my hands and on the side of my face before I reached the top of the stairs. I lay there in a lump, grateful the triplets couldn’t see me. The searing pain in my ankle told me I’d twisted it. Not too badly, but enough to jolt me back to reality.
Normal people don’t make hasty choices like this. These kids were not my problem. It was insane to think I could take on a trio of young adults and ask them to stay. Who was I to offer comfort when it wasn’t my place? I didn’t even know them. Didn’t know anything about them. Not really. I had to be stronger than that. Keep that nagging loneliness that gnawed at me daily in check.
“Are you okay?” Jen asked, when she saw me limp into the kitchen.
“I just tripped over and twisted my ankle a bit, no damage done.”
“Sit down, I’ll get some ice. Better, frozen peas.” Rummaging in the freezer, she hauled out a bag of frozen vegetables.
I sat down, cradling my ankle. I could feel my face flush with embarrassment, or was it the liquor flaming through my cheeks?
Jen took my ankle in her hands and curved the bag around the swelling. “This should help. Just hold it here for, like, twenty minutes.”
I rolled down my sock and pressed the bag on my flesh. “Thanks so much.”
They all looked at me, full of concern.
“I’ll be fine, really. Honestly, don’t worry.”
“Let me get you some water,” Kate said. “And you should take an aspirin or some kind of anti-inflammatory for that. You want me to get something from the bathroom?”
“I’m fine, really. I hope I can drive, that’s all. My Land Rover’s a stick shift and the clutch is rather stiff.” The words “stick shift” felt like a tongue twister. I was drunker than I realized.
Dan offered, “Can we help in any way? You know, like do some shopping for you or something?”
“No, I’ll be fine. Thanks anyway.”
“By the way, what’s your proposal?” he asked.
“I can’t remember now,” I lied.
Dan got up. “We should go, this is a bad time for you.”
Jen’s eyes misted. “Did we do something wrong?”
I clutched my stomach; I felt a nauseous rush gurgle inside me. “I’m not feeling very well, that’s all.”
“Oh,” said Dan. “I get it.” He looked down at my stomach. I was wearing a fluted blouse and baggy sweater, which made my tummy look puffed out. And although Pippa’s scrutiny had told me I looked too thin when she saw me, I felt like I’d put on a bit of weight, nearly all of it around the middle and on my cheeks. Not fat, but bloated. Drink can do that.
Jen said, “You’re pregnant? You didn’t land on your stomach when you fell, did you?”
“No! No, don’t worry, I just get nauseous sometimes.”
“Morning sickness? Congratulations!” Kate said, and grinned. “Boy or girl?”
“I don’t know yet,” I answered back without thinking. And then added recklessly, “I’ll find out with my next ultrasound.” The lie sat thick on my tongue.
Another one for the repertoire.
Eight
The house quivered with silence after they’d left. As if it were judging me for my thoughts, my actions; as if it could crawl inside my mind and reach into every dark little crevice, into every corner. I had never felt spooked here, even since losing Juan, but the triplets’ friendly chatter had inched itself into the walls; their laughter tinkled through the air.
I missed them already. They had been so friendly and caring. So present.
A sharp ringing pierced my reverie. I limped over to the landline, hoping it was one of them, but remembered I hadn’t given them my phone number.
“Darling.”
“Mum, hello, what a nice surprise.”
“Nice surprise? It’s Saturday, I always call on weekends.” My mother was often quick to feel judged. A trait I’d picked up along the way.
“Yes, of course, I’d forgotten it was Saturday. I mean, I hadn’t even been aware of it in the first place.”
“Well, that’s what happens when you mope around and don’t make an effort to socialize. Most people make plans for the weekend, darling.”
My mother had been at me to get out of the house more, to join associations, to stop being so solitary. Going to parties, she assured me, would help fix things. As if. As if I could simply shrug off my sadness with roomfuls of people feeling sorry for me. Or men I wasn’t interested in coming on to me. It hunkers in deep, down inside you, grief does. Eats