Pieces of You(3)

“I’ll be there in six days. You can congratulate me then.”

His voice was husky with exhaustion and it only makes me miss him more. I want to be there with him in Florida. Instead, I’m stuck in my dorm playing catch-up. This is the price I pay for taking my sophomore year off from UNC.

I glance at the alarm clock on the nightstand between my and Senia’s beds. She should be back from hanging out with Eddie in a couple of hours. The sight of the stack of photos on the nightstand makes my chest ache.

Chris came over this morning to drop off some pictures of Abigail on his way to the airport. He could have emailed them to me, but he insisted on bringing the actual photos in case I wanted to put them in a frame or an album. That’s bullshit. He’s trying to get under my skin. He wants me to feel comfortable around him again.

When he left, I laid the photos facedown on the nightstand so I wouldn’t feel that longing every time I glance at my alarm clock and see my daughter’s face. But seeing the pictures turned facedown is just as jarring. It fills me with a stinging guilt that I’m certain has become part of my DNA by now.

Against my better judgment, I lift the stack of photos off the nightstand and lie back on my pillow. The first photo is of Abigail—I don’t even know her last name yet—lying on someone’s bed and smiling at something above her; something out of frame. I can’t help but refer to her as Abigail Knight in my mind. She’s a piece of Chris, and one look at her soft blonde hair and pouty lips and it’s apparent that she’s a piece of me. But neither of those pieces belongs to us.

The process of an open adoption is much less complicated than I thought it would be. The only thing that needs to be hashed out is the actual agreement. Abigail’s adoptive parents have verbally agreed to send us pictures and emails occasionally. We get to know her. They’re just not sure whether they want Abigail to know us.

The second photo is a close-up and she has Chris’s dark eyes. I trace the curve of her eyelid and I can see the way it turns down slightly at the corner, just like Chris's.

My phone buzzes as it vibrates on the nightstand. I lay the photos on the nightstand and pick up the phone, hoping it’s Adam with a joke text to pull me out of this funk. It’s Chris.



Chris: Just landed in London. I got a voicemail from Tasha. They want to meet us on Tuesday. I’ll be back by then.





Tasha Singer is the lawyer Chris hired to handle the adoption. I think it’s funny that her last name is Singer. Chris thinks I’ll find her name less funny when I finally meet her. He claims she’s the hottest thirty-two-year-old he’s ever met. He thinks this stuff makes me jealous, but it doesn’t.

I love Chris. Nothing will ever change that. But it’s not the same love we shared a year ago. It’s the kind of love shared between friends who know each other’s deepest secrets. The kind of love shared between friends who’ve forgiven each other’s worst sins.



Me: OK. I have class from 7-2. Will be in my dorm by 3.



Chris: I’ll pick you up outside your class at 2.



Me: Fine.



Chris: Don’t take that tone with me. Don’t forget I still remember all your most ticklish spots.



Me: Stop being a jerk. And stop texting me. I’m trying to study.



Chris: Goodnight, Claire-bear.





I don’t respond. Why would I respond to that? He’s baiting me.

I finish my statistics homework and start reading the text for my Family and Society class. This has got to be the worst class I can possibly be taking right now, but it’s pretty much required if I have any hope of being a superstar social worker.

I open Public and Private Families by Andrew Cherlin and I’ve only read three pages when the dormitory door flies open and Senia charges inside, her dark waves flying. She tosses her purse onto the desk and collapses facedown onto her bed. Her skirt flies up and her panties are showing, but she doesn’t seem to care as she buries her face in the pillow.

“What’s wrong?” I ask as I set down the textbook and sit up.

“Ugh!” she groans. “I’m so stupid!”

Even though the pillow muffles her voice, I can still hear the strangled sound in her scream. She’s crying.

I get up from my bed and take a seat on the edge of her mattress. I rub her back and she mashes her face even harder into the pillow.

“What happened?”

She shakes her head then flips over onto her back. “He’s been fucking someone else, that’s what happened.”

“Eddie?”

“Don’t say his name. He disgusts me.”

Senia and Eddie have been together for almost seven months now, but I never would have suspected Eddie for a cheater. He’s always been insanely jealous and possessive. I always assumed Senia would be the one to dump Eddie once she got bored of his clinginess.