If- Nina G. Jones Page 0,96

her to the other end of my loft, to a spiral staircase that led to my private rooftop deck.

“Walls,” she muttered knowingly.

“Walls,” I called back.

“Do you sleep up here?”

“Sometimes. There’s winter here, you know?” I smirked.

I went around and turned on the outdoor heaters. It was early fall, still warm, but there was a chill in the air after the rain.

“That’s nice,” she whispered.

“Those were some of my favorite times. The fact that you understood me enough to just let me be up there. That you would sleep up there with me.” I plopped some dry cushions onto one of the sofa frames.

“It always felt like we were just camping under the smog,” Bird chided. “We were just urban pioneers.”

I kissed her shoulder. I kept finding ways to touch her, to reassure myself this wasn’t a hallucination. I couldn’t believe she was here, that this was real.

We sat in silence, her between my legs just like we used to do on her roof, watching different lights turn on and off in the buildings around us and the flashing lights of planes flying overhead.

“You know, I thought I was pregnant for a while just after you left.”

Her words flashed like a sword in the night.

“Bird . . . if I ever had thought that was a possibility, I would never—”

“I know. At least I think I do. I don’t even know why I am telling you this. Maybe it’s petty of me to pile on the guilt. I just—I was so scared at the time—and you would have been the person I would have leaned on. I didn’t tell Jordan because he was my boss and I’m glad I didn’t because I wasn’t. It was amenorrhea from the tough schedule and the stress.”

My body felt like a weight sinking to the bottom of the ocean. I didn’t know what to say. I had left her so carelessly and caused so much pain all the while convincing myself it was the best thing. But there was no such thing, every option I had was a terrible one.

“Bird . . .”

“There’s nothing to say. It was a nonevent, and I don’t blame you. You would have had no way of knowing that I could be. We were pretty responsible. But it’s so easy to confide in you. Even after all these years. And this was one I had to hold in for a long time.”

Even though it didn’t happen, the possibility of a pregnancy hit me hard. It triggered a fear I was forced to think about more as I reached my mid-twenties, the idea that I could pass down the gift or the curse, likely both.

“You’re the only woman in the world I could ever imagine having a child with, but it was for the better. Not just because I was gone, but because it could be like me.”

I felt her stiffen in my arms. “No . . . Ash you are not a mistake. You are rare.”

The words I had said to her long ago when she cried, when I decided to stop fearing how I felt about her and let those feelings take hold.

“And I would have been blessed to have a child like you, but that’s not how it turned out.”

“It’s like no matter what I would have done back then, it would have been the wrong choice. It’s always the wrong choice.”

“Why are you so hard on yourself?”

I never saw it that way. I just saw it as honesty. Most people didn’t have the balls to be honest with themselves.

“Because I deserve it.”

“Sarah wasn’t your fault.”

She went right to the nucleus of the issue, and I wanted to believe it, but even Bird didn’t know the truth.

“It was.”

“It was an accident. A truck rear-ended you. It could have happened to anyone.”

“No . . . it couldn’t have.” I knew I had to finally tell Bird everything if we were to have a second chance. “I told Sarah I wanted to go for a drive when our parents were out of town and Miller was in law school. I took my dad’s car when I wasn’t supposed to. I was responsible for her. But I felt like I was on top of the world, and I was speeding, swerving, acting wild. She was having fun, she was only 15 and she just wanted to be with her big brother. I thought I saw something come out onto the road, a fox or whatever, and I slammed the brakes—”

A geyser