Chapter 10
Abby
Twelve Weeks
Iam going to be an awful mother.
That thought has lodged itself in my brain and will not get out, no matter how many pep talks I give myself in the mirror. After seeing Little One and hearing their heartbeat a few weeks ago, I thought I’d never come down from that joy.
I was hugely, catastrophically wrong.
I didn’t realize the difference it made to have someone in the house so often. The night Jack crashed on my couch was the first night that I felt like my muscles fully unclenched–the first night I slept and woke up feeling truly rested.
There’s an odd thing about grief that no one talks about–it takes a physical toll just as much as it takes a mental one.
Those first few weeks, before I took that fateful pregnancy test, I was in a fugue state.
Days would pass, and I would have no idea what I did.
I’d sleep for sixteen hours, but nothing eased the unbearable fatigue. I haven’t slept well since Aaron died.
Except for the night there was another person in my house. And after that brief moment of reprieve, and the high of seeing my baby, the crash has been wreaking havoc on my heart and my body. I’m constantly making an active effort to relax my shoulders, to unclench my jaw, to take a full breath.
And then you throw pregnancy on top of that, and I never know what’s going on in my own body. Is the headache from the hormones or the grief? Is my chest tight from nausea or the weight of unimaginable loss?
I didn’t think it was possible, but I feel more alone than ever.
Anguish rises in my throat, threatening to split me in two. My breaths turn shallow as I pull my phone out.
“Hi Daddy,” I say, trying not to sound like I’m on the brink of collapse. “What are you up to tonight?”
“Hey there, Red,” my dad says with a groan. He was undoubtedly asleep in his recliner when I called. “Nothing to report over here. How about you, any fun plans with your friends?”
“Not tonight,” I say. The anxious butterflies in my stomach feel more like wasps.
Stop it. This is your dad, there’s no reason to be nervous.
“If it’s not too much trouble,” I begin nervously. “Do you think I could come over for dinner? And maybe stay the night?”
“You’re never trouble, Abby,” he says in a concerned tone. “You don’t even have to ask. You show up here anytime and there’s always a place for you.” He hesitates for a moment before asking, “Is everything okay? I mean obviously things aren’t okay, but did something happen?”
“No,” I croak, fighting back tears. “The house is just…it’s so quiet, and feels so big now, and I just don’t want to be alone for once.”
“Go get in your car, honey,” he coaxes. “And stay on the phone with me while you drive over.”
“Oh good, I was planning on doing that anyway,” I joke with a watery chuckle.
On the drive across town, I let him live commentate the golf tournament he’s watching in great detail.
Spoiler alert–I do not care about golf. But it’s nice to not feel the pressure to keep a conversation going.
My dad is content to monologue, and I feel lighter with every mile closer to my childhood home.
We don’t hang up until he opens the front door, pulling me into the kind of hug that only he can give. It’s warm, and full of so much care, and feels like a shelter from every awful thing, even if just for a moment.
Nate stands in the kitchen, fridge wide open as he hunts for a pre-dinner snack.
“Nathan Wheeler, don’t you dare ruin your appetite,” Dad scolds.
“He’s a bottomless pit, Daddy, you know that.”
At the sound of my voice, his head whips in my direction.
“Why are you here?”
“Hello my darling brother, it’s lovely to see you too.”
“Sorry,” he mumbles, closing the fridge and crossing the room to give me a hug. “I just meant that I wasn’t expecting to see you. But I’m glad your weird ass has graced us with your presence.”
“Don’t talk to your sister like that,” Dad says, scolding him again.
It feels like I’m nineteen again–when the worst thing that happened to me was an evil prank from Nate or a bad grade on an assignment.
For a moment, I can almost forget that my husband is dead, and that I’m on the way to motherhood, and that I feel stranded on an island of grief and failure and uncertainty.
Almost.
I help my dad with dinner as Nate sits at the table, feet propped up without a care in the world, like the thought of doing anything helpful has never once crossed his mind.
“Can you at least set the table, you useless dweeb?” I ask, rolling my eyes at him. All he does is shoot me an unapologetic grin, but he stands up to grab silverware and plates. He’s not going to earn any fine dining awards anytime soon, but at least we won’t be eating directly from the pan.
It’s nice being home again. I love my dad and brother dearly, but Aaron was my closest family.
And since he died, I’ve almost forgotten what it feels like to belong somewhere.
The closest I’ve come are the moments I’ve spent with Jack, or Ellie and Griffin, but for tonight, I’m a Wheeler again and it feels good.
