Chapter 10 #2
Kate stood on the landing with her back to me. The stairwell smelled of damp dust and garbage someone had set out too early.
“I didn't ask you to pretend anything, Cole,” she said. “I asked you to stop.”
She took one step down. Then another. The front door of the building slammed shut with a muffled thud, and I was left standing in her living room, clutching the forty hours like a metric I thought I could use to keep her from leaving.
At seven, I texted the coach that I’d be late.
At eight, Priya replied saying Kate had made it to the board meeting and the presentation had gone through.
She also warned me not to post a security detail around Kate.
I didn't ask what Kate looked like. At eight-ten, I opened a new note on my phone and typed: *Tuesday, drop food; Wednesday, therapy consult; Thursday, clinic. *
I reread it. It looked like a rehab schedule for a separated shoulder.
I deleted it. Then wrote it out on paper anyway, because my hands ached if they stayed idle.
When I got to Georgetown, practice was already underway. The turf smelled of churned earth, and dew soaked through my socks on the first sprint. Coach didn't ask why I was late. He assigned me to light contact drills and yelled at me to stop anticipating the pass.
I couldn't help it. Every time Reyes feinted left, I mapped a running lane before he chose it. Every time, I got it wrong.
“Callahan,” Coach barked when the whistle blew. “Shower. Film room. And eat something that didn't come out of a shaker bottle.”
I nodded. I didn't have the energy to pretend the comment was original.
Marcus caught up with me by my locker, dry mud still caked around my ankles. I’d pulled a clean shirt from the hook but hadn't put it on. Reyes was two benches down, unwrapping tape from his fingers. Someone’s music blasted behind a closed door, and the chill from the ice bath seeped down the hall.
“What happened?” Marcus asked.
“Nothing that affects the club.”
Marcus picked up an elastic bandage from the bench, winding it between his fingers. He didn't walk away.
“I didn't ask about the club.”
I looked at the nameplate bolted above my locker. CALLAHAN. Black letters on a blue plate. There were a dozen ways to sidestep the question. I could say Kate had an emergency, that I was run down, that I hadn't slept. None of them were true in a way that mattered.
“You remember the woman I left the Huxley with?”
Marcus stopped rolling the bandage.
“Yeah.”
“Her name’s Kate. We reconnected a few weeks later because she called me. She was pregnant. We hadn't told anyone, and we still didn't know what we were going to do. She lost it Sunday.”
Reyes froze, a strip of athletic tape dangling between his fingers.
The industrial fan droned on with its worn-out motor hum. Marcus laid a heavy hand on my left shoulder, careful to stay clear of the taped ribs.
“I’m sorry, brother.”
I nodded. Swallowed once, but my throat remained clamped tight.
“I had no idea,” Marcus said.
“Nobody did. We were going to talk after the next appointment, and now...” I had to sit down on the bench to finish. “Now there’s nothing left to decide.”
Reyes balled up the tape in his palm and set it on the bench.
“I won't say a word,” he said.
“Neither will I,” Marcus added.
Marcus pulled his hand back. He didn't ask for details. He didn't tell me he knew how I felt. He sat down six feet away on the opposite bench and stayed there until I finished dressing.
* * *
The light in Kate’s kitchen was on when I reached her building that evening.
I’d picked up soup from a Thai spot instead of cooking.
The paper bag warmed my fingers against the damp street air.
I climbed the three flights without texting her first. On the second landing, it hit me that showing up unannounced was just another way of making decisions for her, and I stopped.
My phone buzzed before I could type.
Kate: *I’m home. I need my bag. Think I left it in your truck.*
Me: *I’m outside with it.*
Nearly two minutes passed. The deadbolt turned. Kate opened the door just wide enough to reach for the bag, but the takeout bag and my shoulder took up the rest of the frame.
She wore the same blouse from the morning, creased at the elbows. Her watch clasp was closed. Her face was freshly washed, with a raw red patch near her nose as if she’d been rubbing it for hours.
“Thank you,” she said, taking the bag.
“I brought dinner.”
“I didn't ask for dinner.”
