All the same, I could have stayed like this forever—in denial and suspended in time.
I wish I’d known the time was not ours to keep, that there was a huge trade-off for taking it. It wasn’t mine; I stole it from the others. And, unfortunately, I could never give it back.
On the day Matthew confirmed that Apella had lost her baby, I proved my terrible acting skills. The sadness I felt, the guilt, was eating away at me. Little bits of me started falling away at the edges. Picking them up was exhausting. They were fast forming a bundle that was getting heavier and heavier to carry.
I walked into our room and Joseph was trying to one handedly put his trousers on while holding the baby. The image would usually inspire a sarcastic remark. But all I could think was, Just another thing I have taken away from someone. Apella will have no baby—these funny events, these moments will never happen to her. The finiteness of that realization slapped me in the face. Never.
How could this possibly be fair? Apella had a lot to answer for, but how did it work out that her baby died and I had a healthy baby I never wanted?
My foot was dangling in the air as I thought this, like one more step would send me careening off a cliff. Joseph stared at me cautiously. He knew something was wrong. And I was desperate to tell him. I wanted to melt into his arms and tell him everything, confide and let someone else bear some of the burden. But I couldn’t do it. Instead, I made a choking, gulping sound, held my chest, and backed out. I stumbled towards the bathroom, hoping I wasn’t coming undone, that I hadn’t left a part of me, some guilty secret, lying in the hallway.
Telling myself to breathe just made it harder. I slammed into the door with my shoulder and pulled myself towards a stall. Crouching down inside, I placed my palm against the door and focused on the pressure I had to apply to keep the door shut. Knees to my chest, I rested my head on them and sobbed. Things were easier when I didn’t care about anyone, when I flitted from bad idea to even worse idea, not caring about the consequences. Now the result of every decision hung over me like a fat cloud, dripping like a sponge that couldn’t hold any more water.
I pulled the door ajar and lifted my blurry, puffed-up eyes. Someone had left a toiletries bag on the counter. I dragged my soaking-wet body off the floor, rifled through it, and found what I was looking for. The gold-edged blades shone hopefully under the dangling light bulbs.
I hacked through my thick plait, feeling some physical weight dropping to the floor. It lay there like a dead animal. Scared it might raise its head or scuttle across the floor, I threw it the bin, holding it like you would a poisoned rat.
I could see her reflection in the mirror, taking in my red, puffy eyes and my brutalized head of hair. She left as quickly as she had entered, returning a few minutes later with a chair. She guided me by the shoulders and sat me down. I let her. She took the scissors and painstakingly started to undo the damage I had done. It was calming—therapeutic in a way. My hair fell around me in a circle like pine needles from a tree. If only I could grow and heal so easily.
When she was done, she smoothed down my now shoulder-length hair with her hands.
“There, that’s better,” she said, smiling, nodding her head in satisfaction, like she had just pulled a cake from the oven and it met her approval. She put the scissors in the bag, collected up the hair, and threw it in the bin, taking the toiletries bag with her. She never asked me what was wrong. I think she had the sense not to.
These people were kind. I didn’t deserve it but they were kind to me.
I gazed at myself in the mirror, my blue and brown eyes blinking back at me. I looked… ok. My hair swished about my shoulders like a beaded curtain as I turned my head. I sighed, my shoulders pulling down. I felt so tense. I had to go back. He would be wondering where I was. I tied my hair back into a ponytail but then all you could see were my red cheeks and puffy eyes. I shook it out. At least this way I could hide behind it. I walked towards my room, feeling a mixture of apprehension and self-consciousness about what would come next and stupidly wondering if he would like my haircut.
When I rounded the corner, I was faced with a flurry of activity centered around our doorway. People were stacking small backpacks against the wall, all white. Others were walking into our room as some were leaving. Had it been a week already? Deshi stood at the door with Hessa. He looked like he was trying to build himself up, convince himself to go in there. He eyed my new haircut critically, a slight curl in his upper lip.
“You know, he’s doing really well. You don’t need to be nervous,” I said, shaking my hair around to annoy him.
He wiped his hand across his mouth. “Yeah, I know. It’s just… oh, I don’t know.”
“It’s ok. I won’t be upset if you hug the life out of him, I kind of expected you to.”
Deshi just nodded and gazed down at Hessa, who was busy trying to jam his finger up his nose.
“After you,” I said as I pushed the doors open for him.
Deshi took a deep breath and seemed to straighten up, set his shoulders, and strode into the room like he owned it. I guess everyone’s an actor at different times. “Look at you!” he exclaimed loudly, but I could hear the quiver in his voice and it made me wince. It was easier for me. I could jump on Joseph, cover him in kisses, and no one would blink an eye. Joseph had chosen me. For Deshi, every single event, touch, and smile must have been tainted with heartbreak. He was always on a tightrope, gripping his bar and trying to maintain the balance between love and friendship.
Joseph was standing with Orlando casually in one arm. I hated that he made it look so natural, like he’d been a father forever, and not just one week. He was out of his pajamas and was busy trying to button his shirt with one hand as he talked in low tones to Matthew and Gus. I inwardly chastised myself for thinking how desirable he looked right then, with his shirt unbuttoned and that serious look on his face. When he heard Deshi, he looked up and grinned at both of us. He pointed at the back of his head and put his hands up, mouthing “Your hair?” I shrugged, hoping my face didn’t reveal how much I’d been crying. His eyes lifted, asking me if I was ok. I waved him off and nodded. This seemed to suffice.
Deshi slapped him on the back and gave him a massive hug with his spare arm. Joseph wheezed from the pressure. “Whoops, sorry,” Deshi said, easing off. I held out my arms for Hessa, the beautiful boy slapping at my hair like he was batting a rug.
“Bring Hessa over here,” Joseph beckoned. We brought the babies together, darkness and light. “Orry,” he said, “this is your brother, Hessa.” Deshi looked uncomfortable. He smiled but it was tight, his eyes dark and thoughtful, as he stared down at his feet.
I heard the whisper of a cough and turned to see the pale, blond couple. Apella sitting in a chair, looking like death. She reminded me of the bolts of delicate fabric my mother used to lay across a chair as she worked, translucent and feather light. Alexei was rubbing her shoulders, while trying to participate in the conversation. He spindled his way through everything, looking out of practice at whatever he was attempting. But he was trying. I pushed my way into the middle of the talking to catch up with the conversation.
“So how much time do we have?” said Joseph, his face serious, his hair curling around his ears and falling in his eyes. People stopped and turned their attention to him. That assured tone of voice made everyone want to listen.
“The diversions we set up have all been discovered and discounted. I think they will be coming back around for another sweep soon,” Gus muttered, the words tinged with accusation.