We eat, and laugh, and play card games late into the night, but when Dad yawns for the third time in ninety seconds, I make the executive decision that we should wrap it up and go to bed.
“The bed is already made up for you, so you don’t need to worry about that,” he says, following behind me into my childhood bedroom. “But I did ask your brother to do it, so you might check for anything unseemly before sliding into bed.”
“Thanks for the heads up,” I say, kissing his cheek. “And thank you for tonight.”
“You don’t need to thank me,” he says gruffly. “This is your home, too, no matter how much time you spend away.”
“I want to thank you though,” I reiterate firmly. “Tonight is the first time I’ve felt like just a normal person again in months. You have no idea how much that means to me. You’re the best dad in the whole world, and I love you one million.”
“I love you one million and one, kiddo,” he says, kissing my forehead. “Get some sleep. I’ll make your favorite breakfast in the morning.”
“Chocolate chip pancakes with strawberries? You promise?”
“Cross my heart,” he chuckles. “Even if I have to go to the store at 6 a.m. to make it happen. Anything for my best girl.”
After thoroughly checking my bed and deciding that there are no booby traps, I slide in between the blankets and burrow my head into the pillow that’s been broken into the perfect shape over two decades. After wishing me a final goodnight, Dad turns off the lights and closes the door softly.
The familiar sounds and smells of my room feel like a warm hug, and I drift off to the lullaby of the old A/C unit working overtime outside my window.
***
I wake to the buzzing of my phone reverberating through the pillow, and pull it out from underneath with a groan. It’s nearly two in the morning, but Ellie’s name is lighting up my screen.
“Hello?” I say groggily.
“Oh, thank God,” she sighs in relief. “Where the hell are you? You’ve been gone all night, and I just saw that your car isn’t in the driveway and I panicked. Are you okay? What’s going on?”
“I’m fine Ellie Bellie,” I yawn. “I’m at home with Dad and Nate. I couldn’t stand another night being alone in that house. I was going to implode.”
“Oh, my sweet ginger angel,” she says, her tone mixed with both exasperation and sadness. “I’m so sorry, I had no idea you were struggling with that. But can you call me next time so I don’t have a heart attack?”
“I promise,” I say, eyes only half open. “Can I go back to sleep now?”
“Yes, I’m sorry I woke you,” she apologizes. “But can we talk more about this tomorrow? I hate that you’ve been carrying that alone.”
“Okay,” I mumble. “I’ll come over tomorrow.”
“Okay, I love you.”
“I love you, too. Goodnight.”
I’m asleep again before the call ends.
The next morning, after gorging myself on pancakes, I hug my dad and brother goodbye before heading over to the Hart household.
“Knock knock,” I yell, letting myself in. “You know, you really ought to lock your door.”
“It’s Larkspur, what’s the worst that could happen?” Griffin asks, coming up the stairs from the basement and squeezing my shoulders in a side hug. “C’mon, we’re all downstairs.”
“Who is ‘we’?”
“Who do you think? Ellie, Jack, David, me, and now you.”
“Oh brother,” I mutter, following him down the stairs.
“Took you long enough,” David huffs, immediately moving from his spot on the floor to sit next to me on the couch. “How’s my new best friend doing in there? Are you taking good care of fetus?” he asks directly to my stomach.
“Would you quit it,” I say, shoving him away. “I hate when you talk to my stomach. And stop calling Little One ‘fetus’, call them a baby like a normal person.”
“I read online that it’s a fetus until it’s earthside, then it’s a newborn,” he says matter-of-factly. “So I will continue calling fetus ‘fetus’ until then.”
“Or until she smacks you hard enough that you forget the word fetus,” Jack warns. “Which is increasingly likely the more you open that trap of yours.” David jumps up, putting space between us before I can land a blow (not that I was planning to).
“Now, for the reason we’re all gathered here,” Ellie announces, placing an easel with a giant notepad in front of the TV.
“Is this an intervention?” I joke.
“No,” she says patiently. “It’s a staff meeting. And today, we’re going over the schedule.”
She flips the paper over, revealing a meticulously color-coded calendar.
“What…is that?” Griffin asks warily.
“This is the schedule for next month,” she says simply, as if everyone should already understand exactly what she’s talking about.
“Schedule for what?” I ask.
“I’m calling it Abby Duty. Or Abby Watch. Or the Sleepover Schedule. I haven’t quite landed on a name yet.”
