Page 65 of A December to Remember
“Let it out,” she said softly. “I’ve got you and I won’t let go. Let it out.”
“I—I can’t,” she stammered.
“Yes. You can. You must. You have nothing to lose with me.”
She found herself gripping hold of the back of Star’s coat, her open mouth pressed to her sister’s shoulder as she tried to stifle her sobs. Star was so much smaller than she was and yet she was practically hanging off her and Star was holding her firm.
“What if I can’t stop?” she managed to gasp.
“Then I’ll wait with you until you can.”
Simone sagged further. The weight of this interminable grief wanted to pull her under the earth and bury her alive.
“Come on,” Star said. There was a garden bench tucked beneath the front bay window, hidden from the street by an arbor, draped in the forlorn limbs of a rambling rose. Simone allowed herself to be guided to it and almost collapsed onto the cold wood. Just inside the porchway behind the log store was a basket of thick blankets—Mrs. Dalgleish liked to drink her morning coffee sitting on the bench, whatever the weather—and Star hastily grabbed two, shaking them out and wrapping them around Simone before pulling her close.
Simone allowed herself to be swaddled by her baby sister, leaning in and resting her face against Star’s chest. Star rocked her gently and she didn’t fight it. The tenderness of Star’s hands rubbing her back through the thick blankets finally untied the tourniquet around her chest.
For a few minutes she couldn’t speak. There was no room for words as the grief spilled out of her in wracking sobs and a high-pitched keen. Her sadness was visceral, primal, every lament convulsive. Star didn’t speak either; she simply held her tightly,still rocking her, letting Simone know that she wasn’t alone, that she was safe.
It took a long time.
When Simone finally felt as though she could control her voice, she looked up at Star.
“I feel so sad all the time,” she said in a voice still shaking with sorrow.
Star nodded, her eyes shining with tears. “I know.” She sniffed. “I know.”
“I don’t know what to do.”
“We’ll work it out. Together.”
She didn’t know how long they’d been sitting on the bench beneath the window, but Simone suddenly realized that she was very cold and if she was cold wrapped in two blankets, Star must be freezing. She took a shaky breath.
“Fancy a hot chocolate?” she asked, her voice catching in little hiccupping spasms, the aftermath of crying for so long.
“I thought you’d never ask.” Star smiled, the lift of her cheeks causing the tears balancing on her lashes to spill over. She sniffed, wiping her face with her coat sleeve. “Watery eyes. Must be the cold.”
“Must be.”
With frozen fingers, they managed to get the front door open. Without saying a word, Star helped to build a fire in the hearth and then followed Simone out to the kitchen to make hot chocolate. Simone knew that her sister was staying close while giving her space. She appreciated it. She felt rinsed out. Tonight had been cathartic but exhausting. She wasn’t cured. She hadn’t expected to be. But her chest felt looser somehow.
They took their drinks back into the sitting room, and Star pulled the two armchairs in front of the fire. They sat: frozenfingers curled around hot mugs, the firelight casting dancing shadows on the walls.
“I don’t know where to begin.” Simone stared into the flames.
“Start at your first round of IVF. Tell me everything. And I mean everything—don’t leave anything out.”
“That’s going to take a while.”
“I’ve got time.” She blew on her hot chocolate and took a sip.
Simone sighed and closed her eyes. What she’d have liked to do was go to bed and sleep for three days, forget any of this happened, go back to stuffing it all down. But Star was right. She needed to say it all and she needed to say it now. To creep back into denial would be easier, but it wasn’t going to help her mental health and it certainly wasn’t going to save her marriage. Now was the right time.
She started right at the beginning, that first appointment in their local GP surgery. Back when she was convinced that it would be easy, despite all the warnings from friends and health professionals not to get her hopes up. How could she fail to get pregnant when every fiber of her being was telling her she needed to be a mother? It was inconceivable that someone with such a strenuous desire to become pregnant could fail.
The first few sentences stuck in her throat. She felt mortified, like she was making a fuss or being a bore—two things she couldn’t abide in others and especially not in herself. But as she went on, her words no longer felt like they were laced with razor blades. The edges smoothed and the words flowed, and she found she couldn’t stop.
“We signed up to a fertility clinic that had good feedback from other female couples and then we found a great sperm donor. He’s Evette’s complexion and hair color but with green eyes, tall, athletic build, and an academic.”
