Page 55 of Summer's Echo
Dr. Moss glanced at the clipboard in her hands, her voice calm and routine, like this was just another day. “I see that you’ve chosen a vacuum aspiration. Is that correct?”
Summer’s nod was small and hesitant. “Yes. Yes, that’s correct,” she said breathily. I watched her closely, searching for any sign that she might change her mind. She didn’t.
“Okay. It’s a simple procedure,” Dr. Moss said.
My head snapped back.Simple?There’s nothingsimple about this shit.I wanted to yell it, wanted to grab her clipboard and throw it across the room, but instead, I quietly choked on the rage burning its way up my throat and turned my eyes back to the poster on the wall.The Phases of Pregnancy.The one I’d been staring at for the past ten minutes, memorizing details I never thought I’d need to know. Our baby—our blueberry—the one I would never get to know.
Dr. Moss kept talking. Her voice was pleasant, but still professional and detached. “A local anesthetic will be inserted into your cervix. You may feel a little pressure from the vacuum, but the procedure should only take about ten minutes. As long as you’re feeling okay after an hour, you can go home.”
I felt my fists clench involuntarily. Home. Like it was that simple. Like we would just walk out of here and pretend none of this had ever happened.
“The nurse will give you post-op care information, but you should be good to go.”
Summer’s voice was soft but laced with fear when she finally spoke. “Will there be a lot of pain after?”
Dr. Moss shook her head, smiling a little too easily. “Nothing a Tylenol can’t handle.” She gave Summer’s shoulder a light tap, a gesture that was probably meant to be reassuring, then walked toward the door. “The nurse will be in to get you prepped, and I’ll be back in a few.”
Summer gave a small, polite smile, the kind that didn’t reach her eyes, then shifted her stare to the ceiling, crossing her arms over her stomach protectively. Her expression was unreadable. And if my mind was this fucked up right now, I couldn’t begin to imagine what was happening inside hers.
“Are you scared?” I asked the question lowly, though I already knew the answer.
She nodded immediately, blowing out a chilling breath. “Yeah.”
Silence. I exhaled, rubbing a hand down my face before I looked at her again. “You want to think about it some more? This pamphlet says you still have time.” I fidgeted with the edges of the tri-fold paper, my last, desperate attempt to change the course of this moment.
Summer didn’t move. Didn’t react. She just kept breathing, slow and steady, as if she were convincing herself to stay in this body, to see this through. “No,” she finally answered, her voice blank, emotionless.
I turned away, jaw pinched tight as I took in a deep breath, trying…failing to stop myself from pushing, but my heart had other plans. “What if you regret it?”
Her breath hitched. Her hands curled into tight fists, the paper sheet crinkling beneath her grip. Then she turned to me, and my chest caved in at the single tear that spilled down her cheek. Her voice was so soft, so devastatingly final when she spoke.
“Iwillregret it. Probably every day for the rest of my life.” An aching sigh left her lips. Her gaze drifted back to the ceiling, her fingers curling into her stomach, as if she were mourning something she hadn’t even fully grasped yet. “But I’d regret resenting this baby… resenting you more.”
And just like that, everything inside me shattered. I nodded, reluctantly absorbing the reality in front of me. A chalky dryness coated my throat, making it hard to breathe; each swallow felt like sandpaper scratching my insides. There was a hammering in my chest, a silent, desperate plea lingering on my tongue. But I wouldn’t say it because I believed it was her body, her choice. Even if it shattered me. Even if every fiber of my being wanted to beg her to reconsider. Instead, I reached out, sliding my hand on top of hers, then slowly lowered my head to rest there. She convulsed, veiled grief rippling through her body. I knew she was holding that sob hostage, trying to keep it in. But under my touch, it broke free. We sat like that for what felt like an eternity, locked in a sorrow that neither of us knew how to escape.
I blinked. And somehow, it was over. Ms. Teresa entered the room as Summer was being observed post-procedure. Everything moved in a dazed blur. An hour later, she was free to go, sent off with instructions to rest for the next day or two. We stepped outside into the thick, humid air. The crowd of protestors had mostly thinned. Some signs were still scattered along the pavement. Ms. Teresa slid into the driver’s seat of the car, giving us a moment. I stuffed my hands into my pockets, knowing I would melt if I touched Summer right now. She wrapped her arms around herself, as if she were cold, but the air was stifling, thick with heat and grief. Neither of us knew what to say or do. Until she spoke.
“I love you.” Her voice was fragile, yet sure.
“I love you.” I didn’t hesitate. I swallowed hard, then exhaled. “I’m still on lockdown, but I can sneak away if you need me to.”
Amusement curved her lips, and she nodded. I lifted my hand, brushing my fingers along her jaw, then stroking her cheek with my thumb. I memorized her face, committing this moment to memory because I wanted to remember her just like this—strong and brave and broken. She melted into me as I wrapped my arms around her, holding her like I could somehow keep her from slipping through my fingers. Her face pressed into my chest, her fingertips gripping the fabric of my t-shirt, a silent request to stay a little longer. We didn’t speak. We didn’t need to because our bodies spoke for us. The slight tremble in her hands. The lingering touch before pulling away. The way we stalled, standing only a mere inch apart, just enough to feel the air between us again. Neither of us looked at each other right away. Because looking would mean acknowledging the turning point we were facing, but I couldn’t leave without one last thing.
I bent, pressing a soft, reverent kiss to her forehead, then let my lips glide over the curve of her nose before finding her mouth. I didn’t care that her mother was in the car watching us. I kissed her slow, unhurried, my hands cradling her face like she was the most precious thing I had ever held. I tasted her tears, absorbing them like medicine, as if they could heal me. She traced over my chest, then down my stomach, resting at my waist. I parted her lips with my tongue, and she moaned softly, breathlessly. Our mouths moved in perfect sync, tongues dancing to a flawless melody. This wasn’t a heated, reckless kiss. This was devotion. By the time we pulled apart, I was gasping for air, but breathing for her. Our foreheads touched, and we exchanged one last embrace, holding each other a little tighter, knowing that when we let go, we would never be the same again.
Echo
October 2019, The Day After the Wedding that Wasn’t
Summer wouldn’t let me go. Or maybe I wouldn’t let her go. I wasn’t sure. All I knew was that it was midnight, and we were still tangled together on the couch in the sunroom. The Knights’ house had long since fallen into silence, the soft chirps of crickets outside the only thing breaking the stillness. After her sisters’ funny interruption, no one else had bothered to check on us, as if they already knew we weren’t ready to leave whatever moment we had found ourselves in.
Summer was burrowed under my arm, her head resting on my shoulder, and I let myself sink into the peace of it. The peace of her. The disclosures we’d shared tonight had unearthed old bones, skeletons of emotions I had buried deep, only to realize they had never really stayed dead. Every year, around the first week of August, my mood would shift, a restless, unnamed ache burdening me, like something missing. For years, I hadn’t understood why. Then I’d remember. That last kiss. The way Summer had felt in my arms. The way she had slipped through my fingers before I ever had the chance to hold on. I kissed her forehead softly, and she stirred, mumbling something incoherent before curling in closer.
“Are you asleep? I should go,” I said, though I didn’t move.
A sleepy, stubborn whine answered me. “No.”
I chuckled as she tightened her grip on me, her arms locked around my waist as if she could physically keep me from leaving. “It’s late, Sun.” The words dragged, my reluctance thick—I didn’t want to leave. “I don’t want your parents waking up to find me still here. Besides, I promised mine I’d have breakfast with them in the morning.”
