A couple of weeks went by. Kylie and Clay continued living in their utopian, married life, still just as in love as ever. Nina and I took a day trip into D.C., which yes, I took a day off work for. It was fun, the two of us acting like tourists and seeing monuments and going to museums.
April arrived. I appreciated the lack of April Fool's pranks that were played on me, with the only one being that Clay gave me a chocolate bar made of dirt. I didn't swallow and I found it pretty funny.
Thunderstorms arrived as well. The power was knocked out across several states, including at my house. I lit candles throughout the house, needing to see. Unfortunately, my phone was almost dead. I set my alarm for work, hoping it would survive. The hospital was running on generators, meaning I could charge my phone there.
Work was complete chaos. Several people arrived late, there wasn't an outlet to be found, and the cafeteria was overrun with people trying to use the microwaves.
I finally did charge my phone up on a break, snatching up an outlet. I curled up in a chair, trying to catch a moment to myself. I checked the power status; apparently most of Virginia was still in the dark. Including both my house and Kylie's. Sighing, I headed back to work.
That night, I crawled into bed after a very dark shower. I was exhausted. Tomorrow would hopefully be better, but if the outage stayed strong, this could be a rough week.
But when I woke up, I forgot all about work and the lack of power. Instead, all I could do was stare at the date.
April fourteenth.
Everlie's due date.
Part of me forgot how to breathe.
It shouldn't have meant anything. It had been months ago, last year that I'd gone to the hospital in Toronto. So long ago that it should've been a distant memory. Shaking, I dropped my phone on my chest, blankly staring at the ceiling. Maybe she would've been born today, maybe not. It was hard to believe that I was here now, that my life had been so unaffected by being pregnant. There'd been no baby. No sweet little angel living in my house. It was like a really bad nightmare I wasn't allowed to forget.
Rolling over, I brought my knees up, creating a ball of protection under the blankets. The snooze alarm went off, but I simply shut it off and laid there. I couldn't go to work. I just couldn't. If I did, I would crack. Burst into tears. Cry until my lungs burst. Something awful.
I didn't call in either. I didn't care. They could figure out what to do without me. I might not go into work all week, honestly. My entire body felt like it weighed more than a boat. Moving felt odd. I couldn't sleep, either; instead I just laid awake for hours. I couldn't think. Thinking took too much energy. All I could do was be sad. Part of me wanted to regret it all. Getting pregnant was stupid, staying with the father was stupid, it was all stupid. Except I couldn't regret it–it was just something that had happened. Something I couldn't move past.
Around noon, I got up to take a sip of water. My jaw had been clenched for so many hours that it hurt to part my lips. I didn't bother to check if the power was back on. The candles had all dwindled down to stubs, burned out.
Instead of going back to bed, I curled up on the couch, staring at the TV. It wasn't on. It was just there, showing my disheveled reflection. That's when my brain started flickering, letting me think for the first time in hours.
I'd had a little girl.
Then she'd been taken away. All in a matter of a week.
As hard as that week had been, that was nothing compared to now. Now it was like I had an elephant standing on my chest. Sadness overwhelmed me, but not the crying kind. This was the kind where you were suffocated in emotion and didn't think you'd ever feel happy again. The tears don't come. I only could lay there, an aching feeling in the pit of my heart.
"I have to get up," I finally murmured to myself. Get up and do what, I didn't know, but I had to get up. Otherwise I would stay on this couch forever.
I stumbled to the kitchen, blindly hoping that I could eat. Except eating would've made me throw up, so I didn't. I took another sip of water, which helped a little. I leaned back against the counter, holding my stomach. Nothing felt good. My stomachache was so severe all I could do was look up and not think about it.
My gaze landed on the bottle of wine hiding on top of the refrigerator. I reached for it, muttering, "Screw it."
Popping the cork, I brought the bottle to my lips. I didn't care anymore. Either it would make me vomit, which might reset things, or I would feel better. It was better than thinking and feeling the pain in my gut. Before I knew it, the bottle was empty. I considered my state; I wasn't much better.
