Page 61 of Love By The Falls

“You’ve gone very pale, Char. Breathe.”

“I can’t do this. This can’t be happening.”

I get up from the couch, tea forgotten, and walk toward Charlie’s room.

“Where are you going?”

“To put Charlie to bed, and then me. And when I wake up tomorrow, this will all have been a bad dream. Good night, Sage.”

“Good night, honey,” Sage whispers.

*

I toss and turn the entire night, imaging my belly growing rounder, and hearing a baby cry in the next room. The sound startles me each time my eyes close until finally sunlight streams through my window and I hear Charlie in the bathroom between our rooms.

I should get up and make him breakfast, but my muscles ache and my bones feel as though they’re made of lead.

I must have closed my eyes because I hear the television and bacon frying in the kitchen. The smell reaches my bedroom, and instead of beckoning me, it makes me retch. I cover my mouth and rush to the toilet. I dry heave once, twice, until the feeling passes.

When I look up from the bathroom floor, Sage is standing in the doorway. “I brought reinforcements.”

Jane pops her head in behind Sage. “Hey, Char.”

“Hey.”

“I made dry biscuits. Thought you’d like some.”

When I was pregnant with Charlie, the only thing I could stomach was Jane’s recipe. Immediately, I drop my head into my arms and cry.

Oh God, this can’t be happening. I can’t be pregnant.

“Oh, honey.” Jane and Sage come into the washroom and pick me up off the ground. “We’re here for you. We’ll help you through this.”

Their words don’t comfort me, as I refuse to believe I’m carrying a baby inside of me.

I wipe my tears and stand up straight. “I’m fine,” I sniff. “It’s going to be fine.”

“That’s it,” says Jane. “I promise we’ll get through this together.”

“That won’t be necessary, Jane,” I say.

Jane and Sage look at each other.

“Even if I’m pregnant again, there’s no way my body can carry the child to term.”

Sage’s brow furrows while Jane crosses her arms. “That may not be the case.”

“It is.”

I wash my face and stare at my friends in the mirror. “I give it two more weeks. I’m sure I’ll get my period by then.”

Sage looks at Jane, but Jane is still staring at me. I turn away from her and pull back the curtain. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to shower.”

“All right,” says Jane. “Take your time.”

They close the door, and I step into the bathtub and turn on the shower. Angling my face to the shower head, I let the water pellet my nose and mouth until it feels like I’m drowning.

I don’t move. I don’t lather myself or wash my hair. Instead, I stand underneath the water until it turns cold and my fingers shrivel up. Then, I wrap myself in a towel and pretend as though I’d never taken that test.

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