Page 102 of Forever and Ever

Noah

Atsomepointinthe afternoon, Merry falls asleep crying. I lay next to her in bed, my body willing me to sleep too, but the thoughts in my head won’t allow it.

Pregnant.

Merry was pregnant with our baby, and what we assumed was a period was something I still can’t seem to wrap my head around.

I’m not sure how the doctor could stand there and just say that all in one sentence. Like all the parts of it weren’t a carefully planted explosion that was blowing our world to bits. I hadn’t even had the time to feel the hope before she told us we lost it.

Lost.

That’s where I am right now. Floating somewhere that isn’t here because things are playing out in front of me like a movie scene. Except it’s blurry and silent, and the figures I once recognized have taken on new, darker shapes.

Merry wakes up, but she doesn’t say anything. At least she doesn’t push me away either. She lets me hold her, and I hope that my arms are enough to be her strength when my words and my spirit both fail me.

My phone won’t stop ringing because everyone wants to know what’s going on. But neither of us answers. Not yet. The universe plays some really evil games and apparently, we’re at the center of this one.

We sit in this black hole and see if there are any sides of it we recognize anymore. If there’s a door buried somewhere that will let us out.

At some point, the band leaves. Merry finally texts Cassie to give a cliff note summary of what is going on, so they’ll stop asking questions. I’m pretty sure she copies and pastes the same text for her sister.

I don’t text anyone. My parents don’t have a right to know what’s going on in my life. The only person I care about is in this room with me, and she’s fractured beyond recognition.

Emptiness shouldn’t be able to take up space. It’s nothing. Yet somehow it does. In the seconds. In the hours. In the room around us. It’s all I feel.

“Don’t you have practice today—or yesterday?” Merry presses her palm on her forehead. “I’m not sure what day it is.”

“We don’t,” I tell her because either way it’s canceled or doesn’t matter.

“You guys need to work on your album.”

Her expression is hard, even if she looks so soft in her hospital gown with her hair a mess.

“I’m not worried about that right now.” Sitting up, I turn to face her on the bed and take her hand.

“You need to be worried about it,” Merry continues to argue, and I’m not sure why she woke up so intent on having this conversation. “You’ve only got a couple of months until you go back on tour, and you have to finish the album so you can record some of the music videos—”

“I know how it works,” I cut her off. “That’s not really the top of the list of my concerns right now. How are you feeling?”

“How am I feeling?” she repeats it like she can’t believe I asked the question. “Not great.”

At least she gave me an honest answer, even if she clearly didn’t want to say anything.

“We need to talk about this,” I say, but it makes her pull her hand away.

“There’s nothing to talk about.” She crosses her arms over her chest. “Remember?”

Even if I know she’s only being crass as a defense mechanism, the blunt delivery stings. She can hide behind her words but can’t bury the look in her eyes, and I know she’s hurting too.

“This is all moving really fast,” Merry says, and I can feel the distance she’s putting between us. “We’ve barely figured out who we are in this—thing—between us.”

“Relationship?” I fill in the blank, feeling myself getting annoyed already with where this is going.

“Sure.” She brushes it off. “But this is all too much. You need to go record your album. I need to go to Seattle. You don’t need to be dealing with this. There’s nothing to deal with anymore apparently anyway.”

Although her face is composed, her voice cracking gives her away.

She avoids my gaze. “Maybe once this is all done, we can see where we’re at.”

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