“Emi, it’s late, I don’t want you out there alone at this time of night.” He puts his shoes on hurriedly.
“What do you care? You don’t care about me!”
“I do, Emi. I do, I’m sorry,” he begins before I stop his horrible excuse for an apology that could never be good enough.
“You know what, Jack?” I laugh quietly through my tears, “I can take care of myself. I’ve been doing it all my life.”
“Emi...” He opens the door for me and I stop to stare into his eyes once more. I’m sad, angry, but I can see every bit of regret in his eyes through my blurry tears. I don’t care.
“Goodbye, Jack.” He winces at my words and I turn quickly away, unable to witness the look of sorrow spreading across his face. I wipe away the falling tears as I begin my walk home. With decent shoes, I can make this trek easily, but I’m not sure that these heels will take me all the way home. I’ll try, but I’ll catch a cab if I have to.
I wished he wasn’t in the picture, Jack had said to me. And a few hours later, he wasn’t. Jack got his wish.
His wish was granted, and all of my hopes were destroyed in that one night. How could he want such a thing? How could he want Nate, the love of my life, to be gone? If he had only known what Nate and I shared... if he could have seen how happy he made me, and how happy I made him, Jack would never have wished such a thing. Our love was forever. Everyone who knew us knew that for certain. Nate and I were meant to be together. A part of me died with him that night.
Jack felt a connection with me that night? Is that what he had said? I scoff at the idea, remembering my feelings of desire and complete infatuation that I carried with me for Nate that one night, the anticipation of being with him causing the blood to pulse rapidly throughout my entire body. I struggle to even remember the time I spent with Jack last New Year’s Eve. For three songs, Nate and I were separated, and for those three songs, I spent them with Jack. We talked about the night in college. We talked about Nate. It was always about Nate. And as soon as I saw him approach me, everything else in the entire world disappeared. He was my world, and I couldn’t wait to see our future unfold in front of us.
Even if there had been something there with Jack, he would have had no chance with me that night. Is it possible that I had felt something? That we did have a connection?
And what was that about college? How he wished he hadn’t let me go? I don’t even know what he’s talking about. We only spent one evening together in college, at the frat party. I had been too drunk to really remember anything. He sat with me without talking while I waited for Nate. The time I spent with Jack that night was little more than a blur. It was Nate that had made such an undeniable impression on me when he kissed me. So how could that night stand out to Jack? I mean, I barely even recognized him ten years later.
My feet ache after about ten blocks, and I slow down a little to give them a break.
How could he have thought that? Still, the words echo in my mind. I wished he wasn’t in the picture. Jack had said it had been bothering him for months. Months! Then why the hell didn’t he tell me before? How many chances has he had? How many times has he posed as this man who cared about me? Didn’t he see my pain? Didn’t he see how much I had lost?
I imagine what my life would be like right now if he hadn’t been taken from me. Pregnant. I’d be pregnant. I begin to sob, clutching at my stomach to stop the cramps that come with the memory. The few people that share the sidewalk with me begin to stare, and I try to hold my emotions back, but it just hurts so badly. I stop, retreating to the corner of a shop entrance, attempting to take some deep breaths, my vision now completely obscured by the heavy tears in my eyes. A figure walks slowly across the street, and as it gets closer, I see that it’s Jack.
“I’m fine,” I tell him, pulling myself together and beginning my walk home again. “You can go back home.”
“Let me get a cab for you, at least.”
“I can get one myself,” I fight back, but no sooner than the words are out of my mouth, he sees a cab approaching, and he hails it for me. Looking down the street for another option and seeing no other taxis, I relent and walk toward the door he holds open for me. He begins to pull out his wallet, as Nate would always do, but I shove it angrily away into his stomach, pushing hard enough to force him back a step or two.
“I’ve got it from here, Jack. Thanks.” He stands back as I slam the door and tell the driver where to take me.
CHAPTER 8
“I just need another few days,” I plead. “I can probably have it done by Monday.”
“We don’t have any more time, Emi,” the magazine editor says. “We already gave you an extension.”
“I know, but I had to make some changes–”
“I’m sorry,” he interrupts. “We’re going to go with another artist.”
“Please,” I beg, “I need this job.” I don’t need the money, but I need the distraction, for my attention to be anywhere other than Nate and the baby and this crushing pain in the pit of my stomach.
“I’m sorry, it just didn’t work out this time. Take care.” He hangs up the phone.
Fuck. This is the second job I’ve lost in the past three weeks. I put the phone down and stare at the illustration in front of me. I close the file, choosing to not save the changes I’ve made to it. I stand up to look at myself in the mirror. I’ve been in the same pajamas for two days now. I consider taking a shower, but decide to climb into bed instead.
September is just a few days away. I was about six weeks along when I had lost the baby... I would have been a mother by now. The cramp in my stomach assaults me again, causing me to pull my knees up into my chest. I haven’t been able to do much of anything in the past few weeks. The pain is unbearable. The memories are devastating.
I imagine what Nate would be like as a new father. He would be so excited. The spare bedroom would be decorated and prepped for our child. I remember the colorful mural Nate had designed, imagine it painted on the wall. The graphic images would stimulate our baby’s eyes. He would want to foster creativity in our little girl from day one.
