Page 64 of Thorns That Bloom
My message to him is a little too plain, driven only by fearand guilt. ‘I’m sorry for what I said and how I ran off. I didn’t mean it’ really isn’t enough, is it?
It’s never been easy for me to open up to others, though… I don’t know if it has anything to do with my upbringing or if it’s simply a Sam problem. Either way, the implications of opening up to Theo in particular scare me, no matter how much I know deep down I would be safe.
Wouldn’t it make us more than just friends? Wouldn’t it push us even further into the gray area that I have no clue how to deal with?
I stare at the cup in my hand, realizing I need to pee again.
None the wiser about what to do, I decide to leave it for later, hoping that Theo will perhaps respond with something that makes me feel better or gives way to a more genuine apology. I do some things around my apartment—put out a dozen small fires I’ve been letting smolder throughout the week, like the dishes, putting away more baby clothes, laundry, and sorting out some legal stuff.
My hospital bag is half ready. My birth plan is a scary folder on my computer that I get pretty anxious about opening. I wish I could press pause for a little while. It seemed like I had so much time at the beginning. Now, everything is passing too fast. The baby is growing, new responsibilities keep popping up, and the pressure on me to be a responsible, stable, competent adult and parent keeps mounting.
I can’t afford to allow this issue with Theo to burden me on top of all of that. I have enough worries, pains, and aches to deal with. And when I ask myself what advice I’d give to my baby girl—sometime far, far in the future—if she asked me how to deal with a similar situation, it would probably be to notlet it fester and totalk.
Begrudgingly, I take my own advice and do something I absolutely hate.
With the phone next to my ear and a finger in my mouth as I anxiously bite down on the inside of my lip, I give Theo a call.
I pace around the nursery. It’s the room that relaxes me the most with its muted, warm colors and cute cartoon pictures of animals I’ve bought, but it isn’t doing enough to stop my heart leaping into my throat with every ring.
The idea of Theo deciding that perhaps I’m too much effort and drama after all grips me. Maybe that is why he hasn’t responded. Maybe that’s why he—
He finally picks up.
I hear him take a breath. “Sam?”
The way my entire body relaxes nearly makes me want to grab my belly out of fear that it will drop to the floor. I swallow hard and blink, stopping by the window.
“Hey.”
I never call anyone. I hate talking on the damn phone, because I never know what to do when I can’t see a person in front of me.
“You didn’t…didn’t answer my message, so I wasn’t sure if…”
He lets out a loud huff, too close to the phone’s microphone. “Oh, shit. Right. No, no! I meant to respond. I’m sorry I…I was going to.”
There’s something strange about Theo’s voice. Something strained and weirdly fractured. His breath is loud against my ear, making me draw my brows together in confusion.
“I was going to get back to you when I um…when my mind was a little clearer,” he mumbles, letting out an awkward, muffled laugh.
I dart my eyes around the scenery outside the nursery window without actually focusing on anything. “Are you okay? You sound different,” I say, tightening my grip on the phone.
There’s an obvious pause. Nothing but his distant, shaky breaths permeates my hearing. I want to give him time to answer, like he always does with me, but I am not as patient as he is.
“I’m grateful that you did what you did. To make me feel comfortable. I wasn’t— Ah, I didn’t mean what I said.”
“I know you didn’t,” he mutters before a strange hiss.
Is he in pain? “Theo?”
After another moment of agonizing silence, he breathes, more controlled this time. “It’s the weekend, so I’ve stopped taking the suppressants. They… The usual side effect for me is that the rut hits me straight away much harder. I’m just a little…mhmm, just a bit uncomfortable right now, that’s all.”
Of course. How could I be so self-centered as to not even consider that?
After all, suppressants are a pesky medication that usually works well, but not always. They don’t work at all for some, and for most, there are various bothersome side effects, big or small. There’s just not enough venus in the world to justify more money going into further, more complex research.
“You shouldn’t have done that for me if you knew—”
“It’s fine,” he soothes me, but his voice trembles at the end. Not like he’s in pain. Not exactly. “It’s no big deal, Sam. I’m just…really fucking hot. Should be peachy by Monday. I’m…I’m sorry I upset you,” he says, nearly whining into the phone. “I’m glad you’re not mad, though. You have no idea…”
