48. Winnie
“Number seventeen, Reese Larson, is still on one, Rick. Don’t you think?”
“Yeah, Chad, whatever has gotten into him has made him a machine. One that seemingly can’t be stopped.”
Mom turns the radio down and takes a seat across the table from me. She slides a cup of tea my way.
“Extra honey, just as you like.”
“Thank you.”
Mom nods to the radio playing Reese’s game. “They talk about him like he’s not a human.”
“Well, right now, he hardly is.”
Mom taps my hand lovingly. “It will take some time, but you both will eventually be better.”
Why doesn’t it feel like it, then? My entire world changed two weeks ago. I lost my baby, and that same day, I lost my boyfriend. At least the version of him he was before.
We’re still together, technically, but I’ve been living with my mom, and he’s back at college. He offered to stay back, but I could tell being around me was hurting him more than helping. I can avoid looking in the mirror, though I can’t avoid feeling my now-flat stomach, but Reese cringed every time he saw me change. He didn’t mean to, I don’t think, but I saw the way his eyes shifted away anytime I was shirtless.
We talk on the phone—sometimes, but our conversations are empty.
This is all a part of the grief process, according to the therapist Mom found for me, but it hurts.
I want him to hold me, promise me everything is going to be okay like he did when my dad died, but it’s not the same because now he’s grieving a loss too.
“I think I’m going to go lie down.” I keep my head down, avoiding the look on Mom’s face. She’s been great, but I know it hurts her to see me so upset. Everyone around me is hurting, and it’s all my fault.
As I’m padding down the hallway, I pause outside the closet under the stairs. Knowing what’s inside causes a shudder to rake down my spine and my eyes to burn. I’ve cried more in these last two weeks than I have since my dad passed.
The floor creaks behind me, but I bolt for the stairs before Mom notices me looking at the closet with my baby’s stuff inside.
My bed is as soft as ever, and I will sleep to come, but of course it doesn’t. It never does. Sleep isn’t common for me anymore. Every time I close my eyes, I see that hospital room. The one where they removed the baby from my body like it meant nothing. Hear Reese’s cries as they did.
Rolling to my back, I stare at my ceiling and watch the fan spin above. Anything to distract me from reliving that night.
It spins roughly thirty-two times a minute on the setting I have it switched to.
I know a while has passed when my phone jingles with a text. I reach for it and pull it in front of my face to read the message, even though I know exactly what it will say because it says the same thing every time.
Reese: Game’s over, we won. Call you later. I love you.
And I’ll reply with the same message that I always do.
Me: I heard. Congratulations. I love you too.
He won’t call me later. He says he will, but he won’t. I’ll text him around nine, and he will have some excuse as to why he can’t talk. It never fails.
Unlike us.
I’ve never been a bath girl, but lately it’s the only way I can manage to clean myself. The bubbles hide me from seeing things I don’t enjoy looking at right now. Like a flat stomach where my baby should be.
I drop my head back and focus on the small TV Mom placed in the bathroom for me. I started spending so much time in here, she went up to the attic and dug it out. Along with the DVD player so I can watch Friends.
I jolt when a sudden knock raps on the door. “Yeah?”
“It’s me.”
Elijah? What is he doing here?
“I want to talk. Just come out whenever you’re ready.”
My heart skips a beat, but I mumble some kind of reply he must hear because his heavy footsteps fade away. I haven’t seen Elijah since that night after he kind of just disappeared. Mom said he wanted to give Reese and me time, but I was sad my brother left me after that. He’s never been the type to comfort, though, so I wasn’t surprised either.
I’m just not sure why he’s here now. Especially since it’s nearly one a.m.
The water has dropped below room temperature by the time I pull myself from the tub. Not just because I want to stall whatever it is Elijah wants to talk about, but… well, yeah, mostly that.
Reese’s shirt hangs from my body, and I tug up a pair of sleep shorts for bottoms. The cool air wraps around me, and a chill runs up my bare legs. I reach for one of Mom’s robes on the back of the door, but instead, my fingers grip a long brown one. Dad’s. The lump that’s been in my throat for two weeks grows three sizes. The robe is somehow warm as I wrap it around my chilled body, even though it’s not been worn in three years.
