Page 138 of Wishing for La Luna
Luna
It’s my birthday but I’m not in a club.
The sun finds me on the porch of the hotel, across the street from the beach. I’ve been here for hours because I couldn’t sleep.
Positive.
Seven times.
I stared at all the tests on the floor, not knowing what to do first: throw up, run, or scream. Sel tried her best to get me to come have dinner with friends of hers who moved down here, but I just wanted to be alone. I pretended to sleep when she got back.
I’m pregnant.
The little still voice kept torturing and reminding me. The beautiful room began to feel like a prison, and soon the walls began to close in on me, trapping me. I threw all the tests into a Ziploc bag and put them in my weekender bag. I threw on my shoes, grabbed my phone and keys, and came down here to the beautiful porch, decorated with vines and flowers, of our boutique hotel. The night concierge came to check on me, and I had to reassure him I was okay. I stared into the sea until the sun rose and turned the black velvety waves into a blue mirage.
It reminds me a little of watching the sun rise when we arrived in Samaná but in a different kind of way, because that was soul deep like nothing else. The call of yourtierrais something that touches every corner of your being. There’s nothing like that heat and smell on the island. It feels like yesterday sometimes and others like an eternity. I can’t even explain it.It’s all about him.When I remember, I feel it all—Rio’s hands on my skin, his nervousness when we arrived, our time in the casita, his smile atEl Cabitoafter we resurfaced from the water.
My eyes well, and the restlessness is back. It’s been rolling in like a dark wave and retreating when I feel like I can’t breathe anymore. It will roll away again, but I can’t sit, or it will set. So I stand and go down into the sand. Maybe a walk will help me clear my thoughts.
I am having his baby when we don’t even communicate like normal people. I lashed out. He lashed out. I blocked him. Pregnant.
I laugh out loud. You can’t make this shit up.
It’s crazy that I can pinpoint the day it happened. The night of my mom’s wedding. The night we rutted like angry animals. It wasn’t any of the times he loved me but the day he cursed me to miss him and never be at peace. The day I hated him for making me want him as much as I did.
After I was so angry and raging, I lost focus. I threw myself into my work. Even sick with the flu, I was not paying attention to anything. I just didn’t want to think about him anymore.
Was that even the flu?
It doesn’t matter. Rehashing won’t make it better. But I still need to find a way to talk to him, tell him what’s happening.
But how do I even begin that conversation?
I start small. I unblock him.
32
Luna
New York
My eyes are fried. I stare at my screen and continue to review my draft of this crisis-response plan. I’m so tired I feel dumb. I’ve been looking over the same email for way too long.
“Thierry Banks is in hot water again. A woman he was partying with posted photos in his bedroom. Of course, social media is on fire.”
I mute the TV because I already know what's happening. It’s the call that woke me up way too early after a restless night. I’ve been sorting through the numerous emails from Adina, her mother, and media outlets seeking a statement. Dumb-ass Thierry is panicking. Bethany Belmont is demanding I do something immediately. This lady really thinks I am her employee.
My phone pings with a text from Maeven.
Maeven
Your response statement looks good. Mama’s proud of you.
I chuckle.
Me
High praise from the best. Now my life is made. Honestly, I don’t know how you do this every day.
