Well, I couldn’t even finish that thought.
My heart burned in my chest.
I wandered back toward the kitchen, my feet sweeping the floor, as my thoughts rang loudly in my head. I wondered just how easy either decision would be. No matter what was decided, would our lives ever return to what they had been weeks ago on the sunset shore of that island?
Like a projection screen in my head, my mind moved ahead—one year, two, five—trying to see past the moment of this monumental decision.
Would I get over the grief, the loss? Would I ever forgive him? Would I be around to decide?
Unfortunately, my new heart didn’t come with the ability to see the future, and my efforts proved fruitless. I groaned in frustration and decided a light snack might do me some good. Opening the fridge, I looked at the contents, staring at each and every item that sat there, and I felt my stomach lurch.
“Oh God,” I managed to get out seconds before turning toward the kitchen sink.
My breakfast—along with every meal I’d eaten for years, it seemed—emptied out of me as I gasped for air, tears streaming down my cheeks. I quickly cleaned up, taking a towel to my face, as my hands shook. The acidic taste lingering in my mouth needed to go before it induced another round of heaving, so I quickly moved through the apartment toward the master bath to brush my teeth.
After brushing and haggling with mouth rinse, twice, I finally felt slightly better.
As my eyes met the mirror, I saw my reflection staring back at me.
A trickle of sweat beaded down my temple, and my eyes were red and swollen from throwing up. I also looked a little green from the nausea.
I’d seen this look many times over the years, but today, it had nothing to do with my heart and everything to do with that new life just beginning inside me.
An unsteady hand moved down to lift my hoodie. I touched my flat belly, and the warmth of my palm cradled the spot where our child grew. I didn’t know anything about children. I’d never given much thought to becoming a parent—until this very moment.
How could I choose to put this life before mine? How would I become a mother?
I realized there was only one place to start.
Moving into our bedroom, I collapsed on the bed and pulled out my phone.
My mother answered on the first ring, “Hello?” Her greeting was quickly followed by, “No, sweetheart, don’t put your mouth on that.”
My eyebrow rose in question. “Hi, Mom,” I answered. “Is that how you always talk to Marcus when I’m not around?”
She laughed at my lame attempt at a joke. I was hoping it would cover the anguish in my voice.
“No,” she replied. “I took Zander overnight. Brian and Grace needed a date.”
“Did you force them out on one?” I asked, already knowing the answer.
“Well, I might have suggested it. Okay, I strongly suggested it. Those two needed some alone time.”
“And you needed some Zander time?” I guessed, hearing her make raspberry sounds into the phone. My stomach flip-flopped nervously.
“Well, I’d never turn down time with a handsome man,” she joked.
Closing my eyes, my head sank into the pillow as I pictured the two of them, sitting on the balcony of her oceanfront apartment. Marcus had lived alone his entire life, renting an apartment near the hospital for years. When my mother and he had gotten married, they’d decided to splurge, buying a beautiful condo right on the beach, so Marcus could surf whenever he wanted. She’d sit out there, watching him disappear into the waves, as she drank a glass of wine and read. I imagined her doing much the same with Zander—minus the wine. It was still early morning there.
“So, what’s up with you? You sound kind of down. There wasn’t anything wrong with your doctor’s appointment yesterday, was there? I got worried when you didn’t call.” she said, her tone turning serious.
Taking a deep breath, I answered, “No, Mom. Everything is fine—just a little cold. I didn’t want to disturb you on your flights back home. This call was purely selfish. I just wanted to hear your voice.”
“Oh, well, that’s sweet of you,” she said. “And now, you can hear Zander as well,” she crooned. Her voice dropped an octave as she began babbling back to him.
I stayed silent for a moment, listening to her, as she fussed over him.
It must have been breakfast time because she shouted, “Don’t you dare spit that out!” She laughed and then said, “You little troublemaker!”
Despite my mood, I couldn’t help but smile as I listened to my mother interact with Grace’s child.