Chapter 20
By the next morning—a Saturday—I’m exhausted from my sleepless night, but the bruise has faded to a barely noticeable yellow dot the size of a pea.
By midday, around the same time my first NourishBox arrives, it has entirely disappeared.
I’m glad, because that bruise unnerved me.
Obviously enough to cause a nightmare, whose terror and details have been somewhat neutralized by the daylight.
The experience of the tendril has similarly dimmed.
Still, lingering questions—my pregnancy, my mental state, the oddities of Charlotte Leclerc’s paintings—haunt me, resisting logic.
I want to believe it a delusion, brought on by my supposed dehydration (yes, I know the recommendation is one cup of caffeinated coffee per day), which led to me passing out.
Except there was a mark left behind, even if it’s now gone.
My watch alerts me to the delivery I’ve been waiting for. I’m quick to open the front door, an overwhelming sense of anxiousness that if I don’t hurry someone might take it away.
The white box, with the sunshine-yellow font, sits outside my front door.
Waiting for me—I can see my name printed on the label.
At the same moment the neighbor’s door opens.
It’s Becca—she’s quite pregnant now, her stomach like a bowling ball inside the fabric of her dress.
With some difficultly she bends, trying to pick up her own NourishBox.
She hasn’t noticed me yet and is grunting with the effort.
“Becca, hey!” I walk over, enjoying the ease with which I can still move about. “Let me get that for you.”
I am supposed to be resting, as per doctor’s orders. Not doing anything strenuous for forty-eight hours. But being a good neighbor is important, and besides, I feel normal.
Crouching, only a slightly restrictive pressure of my waistband against my stomach, I pick up Becca’s NourishBox.
“Thank you, Tilly. You’re a sweetheart.” She then sees what’s on my doorstep, and her mouth forms into an O shape. Swatting playfully at my arm, Becca grins. “Congratulations are in order, I see. Wyatt must be thrilled!”
“He is. We are.” This is the narrative that plays out these days, if a pregnancy occurs: be sure the dad gets recognized for his efforts.
“Come on in for a minute. Can I get you anything? Tea?”
Back home if someone offered me tea it would be piping hot and unsweetened. Here it’s cold and, in my experience, sugary enough to make your teeth ache.
“I’m good, thank you,” I reply, impatient to get back to my NourishBox. “Let me bring this inside for you, though.”
Becca’s home is similar in layout to ours, with a central kitchen and a vertical vegetable garden, a family room to one side of the kitchen, and a small dining room to the other.
A main difference is the color—our walls are painted a pale blue, Becca’s a soft beige.
The bedrooms are all on the second and third levels, depending on the family’s needs.
My studio will likely become Clementine’s room after this baby is born.
I’ll miss my own space, but the reason is well worth it.
“Just set that on the island, hon.” Becca gets a pair of scissors. “Is that your first box?”
“It is, and I should get back to it.”
“I am tickled for you and Wyatt. And Miss Shelby and Clementine too! It will be so nice for her to have a sibling. And for you to get that second ring—I remember it well, though it feels long ago now.”
I nod, but my smile wanes. Becca and Chip weren’t yet living next door when we lost Poppy. I’m muzzled by a wave of grief, though my thoughts race on. Fuck you and your plethora of rings, Becca.
I’m instantly horrified by my secret vitriol, my unkindness. I would never wish on anyone what we went through. I do wish, however, to be na?ve like Becca. I don’t want to understand how cruel the quest for motherhood can be.
“Yes, it will be nice to have that second ring,” I reply, my tone flat even as my smile holds.
“You bet it will.” Becca beams at me before slicing open the packaging on the NourishBox. “Enjoy every bit of this, Tilly. It goes way too fast.”