I had taught Nate to change diapers when Clara was a baby, but I doubted he would be much help in that department. He was purposefully bad at it back then to get out of doing the unpleasant task, and I wonder if it would have been a source of tension between us. He would, undoubtedly, be helpful in so many other ways, though. He would have baby-proofed the apartment, putting all of his paints and chemicals on a top shelf somewhere, out of harm’s way. He would be spending all of his free time with our daughter. If I was tired, in need of a break, I had no doubt that he would relieve me of my motherly duties and give me however much time I needed. He would take her on walks through Central Park, showing her off to all of the passers-by.
Had he still been here, I imagined we would have taken on the task of babysitting my “niece-monster,” as he so lovingly called her, more often. He would have wanted our little girl to have lots of friends. And we wouldn’t have stopped with one child. I had no doubt he would want more than one, to avoid the loneliness he felt as an only child.
I miss you so much, Nate. I want you back, and I want our little girl. I want our family. It’s not fair.
I’m overcome with tears again, and I reach over to the nightstand for my bottled water and aspirin, knowing what is coming.
“Anni-Emi?” my niece says, waking me up with a jolt. She’s lying on her stomach on my bed, her elbows propped, her head resting in her hands.
“Clara, what are you doing?”
“Are we ever going to go to the park again?” she asks.
“Not today, honey,” I tell her. “Maybe tomorrow.”
“You say that every day,” she pouts.
“Clara-bee, why don’t you let Mommy take you to the park?” Jen asks her daughter.
“No,” she says. “I want Anni-Emi to get up and take me.”
“Anni-Emi’s not feeling well,” I tell her.
> “Maybe you should go to a doctor,” Clara says. “You’ve been sick for too long.” She’s probably right.
“Clara, remember what Mommy told you in the car?” Jen says. “About someone coming over?”
“Yea!” she exclaims, hopping off the bed. “Uncle Chris and Anni-Anna are coming tonight! Yea!” She continues to jump up and down on the hardwood floors. I pull the covers back to see my sister.
“Chris and Anna are coming?”
“Yeah, I hope that’s okay,” she says. “I thought I’d make dinner.”
“I wish you would have told me,” I scowl. “When will they be here?”
“Seven-thirty or so,” she says. “You have plenty of time to get dressed.” But I don’t want to get dressed.
I look at the clock, unsure what time it is. The days just seem to drag on, and I’ve sort of lost the concept of time lately. Five o’clock. I pull the covers back over my head and cuddle with my pillows to go back to sleep.
I don’t wake up until I hear Chris’s familiar knock on the door.
“Shit, Jen, why didn’t you wake me up?”
“I’m not our mother,” she says to me as she opens the door for my brother and his fiancée. “And your language?” she suggests, nodding to my niece. I hurry to my feet and cross the room to the closet to find something to wear. I wave to the guests before shutting myself in the bathroom.
“She’s been like that for weeks,” I hear my sister say before I start running the water.
“I figured something was up,” Chris says. “She hasn’t returned any of our calls since that night with Jack.”
“Do you think that’s what’s bothering her, or do you think it’s... the baby,” I hear Anna ask.
“I say both,” Jen says. “I know she was upset about that even before their date, but she’s completely pulled away from me since she came home crying that night.”
I remember back to the night of my date with Jack, and the discussion I had with my sister when I got home. Still sobbing by the time I came up to the apartment, I awoke her from her sleep and she hurried out of her room, hoping that Clara didn’t hear.
“Emi, what happened?” she asked, barely awake.
“God, Jen, I can’t stand it anymore,” I had cried out to her, collapsing on my bed. “I miss them so much.”
“Shhhh, Emi, calm down. Slow down. Tell me what happened.” I had lain on my side, in the fetal position, as my sister stroked my hair to soothe me.
“I just shouldn’t have gone,” I told her. “I’m not ready.”
“Did something happen?”
“He wanted Nate to die!” I choked the words out dramatically.
“Who did?”
“Jack!” I told her, expecting her to know whom I had been with.
“Jack? Emi, you were with Jack?” she asked, surprised.
I nodded quietly.
“So, then what’s going on? Start from the beginning.”
“Everything started out fine. He made dinner and we talked... we watched a movie, and I just thought, okay, I really like this guy... you know, he seemed like a really decent guy... and I tried to just let myself be in that moment. I was doing okay.”
“And then what?”
“I was going to kiss him,” I admitted with a blush. “And then he stopped me, letting me know he needed to tell me something about the night that Nate died.” My sister was silent as she waited for me to continue. “He said that, after we had danced, that he felt something for me, and wished that Nate wasn’t in the picture.” The sobbing returned.
“Oh, Em, honey,” she consoled me. “Well you don’t think that had anything to do with what happened, do you?”
“Logically, no... but what if?”
“Emi, that’s just silly,” she told me. “And poor Jack,” she added. “He must feel awful.”
“Poor Jack? What about me?”
“What about you, Em?” she asked quietly. “This shouldn’t affect you like this.”
“Why not? It’s about the worst thing he could have done, short of driving that SUV.” I shook my head to make the memories vanish.
