“You’re still there, right?” I walked back inside the medical building, a closer source of cold air than my car on the far end of the parking lot.
“Olivia . . . I almost don’t know what to say.”
I knew Mia well enough to know she’d just said volumes.
“I’m not ready for this. I lost Wyatt, and today I found out part of him is still with me. How am I supposed to handle that?” I sat in a chair in the corner of the lobby and hoped I had something in my purse to wipe my already leaky nose.
If only I could be like Holly Hunter in Broadcast News and schedule my cathartic crying. My eyes dripped, my underarms dripped, and my emotional reserves dripped. All in a medical building lobby as I waited for Mia to come up with a plan, and I wiped my face with a crumpled Starbucks napkin. I counted on her to save me from myself. Now wasn’t the time for her to forgo the life vest when I was drowning in the sea of my own irresponsibility.
“I can only imagine how your parents will react when they hear this. When are you going to tell them?”
The door opened and ushered in the sultry heat and a woman with twins. Her “Sit there and don’t you dare move” resonated in the room, and even I shifted in my chair.
“I’m not sure. I need time to process this. What if I lose the baby? Maybe I should wait a few more weeks.”
I must’ve sounded as if I were asking for her permission because, even without seeing her, I knew I’d awakened her hand-waving, finger-pointing, mouth-spitting wrath. “And what if you don’t,” she snapped. “Postponing the inevitable is always an option. A dumb one. You have to tell them now.”
Reality fell over me like the sticky silkiness of a spider’s web. “Today? A few days? What’s the difference?” I’d lowered my voice so as not to be the main attraction for the audience of three seated near me. “It’s not like I’m a pregnant, unwed teenager who . . .”
“You’re right. You’re a pregnant, unwed twenty-eight-year-old.”
The bite in her voice pushed me against the chair. I picked at a loose thread on my skirt, nibbled my lower lip, and reminded myself to breathe.
“I’m sorry,” Mia said, her voice barely above a whisper. “That was mean of me. But in all the years I’ve known you, your first reaction is to procrastinate. And it’s your worst one because you make yourself and me crazy with all your what-if scenarios.”
“I know. I know.” She made me face my fears but somehow managed to soften the blow. I hated and admired her for that.
“I’m sorry to do this, but I have to get back to Mrs. Nicholls. I told her that while I was taking your call she should pull fabrics she sensed would increase the positive energy in her home. At the price per yard she’s looking, her husband may feng shui me into another universe,” she said, her wit as sharp as her style. “Go talk to your parents. Call me after you do, okay?”
I promised her I would because she’d be relentless if I didn’t. I dropped the phone into my purse, looked up, and made eye contact with one of the twins. She sucked her thumb, forefinger hooked over her nose like a hanger, lids half-drawn shades over her eyes.
I envied her quiet contentment.
Every day since Wyatt died, a tsunami of grief assaulted me, sent me crashing into memories, and sucked my dreams away in its undertow. I didn’t know when or how I’d ever experience the soft swell of happiness and comfort without him.
CHAPTER 2
Mia, her future husband, Bryce, and I met during our freshman year at Louisiana State University when we waited tables at the Magic Mushroom. By day, it was an unassuming, though always quirky, eatery that New Agers could’ve hung out in for personal transformation, social consciousness, and gourmet pizzas with names like Aura Artichoke.
As soon as the sun set, the football crowds, karaoke singers, and book-weary students getting turnt up for the weekend guaranteed generous tips. Most of the time, being there didn’t seem like work at all. Bryce said some nights he felt like he was earning money just for hanging out with his friends.
After graduation, I moved home for a summer internship with a public relations firm. Bryce and Mia married in August, then moved to Houston where he worked saving the environment, and she opened a design studio to decorate habitats in the environments her husband saved.
And two years later, I met Wyatt, whose first words to me were “Excuse me, would you care for a mushroom stuffed with walnuts and pesto?” Well, he actually spoke to Bryce, Mia, and me, because we were together at the second annual Hope House charity art auction. The center provided support services for abused children.