Page 201 of On a Fault Line

“Just breathe,” Angie says, pushing me down onto the sofa in the lounge that’s an offshoot from the main restroom area.

I’m thankful there’s a comfortable place to rest. The only thing I’ve wanted to do since the breakup is rest.

Oh, the joy of sleeping away this nagging sorrow, grieving for a man who is back to not even realizing I exist.

Sure, he is loyal to my brothers and probably feels that sense of urgency to make things right, but to act like what we had was nothing hurts the most.

He hasn’t called.

He hasn’t texted.

He hasn’t even spied—and I would know.

If it wasn’t for the physical ache my heart is going through, I’d start to wonder if I made the entire thing up. It definitely feels like I’m the only one suffering.

“I’m never going to get through this,” I say, panting out my exhales.

The air feels thick. It’s like I’m trying to breathe through a narrow straw.

My hands smooth out my pink tulle dress. If I wasn’t walking around with the look of utter devastation on my face, I imagine I would appear to be pretty.

Why did I even choose this color when black would have been a more fitting shade?

Like a funeral… To mourn the loss of my happiness.

I fix a stray piece of hair behind my ear, instantly regretting not leaving it down. If I left it loose, then I could at least hide behind it.

Claire levels her eyes with mine. “I’m working on a solution. I just need you to trust me.”

My eyes move to her stomach. She’s just a couple of months away from welcoming her first child into this world. The last thing she needs is to worry about my pathetic existence right now.

“You have enough on your plate already.”

“Penny, we are friends. But more importantly, we are family. And I never really had a family network until I fell head over fucking heels for your sometimes oblivious brother, so I have zero intention of sitting back and watching it all break apart over this tragic misunderstanding.”

Angie rubs a hand on my back as my shoulders shake, while keeping another hand on Claire’s who is also now crying.

I hate crying. Yet when I’m with these women who always seem to provide compassion and empathy, I can’t help but let out the emotional release I seem to need at the time.

“Thank you,” I say between sniffles, “but there’s no fixing this.”

“That’s not true,” Angie says softly.

Oh great, now she’s crying too.

“I’m sorry for making you cry,” I say softly.

Angie wipes at her nose. “It’s the hormones.” Then she covers her mouth as a sob breaks out. “I didn’t want to make this about me.”

“Please tell us what’s happening,” I encourage. “We love you.”

“We’re struggling to conceive,” she blurts out, as tears drip down her face.

Claire grabs some tissues and tries to wipe them up as fast as she can before they speckle the fabric of her dress.

“How can we help?” I ask, trying not to become too emotional.

“You already are,” she responds. “I simply need a distraction while I wait to see if this round of hormones I’m on has done the trick. I just never thought something as natural as making a baby could be this hard.”

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