I don’t know how he’ll react. The unknown…the irrepressible never pleases a control freak.
He paces the living room. “Why haven’t you told him?”
I tuck in my legs and hug myself tightly, trying to find some refuge in the big soft pillows of the sofa. “I was waiting to tell you. I was waiting for the twelve-week mark to tell both of you. And then there was our trip…”
“So you’re already at twelve weeks. Were you hoping to lose the baby? Were you..”
I look up at him. “No, not really ever. Gwen dragged me to the clinic, but I couldn’t.”
“Of course you couldn’t,” he says. He closes his eyes and rubs his face, the shape of his features distorted. He has morphed into an ugly dark stranger. And I realize he’s about to lose it. I’ve seen him like this before.
I sink back deeper into the sofa, wishing it could swallow me whole.
Tears are streaming down his face. “All this time, you knew,” he says, his words soft. “Every day, you knew. Every time I looked at you, you knew and you never told me,” he goes on, completely broken. And I feel sick seeing him like this, knowing I’m the one who’s done this to him.
“I didn’t want to hurt you, Gabe,” I desperately try to explain. “I was trying to sa—”
“And you even let me have sex with you,” he hisses. “All the while, the prick’s baby was in you. What the fuck is wrong with you, Mirella?”
He swipes his hand across the mantle, swift and hard. I twitch as everything comes crashing down, the sound excruciating, earsplitting. The colorful vase Weston had given us has shattered into a thousand pieces across the floor. It’s rather fitting, I admit to myself. The vase holding the roses, the beautiful lavender roses with the small note. The note which started it all. The moment I decided not to throw that note away was the moment I made the decision to walk down this path.
“This is a life. And it’s your fucking mess. You deal with it,” he hisses. “There’s no way in hell I’ll be here to help you.”
These are the last words he says before he leaves. I haven’t even had a chance to say everything I’ve wanted to say, to explain. To tell him how this happened, tell him about the sickness. He doesn’t want to hear it. He doesn’t want to hear my excuses.
I hear him fumble around in the mud room. And then, the door slams so hard, the house shakes. And the small ceramic bunny hovering at the edge of the mantle, one of Claire’s prized possessions, the only piece that has managed to survive Gabe’s wrath, falls to the floor and shatters.
I spend the next thirty minutes on my knees, cleaning up the mess. I am on auto-pilot, my hands dedicated to the task, but my mind completely elsewhere. My limbs move, but my brain is completely fuzzy. I’m a zombie wielding a broom and a dustpan. All I can think about is Gabe. Where will he go? Where will he stay the night? He certainly won’t be coming back to me, of that I am sure. I empty the dust pan into the waste basket. The rainbow colored shards of glass slide into a heap on top of wasted food, soiled paper towels and banana peels.
I think about Weston. Now that I’ve told Gabe, I really should tell Weston too. But I just don’t have the strength to do it. I’m such a mess, I can barely breathe. And I’m in no shape to see the girls either.
I call Caroline and ask her to keep the girls a little longer. She tells me the girls are having a blast.
“That’s great,” I say. My voice is shaky and I know she can probably tell something’s not right.
“Are you okay, Mrs. Keates?” she asks, her voice soft.
“I’m fine, Caroline,” I lie. “You have fun with the girls.”
As soon as I’m off the phone with Caroline, I call Gwen, hoping, with every fiber of my being, to reach her.
She answers on the third ring, her voice cheerful. “Hi, Mirella.”
I crumble to the sofa and fall into tears before I can even say a single word.
“What’s wrong, sweetie?” she asks, her voice no longer cheery. “Talk to me.”
A snort escapes my mouth, the sound slightly disturbing. “I…I told Gabe.”
Silence fills the line. And I realize she doesn’t know what to say to me. She can’t help me either.