“Because think about it. Think about how bad he must feel. You know he meant nothing by it. He would never wish him dead, Em.”
“Well, then why would he say such a thing?”
“Because he likes you, I guess,” she said plainly. “And he must really like you... really respect you... to be so upfront about this. He never had to tell you, and you’d be none-the-wiser.
“And instead, he risked everything just to be completely honest with you. If you ask me, it’s a pretty honorable thing to do.”
“Honorable, my ass...” I wiped my nose with my sleeve.
“Did he bring you home?”
I shook my head. “I walked half-way...”
“He let you walk home this late?”
“He didn’t let me, I just did... and he didn’t let me go alone. I didn’t realize it, but he was following behind me. He caught up to me when I stopped for a second... and then he hailed a cab for me.”
“Yeah, I’m sticking with honorable,” my sister said. “You shouldn’t be angry at him for this. It was one errant thought. One that I’m sure he regrets above all other regrets in his life. I can’t even imagine...”
“Well, you can believe what you want. It’s unforgivable.”
“Oh, Emi,” she groaned, getting up and moving across the room. “I think you’re just scared to like him.”
“Okay, now you’re just talking nonsense. I’m going to bed.”
“My work here is done,” Jen said smugly.
And I had gone to bed that night, replaying her words in my head over and over... not his. I think you’re just scared to like him. What was there to like about him?
He brought me flowers– not just any flowers, but my favorites.
Our conversations flowed naturally.
He was easy to talk to.
He was a great cook.
He made me laugh.
When he touched me, my skin prickled in goosebumps.
He truly was a gentleman.
He made me... happy... if only for a few hours, but still...
And when I had danced with him that night at the party, in the briefest of moments, I did feel something for him. I would never have admitted it before. I may not have ever remembered it, either, had we not shared another moment just like it in the final notes of In the Wee Small Hours of the Morning in his kitchen. I had stopped breathing. So had he.
What wasn’t there to like about him?
Oh, yeah. His death wish for Nate. I gritted my teeth and gripped my pillow tightly, covering my head with my blanket.
In the other room, the conversation about me continues between my brother and sister. After my shower, I emerge from the bathroom clean, dressed, with wet hair and no makeup.
“Where’s Clara?” I ask Jen. “I think maybe we’ll go for a walk now.”
“Oh, Anna just took her,” my sister tells me. She and my brother are sitting on the couch talking. “Come sit down.”
“I think maybe I’ll just go for a walk then.” My brother stands up quickly and blocks the doorway.
“Sit down, Emi,” he says, walking a few steps toward me, then putting his arm around my shoulders. He guides me to the couch and practically pulls me into the sofa next to him, in between him and my sister.
“Tell me you weren’t in bed all day, Em,” Jen says.
“I got up to take a call from my editor... and when he told me I couldn’t have more time for the project, I went back to bed. I had nothing else to do.” I shrug my shoulders, acting like it doesn’t bother me.
“You lost another job, Em?” my brother asks.
“They wouldn’t give me enough time for it,” I explain.
“I’m really worried about you,” Chris says to me. “Can you talk to us about it?”
“I’m not feeling well,” I tell them both. “I have these constant pains in my stomach... a
nd my head hurts....”
“Is it the same pain you told me about a few weeks ago?” Jen asks.
“Yes, but worse...” I start to cry, and Chris quickly takes me into his arms. I’ve missed my brother. “I’m just so sad.”
“Sweetie,” he says, “you have every right to be sad. But you can’t keep it all inside. Let us help. Or, if not us, let someone help.”
“I’m just so tired of thinking about it and can’t bear the thought of talking about it. I just want to be able to put it behind me. But the pain is constant, and I can’t ignore it. Believe me, I want to heal, I do. I just don’t feel like I can.”
“I really think you should consider therapy,” Jen says. “You can go to my shrink, she’s great... or we can find someone else. Just consider it, please. I don’t know what to do with you anymore, and I don’t like how it affects Clara.”
I nod and wipe away the tears. “I’ll think about it.”
“Thank you,” my brother says, again pulling me closer to him to hug me.
Jen gets up to start cooking dinner, and a few minutes later, Anna and Clara return to the loft.
“Anni-Emi!” Clara yells, jumping into my lap. “Are you feeling better?”
“I will be,” I tell her, kissing her on the cheek. “I’m better with you here, anyway.” Somehow I have to come to terms that my niece will be the only child in my life for now. I’m thankful she is in my life and grateful that she is living with me.
Anna comes over to give me a hug. “Jack keeps asking about you. He’d like to see you. Chris and I are organizing a happy hour for his birthday in a few weeks...”
“I don’t know...” I waver.
“Are you still mad at him?” Anna asks. Am I? I don’t think mad is the word. And if I were mad, it certainly wouldn’t be at him. Over the past few weeks, as a distraction, I did revisit that night in my head many times. Do I think he meant any harm? No. Was it wrong for him to think that? I’ve even accepted ‘no’ as a response to that question, as well. It was a thought. He wasn’t driving the car that killed Nate. No matter what he thought, he had nothing to do with Nate’s death, and I can accept that rationally.