“I know. I can take it with me.”
Kate looked at the brown bag. Then stepped aside.
“Five minutes.”
The kitchen was exactly as I’d left it at dawn, except for the sheet of therapist contacts sitting out on the table.
Kate had pulled it from beneath the fruit bowl.
An unwashed mug left a dark ring beside the sink.
On the counter, the containers I’d prepped remained sealed, blue painter's tape labeled with the exact times I’d written.
I didn't remember leaving the labels in plain sight.
Kate tapped one with the tip of her finger.
“What is this?”
“Food. So you didn't have to make a decision every time.”
“And this?” She lifted the paper.
“Therapists. You don't have to call anyone.”
“Except you already found their hours, insurance information, and reviews. You already texted Priya to find out what I could digest. You already counted the hours. What comes next, Cole? A whiteboard on the fridge?”
I set the takeout bag on the table. Steam vented from one corner, leaving a circle of condensation on the paper.
“I’m trying to keep you from carrying it all alone.”
“No. You’re putting everything in order so *you* can handle it.”
The words cut through me with a precision that left me stripped of an answer. Kate didn't look away. Her fingers had crumpled the edge of the therapist list.
“I can’t watch you in pain and do nothing,” I said.
“That’s not the same thing as helping me.”
“Then what is helping? Tell me and I’ll do it.”
Kate laid the sheet back down on the table with far more care than it deserved.
“You can’t turn this into a multiple-choice menu.”
“Then explain what to do.”
The demand came out sharper than I intended. Kate closed her eyes for a second. When she opened them, the flush had already crawled up her neck.
“I don't know. That’s the problem.”
Through the shared wall, the neighbor’s kitchen came alive: a chair scraping the floor, a child’s voice asking something I couldn't make out. Kate looked at the labeled Pyrex dishes, then at the list of therapists.
“Before Sunday, I already knew a baby didn't fit into my life,” she said. “I hadn't told you. I kept pushing the conversation off until the next ultrasound because that was easier than saying it aloud.”
I didn't move. The damp heat from the soup container was cooling against my fingertips.
“When the doctor said I’d lost it, I felt relief,” she continued.
“Just for a second. That I wouldn't have to tell you, or make a choice that would change everything. Then I looked at the black screen and...” She pressed a hand against her stomach.
“I thought knowing I wasn't ready for a baby right now would make this easier. It didn't.”
I set the bag down on the counter. The paper tore slightly under one handle, but I caught it before it slipped.
“I didn't know you’d already made up your mind.”
“I didn't want to know it either.” Kate ran her thumb over the chipped burgundy nail polish. “And now I can’t control what my body is doing or what I feel about what was lost. This knocked me off balance far more than I expected.”
Kate held my gaze.
“And I was harsh with you. I’m sorry.”
“You don't have to apologize for telling me to stop.”
“Not for that. For treating you like you were just another problem I had to clear out of my apartment.”
I sat down in the chair across from her, leaving the distance intact.
“I treated you like a problem I could fix with groceries and schedules.”
“I struggle to delegate a spreadsheet,” Kate said. “This... I don't know how to ask for help. When I’m not in control, I feel completely lost. And right now I don't even know if I’m grieving the right way.”
“There isn't a right way.”
“I know that in theory.”
In any other week, that would have been dry banter. Tonight, it ended on a cracked note. Kate unclasped her watch and rested her bare wrist on the table.
“I don't know where to put what’s hurting you,” she said.
“You don't have to put it anywhere. I just need to be able to say it hurts.”
Kate nodded.
“Then say it.”
I looked at the sheet of therapist names, the labeled tape, the soup I’d brought unprompted once again. Everything I’d hidden behind to avoid saying one simple sentence.
“It hurts,” I said. “And I’m lost too.”
The radiator clanked once. Kate laid her hand palm-up on the table, near mine.
“I don't want to be alone tonight,” she said. “But don't do anything. Don't prep anything. Don't ask me what I need for a while.”
“I can do that.”
I didn't reach for her hand. I stayed seated across from her, my hands resting empty on the table.