Page 87 of Paper Hearts

I know what she’s referring to. When she was five, her mom had a miscarriage at home and nearly bled to death. She and Ender were young enough they didn’t know how to help her, but Ender called 911. The day haunts her though.

I pat the side of my bed and she rushes over, curling up next to me with her hand on my stomach. “I’m scared to say anything.”

“People know though. Here at school. I think we need to tell our parents.”

I laugh, my arm over her shoulder. “You act like we’re having a baby together.”

Her eyes find mine, laughter on her lips as she stuffs her fear aside. That’s one thing I love so much about Arya. She can find humor in anything and look for happiness in the darkness. “We are. This is my love child, not his.” She rubs the spot the baby likes to kick on my right side. “He lost his chance, so dibs, bitch.”

Reaching over to the nightstand, I take the appointment card I have set there and hand it to her. “In that case, come with me on Friday?”

Arya takes the card and sits up. “What’s this?”

“My appointment for an ultrasound.”

Her eyes light up like Christmas morning. “We get to see baby End?”

“We get to see baby End.”

That’s what we’re calling the baby. End. And I’m not sure what hurts more. The nickname for my unborn baby, or the fact that he’s no longer part of my life.

* * *

Friday comesand I take Arya with me to an appointment I wish Ender was at. As we sit in the waiting room and I watch the couple across from me holding hands, I think about him, and wonder if I ever cross his mind. It’s almost Christmas and while I’ll be heading home for Christmas break six months pregnant, I wonder what he’s doing.

“Hadleigh Hayes?” a nurse calls out from an open door to my left.

Arya and I stand and follow her back to another room. My doctor does an exam and then an X-ray tech comes in to do my ultrasound. I’m in complete awe staring at the screen. It’s alive. Ender and me, together, is alive and kicking me. I felt the kicks and knew the life inside me was growing, but seeing the baby on an ultrasound, I haven’t until now. I cry, Arya sobs and bugs the technician. “We need to know the sex. We can’t stand it any longer.”

The lady holding the wand to my swollen stomach laughs. “You don’t want to wait for the dad?”

Arya holds my hand tightly. “I’m the dad. I have a dick.”

I don’t think the X-ray tech is prepared for that answer, but it’s given and soon after, a blush of her cheeks and “Well, let’s see if the baby will cooperate.”

My heart lodges in my throat as I stare at the dark screen and the little alien inside me moving around. The X-ray tech holds the wand to my lower abdomen and smiles up at me. “Do you want to know, dear?”

I nod, tears rolling down my cheeks.

“It’s a girl.”

I burst into tears. Completely inconsolable because I can picture Ender’s face in my mind so clearly it’s as if he’s next to me, holding my hand. But it’s not. It’s his sister, my best girl, who’s jumping up and down screaming “Girl power!” so loud she’s asked to leave the room.

* * *

It’s later that night,as I’m watching the snow fall outside my room and talking to my girl as if she’s right here with me, I pick up my journal beside my bed. For winter quarter I enrolled in a creative writing class. I’ve always had a passion for writing, but I remember something the teacher told us last week. Inspiration sparks when you have a story to tell. I have one.

I want to write our story, mine and Ender’s, because though it ended the way it did, it’s still beautiful. So, over a pint of ice cream, I try recalling our first time and where it all went wrong. I thought for sure after our last summer together I would have gone away to college and we would have been together. He’d already been looking for jobs here. So what happened?

Maybe if I write our story then I will remember something he might have said, a reaction, or word I missed in the present. I open my leather-bound journal and pick up the pen next to it.

Two hours later I have half our first summer written. And I can’t stop. It’s soul-cleansing in ways I never could have imagined.

At first I’m not sure I want to relive those memories once I start writing them, but I have to know if maybe it might get me somewhere closer to an answer.

35

WHEN THE MOM’S FOUND OUT

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