Page 59 of The Jilted Lovers Club
My mom had been the only one working at the time, cleaning houses while he lay on the couch drinking. I think we all knew we were screwed if she had to take time off to have a baby. So when she lost it, none of us mourned. Thinking back, I’m not sure how my mom actually felt after losing the baby. We never talked about it, and it was like the baby never happened.
But it did, and it was likely that my mom felt a whole lot for that baby, even as inconvenient as it was. She loved her kids with all her heart, another baby would have been no different.
I gather Jordy’s clothes plus a fresh towel, then I knock on the bathroom door.
“I’m almost done,” she calls. I can tell she’s masking, pretending everything’s okay. I crack the door open.
“No rush,” I say. “I brought you some fresh clothes and a towel. I’ll just place them on the counter. Take your time.”
“Thanks.” Her voice cracks slightly. I ease the door closed again.
Needing to distract myself, I water the plants around the side of the house and organize the tools in the shed. I know if I wait inside, I’ll just hover. And as much as I hate it, I know Jordy needs time to process alone. But when I can’t stand it any longer, I head back in the house to find her sitting on the couch. She’s scrolling her phone, but puts it down as soon as I approach, scooting over to make room for me. The screen is face up, showing off an Instagram page full of baby photos. I look at Jordy, who shift her eyes from me to the phone, then back at me again. She quickly turns the phone off, then places it face down.
“It’s my cousin, Nina,” she explains. “Her whole page is dedicated to her daughter, Juniper.” She gives a light laugh. “I’ve never even seen her in real life. It’s mainly through Facetime, when Nina springs it on me, and on Instagram, when I scroll through the photos as a form of punishment.”
I note the emphasis she places on that word.Punishment. As if she needs atonement for something that wasn’t her fault.
“How so?”
She looks at me then, her eyes welling with tears. Then she laughs, looking up at the ceiling. “God, I’m a fucking mess.”
I take her hand away from her face, wiping her tears with my sleeve. She presses her face against my hand, shuddering slightly as she leans into me.
“You know who Juniper’s father is?” she asks. I nod.
“Your ex-fiancé, right?”
She looks at her hands, nodding. “It’s not like this is new or anything. I mean, June’s nine months old now.”
“And seeing her is like seeing the baby you couldn’t have, right?”
I say it cautiously. Gently. And when her face crumples, I pull her to me.
“Oh sweetheart, I’m so sorry.”
She shudders as she leans in, but holds herself together. I feel her breathe a heavy sigh as she relaxes into me.
“I didn’t even think of that when I invited you to see the cow give birth,” I say, stroking her hair. “I thought it would be something cool, but I never even considered how that might make you feel, even knowing you lost your child. Were you far along?”
She nods. “About seven months,” she says, and my breath stills.
I remember Sasha at that point in her pregnancy. That was around the time we showed up at Bob and Bec’s front door. Sasha was wearing my clothes because she couldn’t fit into her own. Bec had taken her shopping that first week we arrived, getting her proper maternity clothes. She’d also set up prenatal appointments, and we’d found out we were having a girl. Lottie was born six weeks later.
Jordy’s baby didn’t survive.
“Are you okay?”
She nods. “I’m fine.”
I look down at her, and she gives me a weak smile.
“I am,” she insists. “I mean, I’m raw right now. Most days, I don’t even think about it. It’s been so long since it happened, enough time that I can go about my daily life without even thinking about…” She hesitates, takes a deep breath, “about her.”
She says this, but I see it differently—especially now that her trauma is becoming clearer.
“Honey, you avoided my daughter like she was some scary creature when you first arrived here.”
“I’m not a kids person,” she says weakly. I raise an eyebrow at her. “What? I’m not!”
