The Lies We Tell - 5. Chapter 5

EMMA

Another restless morning. I wake up too early then toss and turn in bed, waiting for the alarm to ring. If I have to be up, then so do you. I pick up my cellphone and dial the number.

“Hello,” your pretty lover answers. I am sure I hear your sleepy grumble in the background. “Who is this?” His angry voice asks. I don’t blame him, I would be angry too if an unknown number continued to harass me. “Stop calling me, whoever you are,” he says, and leaves me in silence yet again.

I fantasize about your warm body wrapped around me. There are no other arms that have ever made me feel so safe. There are also no other arms that have made me feel so scared at the same time. You were always the nicest in the morning. Warm and ooey-gooey like a piece of apple pie. I wonder if our son will be just as sweet, and I worry whether he will similarly be just as ruthless. Maybe not, maybe he will get the best of both of us. I can only hope and pray.

I force my tired body out of bed and make myself a cup of tea in the kitchen. Then I get dressed and leave for another day of work. But halfway through my walk, I get a call from the manager.

“Why don’t you take the rest of the week off,” she says.

“I don’t need the week off,” I insist, thinking she’s trying to be nice.

“Emma, I’m going to be frank with you. We need someone who can move around and help customers with expediency. Come back after you give birth, your job will be waiting for you,” she says, as if I should be happy with the offer. I start silently crying but pull myself together enough to say, “Okay, thank you,” before hanging up. I’ve already maxed out all my credit cards, and I only have a tiny amount of savings for diapers and baby supplies. How am I supposed to pay rent, survive, eat? I walk back home, defeated.

Just when I think that my day couldn’t get any worse, it does. I stop dead in my tracks when I enter my building. You are standing outside my door, waiting for me. You turn your head when you hear the door slam shut behind me. I want to run, but there’s no point, my belly is humongous. I wouldn’t get very far.

What if…what if you changed your mind and came back? We could be together once again. We could have a real family. But no, I don’t think so. Not with the way your dark eyes are burning holes straight into me…straight into my stomach. I put my hand over it, protectively.

“Can we talk inside?” You ask impatiently, as my elderly neighbor walks by. I hesitate. What if you hit me? You’ve hit me before, but this time you might harm more than just me. I have Dylan to think about now.

“About?” I ask, and I see a flicker of irritation flash across your face.

“Is it mine?” You ask, gesturing towards the belly. I don’t understand the question.

“Yes, of course.”

“You never got the…procedure done?”

“No,” I reply.

“Can we please talk inside? I don’t want to make a scene,” you plead, and I give in. I walk past you and put the key in my door, getting a momentary whiff of your cologne. I want to reach out and hug you and hold you close. Despite everything that you’ve done, I know I could forgive it all. For our son, for our family. But you push me inside harshly and close the door behind you.

“Out of all the dumb things you’ve done lately, this has to be the dumbest one,” you say, looking at my stomach. “Just look at you. You’re pathetic. You thought this would keep me around?” You ask. All I can do is cry in shame. “You’ve really turned into a cow. And you think what, that I’m going to play daddy now after you scare Cole away? Are you completely delusional? Do you think that if he leaves me I’m going to come crawling back to you? I told you I never wanted a child.”

“I’m sorry,” I stammer out. I’m no longer brave. Your presence is too overwhelming. I slink back into the pathetic woman you’ve left behind.

“You need to stop this madness, Emma,” you say in a more calm and patronizing voice now. “This pregnancy has obviously caused some…hormonal imbalances in your brain. You’re not thinking straight. All this creepy stalking you’re doing, the silent phone calls, none of it is going to end well for you. You’re making my fiancé feel unsafe, and I can’t allow that. This might be pregnancy psychosis or something, and you know I wouldn’t want to lock you away in an institution, right?” You ask firmly. Fear runs through my veins. The image of me in a white strait jacket, locked away somewhere in a mad house. Far away from my baby boy.

“No, please don’t,” I beg in a desperate voice.

“Exactly. So what you’re going to do, since it’s too late for an abortion, is give it up for adoption, alright?” The cruel statement isn’t even shocking anymore. Nor is your casual reference to our child as an ‘it’. “You’re not fit to be a single mother. I mean, just look at this place. It’s disgusting,” you state, looking around with contempt written on your face. “The best thing for you, is to give it up, and then leave me the fuck alone, understand?” you ask, looking firmly at me now.

“I can’t,” I say quietly. I’m not giving up my baby.

“It wasn’t a question. It was a statement. And you can, and you will, because I’m going to come back and make sure it’s done. And if not,” you say grabbing my face harshly. Your breath on my lips. “Well, you know how I get when things don’t go according to my plan, don’t you baby?” You place a small kiss on my lips, then ease your grip.

“Here,” you say, throwing down $300 on the table like some sort of gift. “To hold you over until you can start working again.” The humiliation in the knowledge that the money is mine to begin with isn’t lost on me. “I’ll come back to check on you in a month,” you say and walk out the door.

My ragged breathing is the only sound amidst the dead silence that follows your departure.