22. August 30th
Angie
Ididn’t think it was possible, but something other than my raging libido has taken up every inch of my brain this week. The journals my mom kept have been the only thing I’ve cared about, analyzed, and sobbed over. She kept one journal for each of her pregnancies up until each child turned one. Including the two blank journals she never had the chance to fill in.
“What did Isaiah and Dane say when you gave them theirs?” my sister Ivy says over a video call, the sunshine still vibrant in her small shared apartment in the background compared to the setting sun outside my window. Even though I know she’s tired, she still looks beautiful in her sundress. Guatemala looks good on her—still doesn’t ease my worry for her safety in another country without any family around.
I roll my eyes and sit back on the couch with a mixing bowl full of cut melon and a fork then look at Ivy. “Our brothers did not find these journals nearly as earth-shattering as you and I.”
“Typical,” she snorts. “Thank you for scanning and sending every page of mine by the way. You didn’t have to do that.”
“I couldn’t stop myself. I did it for everyone. Stuff like this is too valuable. Which reminds me,” I say, then pop a piece of sweet cantaloupe in my mouth and continue talking because what are manners between sisters? “Jonah isn’t getting his journal until he can be trusted not to lose it.”
“I bet he’d use it as wrapping paper if it was nearby and he ran out.”
“You assume he would wrap something in the first place?” I grouse.
Ivy brings a glass of water to her lips before saying, “I bet if we told him this was the diary of Anne Frank he would believe us.”
“That’s if he knew who Anne Frank was.”
“Good point,” she giggles.
“I don’t understand how he’s made it this far in his life.”
“He’s charmed his way through everything,” she answers.
“It might also be pure luck.” Ivy gives a considering smile as a pause lingers between us. “How’s your training program going? Are you a certified midwife yet?”
She smiles, “Not yet. But it’s going great. It’s hard, mostly because of the hours. Babies don’t care about other people’s sleep schedules, it’s so rude.” That makes me chuckle as I take another bite of melon. “I won’t be certified until I come back to the States and work under another midwife, like an apprenticeship. But for now, I’m gaining a lot of experience. Just yesterday I participated in my two-hundredth birth,” she says proudly.
“That’s amazing, Ivy!”
“Yeah, it was pretty wild, too. This mom of five just walked into the birthing center with all of her kids, in labor, and within twenty minutes the baby was born.”
“What?” I exclaim.
“Yeah, she just had a been-here-done-this attitude.”
“I should channel that woman’s energy when I give birth.”
“Why? Are you freaking out?”
“A little,” I sigh. “It’s a lot of little things I worry about. Like the mind-blowing reality of two babies exiting my body.”
“Are you still trying to have a vaginal birth?”
“Yes. The doctor thinks I should have a c-section, but I want to try giving birth vaginally.”
“And we’re still on for a hospital birth?” she asks calmly, jotting down notes in what I assume is her file on me. I still have an obstetrics doctor who I see for all my prenatal appointments, but Ivy’s been following along the whole time and giving me advice.
“Yeah. I did confirm with the doctor that I’m allowed to have you with me as a midwife in the hospital.”
“Perfect. And how does Raf want to support you on birthing day?”
“Oh, he’s already read all the birthing partner books you recommended. I think he wants to catch the babies,” I chuckle.
“That’s great! It sounds like he wants to be involved in the whole process.” He really does. And it’s more than just being an active birthing partner. When we came home from my dad’s house yesterday and read through the journals, he was the one who suggested we do the same thing. Each of us writes in a journal for each baby. I was floored by that.
Then I remember what he did last week and smile. “Oh my god, Ivy, I started looking into hypnobirthing and he created a playlist for me.”
“Aww,” she coos. “Where is he right now?”
“He has an away game tomorrow in Norfolk, so he left this afternoon.”
She gives me a suggestive hum and raises one eyebrow. “You didn’t go with him this time? Dane said he—”
I cut her off. “We are perfectly fine not spending every weekend together,” I lie. “We’re not that codependent.”
She levels her stare. “That’s not where I was going with that.”
Before she can launch into questions about me and Raf and what we are, I steer the conversation in another direction. “So when will you be back?”
“Well, let’s see,” she hums, peeking at her notes, “You’re due December 28th. I’ll be back by late November, so even if your doctor has you induced, or you go into labor early, which is common for twins, I’ll be there.” The relief knowing my sister will be by my side gives more peace than I expect.
Even with three thousand miles separating us, I can see how much she’s grown into herself. When she first told us she was joining this midwifery program in Central America, I was naturally fearful. This girl didn’t even talk to us about it beforehand—she just signed up and committed herself out of nowhere. She would be gone one full year in a country we knew no one and nearly nothing about.
Well, not no one exactly. Rafael’s cousin Daniel knows a guy who knows a woman in Santa Catarina Pinula who’s keeping an eye on her. I guess they have breakfast together sometimes. That’s the best we have.
But maybe this was the right move for her. She’s been reliant on me for everything, and now here she is, living on her own—well, with a roommate from her program—making something for herself. It’s incredible to witness, but heartbreaking to be separated from.
“Good,” I tell her. “I know Dad misses you like crazy. Are you going to move in with him when you come back?”
“I don’t know,” she winces. “I’d rather live on my own, but I might have to.”
“Let me talk to Raf and see if you can live with us,” I offer without thinking, immediately chastising myself for not sticking to my boundaries.
“That’s really nice of you, but I’ll figure something out.”
Holy cow. Who has this girl become? But there’s a tiny scratch of uselessness etching itself in my heart at her words. You’re not her parent, I remind myself. This is a good thing.
“I don’t know, sis, living with Dad might turn out to be a healing experience now. You might get to hear him apologize to you too.”
“I’m so freaking jealous of you, by the way,” she says, her teeth peeking through her disbelieving smile as she crosses her arms and sits back in her chair. “That might be worth moving back home for. I can’t believe he’s in therapy.”
My gaze drifts from my phone screen propped against a candle on the coffee table to the silver words emblazoned on the bound book a few inches away.
The Journal of Zofia Dabrowski.
“Okay, I gotta run,” Ivy chimes back in. “I’m meeting my roommate for dinner.”
“Oh, sure. Have fun. I love you.”
“I love you too,” she smiles, then leans down to end the call.
Setting down my empty bowl, I then pick up the well-worn white journal and flip to where I left off in my fifth read-through near the beginning.
8/1
Hello my little peanut,
Your father and I got married today! But don’t you worry, we wanted to get married before we found out about you. I’m not sure what the future holds for us or what will happen to my college attendance, but what I do know is that no matter when you came to us, it would have always been the right time.
Your father looked very handsome today. I’m the luckiest bride. I love him so much it hurts. He brings me so much happiness and cares so much for me. He’s going to be the best dad. I hope one day you find someone as special as he is to me.
I can’t wait to meet you, my little peanut.
It would be nice if you let me go more than twenty minutes without needing to pee though.
Love,
Mama