: Brian Trainer
Subject: Be normal
You know the worst thing about this whole ordeal?
People don’t know how to act around me, and in turn, I don’t know how to act around them.
When they ask me, ‘are you okay?’ and I answer one way or another, I’m anticipating their reaction.
If I say I’m okay, there’s a judgmental eyebrow raise. Like, how could you possibly be okay?!
If I say I’m struggling, the eyebrows turn down, and there’s all this pity I don’t want because I don’t feel like I deserve it.
And then there’s the fact that I’m being treated so delicately.
I know people mean well. I know these wonderful people love me and want me to know they’re there for me. But if I’m honest, I don’t really feel like I’ve lost anything.
I knew I was pregnant for all of two days before I started bleeding. I don’t know how many weeks I was. I don’t know if I was having a boy or a girl. I don’t even know if that little heart had started beating.
It was a line on a stick one day, that started fading and disappeared altogether the next.
And then, of course, I hate myself for not being sadder. For not grieving and being angry at the world.
I think my month in solitude has its part to play here. I had so much time to process and make sense of it all. But everyone else has only just found out and are treating me as though I have just lost the pregnancy.
I don’t know. It’s all a bit weird, and I don’t think there’s a solution other than time, but I just wanted to get it out.
Thanks for listening.
8 Sep | From: Brian Trainer | To: Jesy Pattinson
Subject: RE: Be normal
Let me start with some advice you should probably apply to your life in general, not just this situation.
Other people are going to feel whatever they feel. You don’t have to manage that for them, and carrying that burden will only hurt you.
That’s it.
Stop anticipating reactions. Feel what you feel and let everyone else deal with their own emotions.
You have people who are more emotional and others who are more pragmatic. Some people will be horrified by your relative calm, others will understand completely.
And you’re right.
You’ve had a month with this. You’ve grieved and processed, and you’re ready to get back to ‘real life’. The people who love you are still processing, still trying to piece together a timeline, wondering why you didn’t reach out.
I say this not to make you feel guilty, but to remind you, there is no controlling other people’s reactions.
I could tell you what I think, but that would be counterproductive, because all together now, it does not matter what I think.
What I can say is that loss, any kind of loss, isn’t ever black or white, and you’re allowed to have complicated feelings about it. You’re allowed to be sad, or happy, at peace, or conflicted. Heck, you can be everything all at once.
And no one, not one person in this world can tell you that the way you feel is wrong.
If you can accept that one simple truth, you might find you don’t feel quite as out of touch with the people around you.
Jesy
I breathe a sigh of relief, sitting back in my chair as I reread the closing sentence of Brian’s email.
He’s right.
And it feels like a suffocating weight has been lifted off my shoulders. There’s a lot I can feel guilty about recently, but someone not understanding the timeline of my grief isn’t one of those things.
“Who are you talking to?” Jerry asks as he peers over my shoulder.
“Brian,” I reply, refusing to look him in the eye. Our relationship is a little strained currently. I don’t like the way he announced my pregnancy and left it deliberately ambiguous. I see no other reason for it other than to piss all over his territory.
“Oh.” He sniffs and takes a seat on the edge of my desk. “I thought you had fallen out.”
“We made up. I suppose I have you to thank for that.”
“Jesy, come on. I already apologised.”
“I know,” I reply. “And I accept your apology.”
“And yet you’ll barely look at me.”
I make a point of turning in my chair and meeting his red rimmed eyes. “I’m looking at you.”
“Why are you talking to him and not to me?”
“I have been talking to you, Jerry. I have spoken extensively with you. We have mourned. We have discussed. We have agreed it was probably for the best.”
“Well, I’ve changed my mind.”
This time he’s got my full attention. “What do you mean you’ve changed your mind?”
He slips off the desk, his hand reaching for mine as he kneels beside my chair. “I think we should try again.”
“Try again? Jerry, we weren’t even trying to begin with!”
“I know. I know that. But it doesn’t mean we can’t start.”
“I don’t want a baby right now, Jer. And besides, aren’t you supposed to wait a while anyway?”
“No,” he says, his eyes lighting with a spark of excitement. I might believe him, except I can smell the whiskey on his breath. This is drunk Jerry speaking. “I looked it up, and you’re good to go right now.”
“Well, I’m not good to go right now.”
“You are,” he says with a grin I don’t like the look of. “Some people even say you’re even more fertile. Your body is ready, sweetheart.”
“That’s nice,” I say coolly. “Have you thought that perhaps I’m not good mentally?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, it took me a whole fucking month to talk to anyone that wasn’t you or your father after the last miscarriage, and I do not have the mental capacity to do it all again.”
He releases my hand, and it drops to my thigh. He’s acting as though I’ve slapped him as he recoils.
“If you don’t want a baby, you only had to say. There’s no need to make up excuses. Or did he tell you to say that?”
I gesture to the computer, giving him full access to Brian’s words still on the screen. “I didn’t even know you wanted a baby to discuss it with my friend. But you’re more than welcome to look.”
“I wouldn’t do that,” he mutters. “What you talk about with your friends is your business.”
“And yet you read that email from Brian.”
“Only because he sent it while I was already online!”
“So, you open my mail if it gets delivered while you’re at home?” I ask.
“What? No. No, Jesy. You know I wouldn’t do that. Come on, we’ve been over this.”