(****TW: Pregnancy Loss****)
One Week Later, New York City
After talking to a realtor, I'm officially putting my apartment on the market. It's sad, but I'm so happy I'm doing it. Like a wonderful chapter of my life closing so I can create new ones in Detroit.
I walk through the empty apartment one last time with Bree, reminiscing. The balcony where I'd write songs late at night when I couldn't sleep, listening to the city sounds. The juice stain on the couch from Hailie's first visit here is still there. The kitchen where I cooked and baked so many meals and desserts for the first time. The bedroom I spent so many nights alone and then so many with the love of my life.
"I'm sorry, but we have to go Katie." Bree informs me, always keeping me on schedule.
I nod and pull out my camera first, "I know it's silly but can you take a picture of me first?"
Bree agrees, taking the camera from me. I pose in the middle of the room, a duplicate image of the photo I took when I first moved in.
After the flash goes off, I wince as a sharp pain in my abdomen hits me- not for the first time today.
I still haven't fully recovered from that bout of sickness I had last week. I've been feeling off for days now. Not outright sick, no more throwing up thankfully, but fatigued and nauseous. I thought maybe it was just that my body was drained- emotionally and physically. But it has yet to pass. But now, for the last couple hours, it's been replaced with painful cramps.
I guess being a few days late is the cause for it all. I haven't been gifted with easy periods in the past- which is why I was on the pill even when I wasn't in a relationship. It eased my time of the month considerably. But this...this is even worse than any before and it hasn't even started yet.
"You okay?" Bree asks, watching me carefully.
I shake it off, "Yeah, I'm good. Just a cramp."
When we leave the apartment, we head directly to Times Square for my TRL interview. In my dressing room, I change into a denim skirt with a black tank top and accessorize with a scarf, jewelry, and hat.
While I have my finishing touches down, hair and makeup, a sharp pain hits me in the stomach again making me gasp out loud this time. I smile at my stylists, waving off their concerned looks and excuse myself to the bathroom, locking it behind me just as another stabbing pain shoots through me.
The room spins and I grip onto the sink to steady myself. A warm feeling trickles down my leg and for a moment I think I've lost control of my bladder. But when I reach down to check, my hand comes back with blood on it.
"Shoot." I mutter to myself as I clean myself up in a panic. Next to the sink is a basket full of sanitary napkins. I take one.
I take a few moments to gather myself together before going back out into the dressing room, thankful that it's now empty. The stylists left since their job was done. I sit in my chair in front of the mirror alone. But as soon as I look at my face, tears fill my eyes.
Something's wrong. I think I know what's happening, I feel it in my bones. But I don't know if I can admit to it yet.
I hear a rapid knock as the door opens and Bree walks in without waiting for an answer, "Katie you're on in- oh my god, what happened?"
"Nothing.", I wipe away my tears quickly. There's no point in crying about a maybe. "Uhm, how's my makeup? I didn't ruin it did I?"
"No, you look beautiful." She replies, confused still.
"Thanks." I stand, attempting to compose myself.
"Katie-"
"How many times do you think Carson will ask about my love life? I'm thinking at least five." I say, hoping to change the subject. But it doesn't work.
Bree's gentle voice prods, "Are you o-?"
"Please don't ask me if I'm okay. 'Cause I don't know and it'll just make me cry again." I tell her my facade breaking, my voice going up an octave as I choke back new tears.
She hesitates, "...Okay. Yeah. Okay uhm, what do you need?"
What do I need? I need to not be going on live television right now. I need to lay down. I need to go home. Maybe I need a doctor too. Mostly I just need Marshall.
I clear my throat, "Advil. And some water. Please?"
Bree nods, rummages through her bag and hands me a bottle of generic ibuprofen. Then she runs to the mini fridge I hadn't even noticed till now and takes out a cold water bottle.
Once I down the pills and have a sip of water I request one more thing of my assistant- my friend, "Can you also make an appointment with my doctor. For today please?"
I don't want to wonder, I want to know what's happening. I need to know.
Bree nods, the concern on her face only growing. I take a deep breath, closing my mind to the pain and sadness as I put on a smile and head to the show. It's time to work now.
<><><><><><><><>
After all the questions of my upcoming record, relationship status, likes and dislikes, opinions on other celebrities, and just talking to my fans, it's finally over.
We leave out the back door where my car is waiting, signing a few autographs and posing for photos on the way. Bree watches me carefully and silently.
I want to talk to her, at least reassure her not to worry, but I don't know what to say yet. Either this is just a period from hell and I'm overreacting or...or I'm having a miscarriage.
At my doctors office in the city, I'm examined and tested. The nurses are professional and respectful here. I'm not Katherine Arden the celebrity, I'm Katherine Arden their patient.
With great kindness the doctor confirms what I've known all along. I was pregnant. And now I'm not.
I'm told I was further along than expected, though still early on. That my birth control not only failed but disguised my pregnancy from me, mimicking periods. I worry that it's my fault, that if I took that pregnancy test a week ago maybe this wouldn't of happened. I feel so stupid, the signs were all there I just refused to believe them. But he reassures me miscarriages happen, and it's not my fault. He prescribes me pain meds and informs me on what I should expect over the next few weeks, reminding me to call him if my condition worsens.
On the jet home to Detroit, I curl up in a seat with a heat pack on my stomach. I stare out the window hoping to watch over the cities miles below. But it's dark and cloudy, so I see nothing but my own reflection.
"I made you some tea." Bree says, setting it on the table before sitting across from me.
"Thanks." I tell her, my voice barely above a whisper.
Bree knows now. She demanded I tell her what's wrong and so I did. She hugged me. She cried for me. But I couldn't let myself join her. If I start, I don't think I could stop.
"Katie...Do you want me to call Marshall for you or-"
"No. Don't call him." I plead, sitting up. Marshall is in LA, won't be back for a couple days. I don't want to worry him. And besides...I don't know if I should tell him.
It's not because I think he won't care. He would probably drop everything to be by my side and would be so attentive to my needs. But he would also be relieved that I'm not pregnant, just like he was when we thought so a week ago. He wouldn't understand what I'm feeling.
No matter how bad the timing is or that Marshall doesn't want more children- I was pregnant. I lost a baby. Something that I long for and might never have again. I don't feel any relief from this.
Bree tries again, "Well what about Angie? She's-"
"Out of the country. It's Fashion Week." I tell her. I know Ang wouldn't care if I interrupted, but I don't want to worry her unnecessarily.
When I see the worry still on Bree's face, I reach over and hold her hand, "I'm okay. The doctor said so. I just need to take it easy for a while."
Bree still looks unsure, "You should talk to Sarah at least. She'd understand what you're going through."
I know she would. She'd be more than understanding and sympathetic. But she's pregnant with her miracle baby, I don't want to burden her with this right now.
"I appreciate your concern Bree. But I'm good. I promise."
"But...you are going to tell someone, won't you?"
"I told you." I say, squeezing her hand in mine, ending the conversation.
Woman miscarry. It happens. It was so early and I didn't have any time to process the pregnancy before there wasn't one anymore. I'm only so emotional because of the hormones. There was no real loss. It's for the best. Life must go on.
But I'll be fine. I am fine. I am.
At least, that's what I keep telling myself.
<><><><><><><><>
A/N
I meant to publish this chapter 10x in the past two weeks. But I worked extra hours covering my friend's shifts and just crashed every time I got home. Thank you for your patience.