19. Kendra
Kendra
NINETEEN YEARS OLD
“Ilove you,” I whisper to him in the dark, my heart pounding so hard in my chest I feel like it’s going to fly right out of my body. I have never been more sure of anything in my life, nor have I ever been so afraid to speak.
Anyone that knows me would not say that I lack in confidence or word count when it comes to talking.
But this is totally different. This could change everything.
I need Eli to know how I feel before he goes back to school and I go back to my own existence outside of the bubble that I jump into when I’m in Fox Grove every summer.
Eli leaves tomorrow, and we have not talked about the future.
All summer we have spent countless hours together sneaking around.
Outside of the library, we have hiked, gone to the beach, laid out on picnics in fields of wildflowers, watched the sun set and rise.
We have found every excuse to be alone .
. . and we have fucked our way across the county, discovering as many private spots as possible so we could explore each other’s bodies thoroughly.
I can’t get enough of him and he can’t get enough of me.
He’s teaching me things about myself that I didn’t know, levels of pleasure I figured only existed in the pages of the romance books I stacked on the new bookshelves he built for the library.
I have also learned what he likes and exactly how to push his pleasure buttons.
Nothing is more satisfying than making him—a huge, powerful, hulk of a man—come undone under the spell of my hands, mouth, and body.
Tonight we did exactly that, bared our bodies and what felt like our souls, making what I’m sure was love on the huge blue-and-white-striped blanket Eli keeps in his truck.
We tucked ourselves away in a hidden cove Eli found on the beach.
It’s been one of our favorite places to sneak away to all summer.
It takes us about forty minutes to get here, but the seclusion, waves, and stunning sunsets are always worth it.
“You can’t say that.” Eli’s voice comes out rough, pained.
“W-what?” Embarrassment cloaks my naked body, which is pressed up tightly against his.
Eli’s sigh is heavy, annoyed. I move away from him, sick to my stomach, unable to even lift up my head, desperately needing to put on actual clothing.
“Please, come back here,” Eli pleads.
“No, no. I need to get dressed,” I whimper.
“Let me explain.”
“I don’t think there is much to say, Eli. I told you how, how I felt, and it’s clear the feeling isn’t mutual. I should’ve known.” I shake my head rapidly, trying to force my tears not to fall in front of him.
“Kendra, if I was capable of love, I promise, it would be you.” Eli’s standing in front me, gloriously naked, gripping my shaking body.
“What the fuck does that mean? If you were capable? Everyone is capable. You love your family, your friends?” Now the sadness is boiling up into anger at him trying to placate me with these bullshit lies.
“This kind of love, a relationship—it’s different. I am not built for that, sweetheart. It’s not in my DNA.” He rubs my arms, but I shrug him off and step out of his reach, instantly feeling plunged into a penetrating cold, from the pebbling of my skin to the marrow of my bones.
“Don’t you dare call me that. You don’t get to say that to me anymore.
It’s like ash on your tongue, it’s never going to be the same.
This whole time I thought what we had was important to you, that I was special.
But I’m just some secret summer hookup, aren’t I?
” I pull my navy dress over my head roughly, the one I chose because it matches his eyes, snapping one of the thin spaghetti straps in the process. “Damn it,” I murmur.
“You are important to me, special to me.” He pulls his own clothes on quickly.
“That’s why we have literally spent the whole summer together.
You are not a secret, but I wanted to have our privacy.
I don’t do this, I don’t date. I don’t see any girl more than once.
But, fuck, Kendra . . . I couldn’t stop. Couldn’t stay away from you.”
“Well that problem will be easily fixed for you tomorrow, won’t it? You go back to your fuckboy life at college, and I will be far, far away from you.”
I was exhausted. Exhausted and heartbroken. And my left breast hurt, which set off so many alarm bells and panic. I needed to see my doctor and get checked just in case.
When my mom got sick I was so young. We never tested me for the genes, but I knew I would eventually want to, and it had been on my mind ever since I turned eighteen.
I felt like I was living with so many unknowns, and I was paralyzed with the weight of it.
Watching my mom battle breast cancer for so many years was painful, hellish, and terrifying.
I know if she could have stacked her deck with information early on, she would have jumped at the chance.
Now it was my turn to jump. I just needed to be brave . . . for my mom, Pop, and for myself.
“I think it’s smart for you to do all the testing now, Kendra.