I pause outside Elijah’s room, unsure if I’m ready to go in. I’m not sure what is holding me back so much from seeing my brother. We made up regarding Reese, so I’m not sure what it could be. My knock is quiet, but he calls for me to come in.
Pushing open his door, I’m surprised to see his room so clean. I guess I haven’t been in here in a while, but growing up, Elijah wasn’t the cleanest of people. Me either, so I can’t say much, but I remember Mom having to get after him about food wrappers and glasses constantly. There aren’t any wrappers on the floor, but there are three glasses on his bedside table that make me want to smile. I guess some things never change, like the half-naked photos of women on his walls.
“Teenage boys really are so gross,” I comment while stepping further into his room and closing the door behind me.
He’s leaning back on his bed, with his arm behind his head and his feet crossed. In pajama pants and an old high school shirt, he looks so much like a younger, happier version of Elijah. Except he’s covered in tattoos now. The black ink seeps from under his shirt, bleeding onto all the exposed parts of his skin. I’ve seen him shirtless a few times since we lived together, so I know they don’t stop on his arms and neck. His whole torso is mostly covered as well. I also know he has a tattoo of Dad’s face over his heart. My chest tightens at the thought.
Elijah smirks, but it doesn’t quite meet his eyes. “I was just thinking how my walls at school are looking a little bare.”
I choke back a laugh, and oddly, it feels good. He taps the bed next to him, and I wearily wander over and sit down. Surprised to find his bed is harder than mine.
“Geesh, your bed is like a rock.”
“I didn’t have someone breaking in the side I don’t use on a regular basis.” He cocks an eyebrow, and heat floods up my neck. “Just saying.”
“You wanted to talk?” Anything to get the topic off Reese sneaking into my room at night.
Seconds pass, and Elijah doesn’t speak. The side of my face burns each time he flicks a look my way, and the tightness in my chest heightens with each passing beat.
“Is that Dad’s robe?” His voice is soft, as if he’s afraid of the words he’s speaking.
“Yeah,” I say, dragging my fingers over the fluffy material.
“Mom said he would love it, but I didn’t believe her. I mean, who wants a robe for their birthday?”
I shoot my eyes in his direction. “You got him this?”
He nods, and even though his face is bunched the same way it is when he’s angry, I know it’s not what’s pinching his face. His eyes are soft, full of emotion as they soak in the brown material.
“You can take it with you when you go. I don’t use it a lot, just happened to grab it tonight.” I tug it up to my nose and suck in a deep breath. “It still kinda smells like him.”
Elijah leans closer, sniffs the collar of the robe, and nods. “It does.”
Silence rings between us like a pendulum hanging over our heads, waiting for the hour to hit. I move down and place my head on his flat-ass pillow, then tug the robe up to my nose and let my eyes close. Over these last few weeks, I’ve been wishing Dad were here. For some reason, I think he would know what to say. He wouldn’t, because nothing anyone can say will help, but he was my dad. The person I went to for everything. I love my mom so much, but I was always a daddy’s girl at heart.
“I miss him.” Elijah’s voice comes so suddenly and closer than I expect that I freeze. My eyes pop open, and I turn to find him with his eyes lowered and his fingers stroking the robe tie that’s lying next to him.
“Me too,” I choke back.
Elijah moves closer and wraps a brotherly arm around me, tugging me closer. “I’m sorry I killed your baby, Win.”
Pain sears through me like a hot knife, and I shove him away from me. He meets my eyes, and although he might not be crying like I now am, he looks to be in the same amount of pain.
“I don’t ever want to hear you say that again.”
“It’s true. I caused you unnecessary stress. I was pulling you, squeezing you, and messing with you that day. You looked sick, and I still…” He trails off, and a sob rips through me. “Please don’t cry, sis.”
His beg is enough for the dam to break, and everything I’ve been holding back floods to the surface. He tugs me against his body, burying my face into his strong chest.
“I’ve been a shit brother. Not just lately, but for years. I should have been the one comforting you. Holding you when our dad died. I should have been there, but I wasn’t, and I’m so fucking sorry, Win.”
“You were grieving too, E.”
He shakes his head against the top of mine. “I’m the big brother.”