“I beg your finest pardon,” David interrupts. “But what in the holy hell are you talking about?”
“Holy hell is an oxymoron,” Ellie counters. “Aren’t you Catholic? Shouldn’t you know that?”
“Could you please enlighten us as to what Abby Duty entails?” Jack asks. “And is Abby aware that she’s a duty?”
“She’s not a duty, Jack, she’s a privilege.”
“Yeah, Jack Robbit,” I say, barely containing my laughter. “And don’t you forget it.”
“Don’t call me that. And of course I don’t think you’re–”
“Ellie,” I say, cutting him off. “What exactly is Abby Duty? And more importantly, why does it exist?”
“I couldn’t sleep last night after we talked,” she says, looking concerned. “I hate that the house feels so lonely. And I hate even more that we didn’t know about it.”
The boys all rapidly turn their attention to where I’m sitting, cheeks flushed with embarrassment.
“Ellie Bellie, it’s fine,” I try to reassure her. “I was just having a hard day. This is entirely unnecessary.”
“Incorrect,” she says sharply. “It’s completely necessary, and I won’t hear a word otherwise.
” She slaps the pointer she’s holding, which has seemingly materialized out of thin air, against the paper.
“Each color represents a person, and each day has been assigned to one of us. We’re not letting her have one more lonely night, whether she stays at her house or one of ours.
Obviously staying at her house would be ideal, since it’s her comfort zone.
But if she wants space and needs to stay with one of us, we make that happen. ”
“This is ridiculous,” I huff, but everyone else is nodding in agreement. “Y’all can’t seriously be considering this? Ellie, this is insane, I don’t need babysitters.”
“Not babysitters,” she says, sticking the pointer in my direction. “Friends. Support system. Family.”
“I love it,” David says enthusiastically. “Mandated sleepovers? I’m in.”
“Wait a second,” Jack says, sticking his hands out like he’s trying to physically halt the conversation. “We can’t just force her into this. This is helicopter-parenting on steroids.”
“Of course we won’t force her,” Griffin says. “My darlin’ wife may have gotten a little carried away, but I don’t think it’s a bad thing to be a little more intentional with our support. The onus shouldn’t be on Abby to ask for help, she already has enough on her shoulders.”
A lump has formed in my throat, and I’m trying desperately not to cry right now–the overwhelming love and care in this room is stifling in the best way.
“I really love you guys, you know that?” I say softly, swiping at the tears in my eyes before they have a chance to fall. “Even if you are insane.”
Jack locks eyes with me, a silent search to discern if I’m actually okay with this. I smile, nodding slightly before continuing. “We can try the schedule out for the next week or so, see if it’s actually helpful or if it’s a logistical nightmare.”
“Excellent!” she cries, clapping her hands together. “Jack, you’re up first tonight since you’re off duty.”
“How can you be sure I’m off duty?”
“Because I called the station, duh,” she says, offended by the question. “You really think I haven’t done my research?”
“Of course you did,” he grumbles, crossing his arms over his chest. But when he looks at me, his expression softens and he leans forward in his seat. “And of course I’ll be there. For as long as you want.”
“Well, this is your only night this week. David has two nights, and I have the rest.”
“And what, I’m chopped liver?” Griffin gasps.
“No, baby,” she says soothingly. “You’re a given. We’re a package deal. Unless I’m on a work trip, then you’ll be faced with the impossible task of filling my shoes.”
“Can we adjourn this meeting?” I ask, raising my hand. “Duty would like to go home and shower.”
Everyone laughs, all of us rising at the same time to go.
“Let me just run home and grab some stuff,” Jack says to me as we walk down the pathway that leads to the street. “Do you want me to come back immediately, or just come over later?”
“Let me take care of some things around the house before you come over,” I say, realizing how much of a disaster my place is right now.
It’s funny how drastically your priorities change in the throes of grief.
A messy house used to drive me up a wall–now I don’t care one bit.
“But how about you come over around 5:30, and could you maybe pick up dinner?”
“You bet,” he says with a nod. “I’ll see you later. Call me if you need anything before then.”
With that, he gets in his Jeep and takes off, and I make the short trek across the street. When I turn the doorknob, the silence hits me the way it always does. But somehow it doesn’t feel as overwhelming now.
Stop being mean to yourself, Abs. You’re going to be a great mother, and you aren’t alone. Let people be there for you.
As I turn the couch back into a makeshift bed, I make a promise to myself–from now on, I will.