Page 86 of Mismatched

“Anton! Fuck, I got here as soon as I could.” My brother hollers from his car on the side of the road as I pocket the phone. “Is Lydia okay?”

“I don’t fucking know,” I say as he puts his arms around me, and that’s when my chest finally fissures. “They—they took her to the hospital.”

He’s still for a moment, bearing the weight of what I’ve said, holding me up. But when the police officer comes over and starts talking about her report again, he lets me sink gently to the ground to talk to her, going over to Lydia’s car to get our insurance information.

I follow him with my gaze, taking in the entire wreck for the first time—the other car, some kind of pickup truck, looks one hundred times worse than Lydia’s 4Runner, its front end crumpled beyond recognition. The driver hit us so hard, the force sent both vehicles across the entire intersection. We’re all lucky no one happened to be coming the other direction at that moment. The woman who was driving got out and was walking around, thanks to her airbag. But she was covered in glass and blood, and ultimately went to the hospital. Which is good, because if she was still here I’d be losing my shit in her face. But it’s just me, my brother, and the police in the glow of red and blue lights. The air thick with grief and uncertainty.

I let my head drop to my knees, trying to slow my hammering pulse, get my breathing under control. Because I’ve been here before. A different crash, in a different time, on a different road. We weren’t with my dad when it happened, but we’d driven past the accident, not knowing it was him. I remember looking out the window into the darkness and flashing lights, realizing the twisted metal used to be a car. Not long after we got home, the police showed up at our door. Then my mother quietly asked an officer to sit with Seth and me as she stepped out onto the front steps and broke down.

And now I’m here again, alone with my brother, with the police and flashing lights, still raw because we just lost our mom. And if anything happens to Lydia now, or to?—

I think of her hands clutched over her middle and my heart seizes. God, this is my fault, all of it. It was my idea to go to Ohio. I got her pregnant. I wanted to start a family.

If I hadn’t—we never would have been here.

And I sink even further as it hits me for the second time tonight—Lydia didn’t want this. She tried to tell me, so many ways, but I was only focused on myself. I didn’t hear.

So she went through with it—for me. Because that’s what she does.

The sex. The nausea. The fucking vitamins and food restrictions. The invasions on her body.

And then I made her go to Ohio to parade around for her mom because I thought any family was good family. Because I still couldn’t see.

I already had what was most important.

I rake one hand through my hair. If it wasn’t for me, we would’ve spent Thanksgiving at home with my brother, maybe Caprice. We would’ve eaten turkey sandwiches, Stove Top stuffing, and if I was feeling adventurous, I might’ve baked a pie. Today, we would have done some online shopping and taken Heartthrob to the park. Lydia could’ve used the time to relax, away from work. We could’ve worked on some of the homework from our sex therapist.

Instead of finding ourselves at this icy intersection, halfway between the airport and our home. With everything hanging in the balance.

If I had just listened.

“Hey, man,” Seth says, approaching quietly. And somehow, I am positive he knows. He must’ve heard all my thoughts. “I think they’ve got what they need here if you’re ready to go.”

I look up. I ought to leap—race for his car. But it’s like there’s a weight inside me, anchoring me to this curb.

He tries again, with a new edge of concern. “Come on, Anton. Let’s go catch up to Lydia, make sure she’s good.”

I shake my head, eyes burning.

Because either way, she won’t be.

“She—we don’t know if the baby’s okay.”

His fist tightens at his side, but he speaks in an even tone. “They’ll be able to tell at the hospital, right? So let’s go.”

I drop my head into my hands, making no effort to move. “I—I can’t.”

“Why not?” he asks.

I shake my head. “Because... I did this to her.”

His brow furrows. “I thought Lydia was driving.”

“No—I knocked her up.”

Seth drops to his knees in front of me. “Anton, we’re talking about your wife possibly losing your fucking baby. Which, I’m pretty sure, also puts her life at risk. You have to go to her.”

My limbs feel like lead. My lungs. I can’t breathe.

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