As if that keeps you from being sad when your dad dies. “If you are blaming yourself for me and Reese, don’t. That would have happened with or without you. It’s fate.”
He makes a noise in his throat that I don’t think he expected me to hear because it sounds an awful lot like a scoff. “That’s not what I mean—for once. I’m saying I should have been a better brother. Not to stop you and Reese, not for any other reason than the basic one. I’m the big brother. Dad trusted me to look out for you no matter what, and I didn’t. I’m the reason you lost your baby, Win.” He pauses ever so slightly, and I peek up but quickly look away when I see his jaw locked tight and his red-rimmed eyes peering down at me. “And I’m so fucking sorry.”
I shake my head but can’t get my jaw to move. Not because I agree with him, but because I can’t believe the guilt he holds. I never resented him for not being more involved after Dad died. As far as I was concerned, Elijah was grieving the same as me, but in his own way. Big brother or not, we both lost someone that day.
“Please don’t apologize.” I lick my dry lips and lower my eyes to the baseball logo across his chest.
What a morbid fucking thought that no one should carry. Including me. I’ve blamed myself for weeks. Things I could have done differently—maybe if I had done this, it wouldn’t have happened. Maybe if I would have done that.
It’s gotten me nowhere.
“I can’t stand you even thinking it’s your fault.” I shove him back so I can see his face. He refuses to meet my eyes, but I know why and allow him the freedom of coming to me instead of forcing him. “Because I know what it feels like, and it’s suffocating. Eventually, it’ll grab ahold of you and drag you under its unforgiving grip.” Unless someone saves you. I’m in no position to save anyone. I can hardly keep myself afloat. But knowing why Elijah has avoided me—because he has it in his head that he’s the reason I lost my baby that night—is enough to make me want to try.
“It’s not your fault, Win. I don’t know why bad things happen to good people, and I promise before I sink to the pits of hell, I’m going to find out from the big guy upstairs, because it’s fucking bullshit.”
My stomach shakes with a small laugh, and I curl into his side and roll to my back to stare at the ceiling as if I’m going to see what I’m looking for. “Sometimes I like to pretend that Dad is up there holding my baby.” I’ve never been religious. We went to church on special holidays when growing up, but I never really thought much past it. I don’t know what’s true or not, but I know thinking that my baby is with my dad helps the pain. Not much, but a small amount.
Elijah is quiet, probably wondering if his sister has officially lost her mind.
“That’s a nice thought.”
“Beats the others I have as of late,” I joke halfheartedly.
He grips my hand, and his voice drops an octave. “Reese isn’t doing good, Win. I’ve been checking on him, from a distance.” Of course. “He’s… I don’t know. Like, lost.”
My stomach clenches, and I drop my head the opposite way of Elijah as tears drip down the side of my face. Him and me both. Knowing Reese is struggling hurts more than I could ever explain. Like a weight is just about to crush my heart into a million pieces. The worst part is I have no clue how to help him when I can’t even help myself.
Reese was always there for me growing up, and I was there for him, even when I didn’t know how to be, but things are different now. He’s hurting because of me. Maybe in a roundabout way, but it’s my body that rejected our baby like—
“I think he needs you, Win. I haven’t seen him this lost since I ran into him at the library the first week back after Thanksgiving freshman year. He was just sitting at a table, staring at a wall. My ego always let me believe it was me he was hurting from, and I relished in that, but I don’t think it was me. I think it was the lack of you. He’s not good without you.”
“He can’t even look at me, Elijah.” My voice is soft but might as well be a scream for how bad it hurts to say out loud. Thinking it is one thing, but admitting it out loud hurts like a knife in the side.
“I’m not saying it’s going to be easy. It’s going to fucking hurt, and you guys are going to mourn what could have been, probably forever. But hurt together, not apart. You can’t have Reese without Winnie. It’s like Pooh Bear without hunny.”
I turn my head to meet Elijah’s eyes. They are soft, a look he doesn’t give often anymore. “You’re turning into Dad at the old age of twenty-one.”
He drops my hand and uses that same one to shove my shoulder lightly. I giggle, and he follows with a chuckle until, eventually, they fade and he sighs. “Just think about it. I’m not trying to pressure you, but I saw him walking a turtle with a leash the other day, so maybe hurry with your decision.”