Page 11 of Slow Burn
Silently I fold in beside her, unable to breathe for a moment. It happens. I think about her or what she might be doing or if she even knows I exist. If I want her to know that I exist. I think about her birthdays and her first steps, first day at school, first tooth, and I can’t breathe. I have a part of me out there that I never get to make a choice about ever again. Because, I made just one choice, and it was for her.
In high school, both Lola and I kept to a tiny circle of people. Us, her younger sister Poppy, my older brother Anders and a few others. Then Seth and Bart entered the picture and none of us were ever the same. For me, I lost my best friend and Poppy lost her sister, and really, herself.
Oh, we still pretended things were the same; went out together and spent time over the summer doing what teenagers do. It was never the same, and we all realized it about the same time.
Senior prom. I had never dated, not really. One boy, a safe friend named Chester, would kiss me, hold my hand at the movies, call me and talk until late, but it was nothing. For prom, I wanted something. Something that was just mine, something that felt as if it had been my choice. Everything else in my life had already been chosen for me.
Life had been changing and I’d had no say in those changes. For one night, I made the choices. I said yes to the quarterback who I knew just wanted to bang the virgin Princess. Yes to drinks at the hotel. Hell yes to ditching my friends and my last night with them. I even said yes to no condom-I was on the pill. I made the choices that night.
When I realized the mistakes those choices had been, it was too late. I was eighteen with a diploma and a baby and no one else. Lola was gone, Poppy too. Then my brother. Nineteen and he couldn’t handle the pressure of the life my parents expected him to live. I often wonder if he hadn’t died, if my choice might have been different. I don’t think so, but I wonder.
“I just want her to have better. Better than us. Better than me.”I explained to my nurse, as my parents made sure I signed the paperwork. Taking away my choice.
Hours after giving birth to a beautiful baby girl, holding her and feeding her once, I gave her away. I knew nothing about them but what my mother had told me. She had chosen them, of course. They struggled for years to conceive, had a nice home far from my family, and they could give her everything I knew I couldn’t.
I didn’t cry when they let me say goodbye, or when I left the hospital alone. Didn’t cry when my parents insisted both their children were dead to them. We made a disgrace of the Gold name, they said. Had made bad choices that made them look bad. By then, I had no tears left for them.
Oh, I spent nights in my dingy apartment in Dorchester bawling, curled up, often drunk or high, sobbing until my body hurt. I just don’t think I cried for the right reasons. For the choices I had made, and the ones that had been made for me.
Lola holding me yesterday and telling me to let go, I think it was the first time I cried about my daughter. The little baby I never got to know. Who I watched grow in photos and too few updates from her adoptive parents. I felt an emptiness every day because I was missing a part of me. A part of me that was never meant to be mine, that should have never come about, but that I didn’t regret.
I had wondered how to deal with Lola and Hunter being parents right in front of me. Had decided I would leave before the baby was born. Or right after. Then Levi held that baby out to me last night and pleaded for my help. Told me they needed me.
Did I believe that? Not really. But, damn it felt like suddenly, I needed them. It was the worst possible choice and I would get burned. Why start making the right choices now? I was so good at the wrong ones.
“Don’t lie. Why lie? You want it. I know you do.” I scrunched my nose up as Lola waved a piece hollandaise covered Canadian bacon in my face.
“Not only do I not want it, if you weren’t pregnant, with a high chance of hulking out if I tried it, I wouldn’t let you eat it either.” I slapped her hand away playfully as I cut a bite of my waffle.
“Pregnancy has awakened my taste buds. I think everything is amazzz-za-zing.” Lola added a few extra z’s for effect, popping the pork into her mouth and moaning.
“So I noticed. How you pack away the food you do, I don’t know. I try to eat that way, I spread faster than pancake batter.” Lola rolled her eyes and shoved a forkful of syrupy waffle into her mouth.
“Bullshit! You are perfectly,” Another bite goes into her mouth and I can't make out what she says next “por-tion-ed.” Throwing a napkin at her, I roll my eyes too, laughing with her.
“Thinking that was a compliment. Can’t be sure, you know because the entire breakfast plate in your mouth, Midge.” As she rubbed her belly in contentment, she wiggled her brows and shoved more bacon my way.
I am in awe of the plate tiny Lola is feasting on. Two butter smothered banana nut waffles, a heap of Canadian bacon and four poached eggs. I don’t know where the girl puts it. It’s bright, decadent, even dangerous; kind of like Lola herself.
A look at my egg whites and oat and honey waffle makes me question the old saying you are what you eat. Am I boring? Bland? Jesus. Who waxes existential over breakfast at Yolk?
“Did you know we bet on shit, Gold? The Coopers and the Byrne’s. We bet on life and love and all sorts of absolutely inappropriate shit.” Lola murmurs around a bite of messy eggs.
My fingers close tight around my fork as I feel panic seize me. Ears ringing, pulse jumping, heart racing, my eyes fly to her face as she smiles, wide and bright. Careless and clueless. I make a point of breathing. In. Out. In. Out. Calming myself, I take a bite of waffle and wince at the bland flavor.
“What’s on the table today, Midge?” I don’t look at her, fearing she will see through my calm facade.
“You. Levi. Amelia. I say by Christmas. Hunter says Thanksgiving.” I nearly choke on waffle, twisting on the stools we chose at the counter, my mask of indifference gone.
“Excuse me? What does that mean, exactly, Lola?” My tone is biting, icy and her fork clatters to the plate.
Those big purple eyes go watery as her chin wobbles. Her head bends and her shoulders tremble and I’m a fucking shit friend. I panicked twice in the span of ten seconds and Lola paid the price. Pregnancy has made her tender heart downright mushy and it’s easy to set her off. The icy cut of my voice sounded sharp to my own ears, I can only imagine how it cut her.
“Midge. I didn’t mean it like....” Lola wipes her nose on her napkin, holding a hand up.
“I know. Hormones. I need to head to the library you want to come or go?” I know that right then, she doesn’t want me to go.
“I’ll finish and swing by later, ok, Midge?” Lola nods and slides from her stool, reaching for her purse.