Five seconds later, I threw up in the kitchen sink. I turned on the cold water, cleaning out the bottom. The smell was enough to make me throw up again, my stomach now empty. Wiping my mouth, I leaned over the sink, wondering if my stomachache would go away.
It didn't. But I did find another bottle of wine in the cupboard. Why I had so much, I had no idea. Maybe work party gifts over the years. This time I only took a swig before setting down the bottle.
"Jackie?"
I looked up to see Kylie standing in the kitchen, her eyes wide. I grunted a hello, wondering if I'd invited her over earlier without realizing.
"Hey," she said, taking a careful step towards me. "What's going on?"
"I don't know," I lied. "What are you doing here?"
"Well, I drove by and your car was in the driveway when you're supposed to be at work so I thought I'd check on you," she said, taking the bottle of wine and holding it up to the light. "Didn't know you were drinking again."
"I didn't know either," I said with a sharp, loud laugh.
Then Kylie held up the other bottle, the empty one. "Oh my gosh. Jackie?"
"Yeah..." I said, rubbing the back of my neck.
"Okay, come on, sit down," she said, putting one hand on my back and trying to lead me to the living room.
"Just one more sip," I said, taking another swig before she could stop me. "I'm...dehydrated." That was a big word.
"Why are you dehydrated?" she asked.
"Stayed in bed all day," I said as I sat down. Then I fell over and chose to lay down.
"Why?"
"Don't feel good," I lied. She couldn't know the truth. It would wreck me.
"This is more than not feeling good," she said, shimmying before me. Kylie shimmies a lot. Or wait, maybe I couldn't see straight. That's not great news.
"Yeah but I can't tell," I confessed.
She frowned. "You can't?"
"No," I groaned. "Can I throw up again?"
Kylie hustled me back to the sink, where I promptly emptied my guts. She was nice enough to hold back my hair and hand me a glass of water before taking me back to the couch.
"Jackie, you need to tell me what's going on. This is serious. I'm worried about you," she insisted, kneeling in front of me.
I realized the kitchen light was on. "Hey, the power's working!"
"Yeah, it came on a couple hours ago, but we need to talk about this," she said, refusing to let me change the subject.
"Do we have to?" I whined.
"Yes."
Not wanting to tell her, I said, "I can give you clues. Hints. You won't figure it out."
"Okay, fine," she sighed, clearly exasperated.
I lowered my voice and whispered conspiratorially, "We did the thing."
"The thing," Kylie repeated, clearly lost.
"Yep. We did. And it ended horrible," I said. Now I was crying, but they weren't the tears I'd been holding back all day. This was different; this was possibly the alcohol talking.
"Okay, okay, you're going to have to give me another hint," she coaxed, handing me a tissue.
"It's the thing you and Clay do a lot," I explained. "You know. It's bad."
"Bad..." Kylie was completely lost. Silly. How had she not figured out what I was talking about yet?
A look dawned in her eyes and she stood, saying, "I'm calling Grayson."
That was not what I had meant. "Don't call him," I pleaded, reaching for her leg. "He'll be mad. He can't find out."
"Oh yes he can," she said, walking into the other room. That wasn't fair, I couldn't hear that far. I strained, but her words sounded like gibberish. I bet she and Grayson had made up a secret code just so they could talk about me.
"What did he say?" I asked, curious. "Did he hang up?"
"He's coming here," Kylie said, gently pushing me back down and covering me with a blanket.
"Noooo," I groaned. "He can't come in. Lock the door."
"I will be letting him in. He said he's the only one that knows what's going on. He'll be here in fifteen minutes," Kylie said, much too calm for letting Grayson come to my house.
"No, no," I muttered. "I'm drunk, Kylie."
"Yeah, no kidding," she deadpanned.
"That's not good!" I protested. "Me drunk is...bad."
"It is. Which is why I called in Grayson," she explained. Easy for her to say–she wasn't the drunk one.
"That's not fair," I complained. "That's setting me up to get in trouble."
There was a knock at the door. I threw my blanket over my face, knowing Grayson wouldn't be able to find me here. I heard footsteps and hushed whispering before the door shut again. He'd left? Just like that? Wow. He must really be mad at me.
"Jacks?"