We will know for sure one way or another what is going on with your body.
I understand that this is very overwhelming, especially with everything that happened with your mom, but we are going to do this one step at a time.
” Dr. Howard holds my clammy hand, patting the back of it with her smooth, dry, warm one with reassurance.
It is my yearly ob-gyn appointment, so I figure that today is a good day to be brave and rip the bandage off.
“Thank you.” I gulp.
“First, go take this cup to the bathroom for a urine sample so we can do a pregnancy test. Then we can walk to the lab and have them draw all the blood work.” She holds out a small plastic cup for me.
“Is that really necessary?”
“Are you sexually active?” Dr. Howard asks, nonjudgmentally.
“I . . . was,” I admit, trying to not think about it.
“Then we just want to check, it’s routine.” She gives me a small smile.
A short time later, I am in an exam room. Pee in cup, blood labs done, Dr. Howard back in front of me.
“Okay, Kendra. I have some news for you.” My stomach drops.
“I thought the blood work results take a lot longer? And being sent to Mom’s oncologist to check them?” I twist my hands in my lap.
“They do! That’s not the news I have to share. You’re pregnant.”
“No, I’m not.” I level her with a look of horror.
“Yes, you most definitely are.” Dr. Howard holds up the results to me.
Waves of nausea roll through me, and I wonder if it’s the baby or the shock causing it.
“With your positive urine sample and when you told me your last period was, I’d say you’re probably about eight weeks,” she says carefully.
I gulp.
Eight weeks.
Tears well in my eyes and I want to be sick all over again.
Eight weeks ago Eli tore my heart out on the beach and left me bleeding out in the sand.
“Let’s do an ultrasound and take a little look and some measurements to confirm.
Lay back.” She positions me, calls in the tech, shuts off the light, and wheels over the ultrasound machine.
The ultrasound tech comes in and introduces herself, whips out a wand that looks like it should stay far away from me but instead goes straight up into my lady bits.
Whoosh Whoosh Whoosh Whoosh Whoosh
The rhythmic noise of my baby’s heartbeat swells within the room.
It is the most terrifying sound I have ever heard.
It is the most amazing sound I have ever heard.
I have never loved a sound as much as this.
“There it is,” Dr. Howard says, pointing to a tiny bean shape on the black-and-white screen.
“It looks like a jelly bean,” I say.
“It’s about that size too.” She smiles at me. “And we’re right on the money at the eight-week mark.”
The tech took lots of measurements, pictures, and printed me off a whole roll to keep. I also left with pamphlets, instructions, and a date for my next appointment.
Now, I am going to have to contact the last person on the planet I want to talk to. Tell a man that says he’s incapable of love that he’s about to be a father?
I already felt bad for my baby.
I would tell him soon. Today, I am just going to let it be about us.
Me and my little jelly bean.
I wake up in the middle of the night, sharp, painful cramps gripping my abdomen.
Ugh. Maybe the chicken I had in my dinner was bad?
Sitting up in bed, the pain intensifies, and I feel a slickness between my legs. Clicking on the nightstand light, I pull back my bedding and let out a scream.
Blood. A pool of blood on my bedsheets.
The baby.
Oh my God, no.
My jelly bean.
I quickly clean myself up, change my clothes, put an extra-large pad in my underwear, grab my phone, bag, and rush out of my tiny apartment. Hospital now, is all I can think.
Hours later, I am laying alone in the ER after they took blood and did an uncomfortable pelvic exam.
A soft knock at the door is followed by the young male doctor that has been taking care of me.
I wrap my arms around myself, preparing for words I know are already coming. The look on his face is one I am very familiar with after spending years at my mother’s side, receiving bout after bout of bad news.
“I’m so sorry, Miss. Powell, you lost the pregnancy.
With the bleeding you are experiencing and the hCG numbers in your blood less than two hundred, it’s not good news.
For viability at eight weeks the number we hope to see should be around at least 31,000, almost 32,000.
We can do an ultrasound tonight, or you can wait and do one with your own doctor at your follow-up appointment.
What would you like to do?” he asks quietly.
“I’ll wait.” My voice sounds hollow, empty to my own ears. “Can I go home now?”
“Yes, let me just get your discharge paperwork. I’m very sorry.” He steps back out of the room, and I stare at the wall, hands cradling my empty, weeping womb.