Page 19 of The Child of Rue Royale
I don’t know why anyone would trust me to figure anything out when all I’ve been doing lately is burning shit to the ground.
The time I spent with Bastian becomes thebefore,and I push the memories down to the pits of my soul, trying to stall them at every turn, but they still have their way of popping up. I chastise myself to get my shit together. I’m going to bring him back, so why is being here so devastating? Yet I still mourn him, miss every part of him, and it’s only been exacerbated since finding out we’re having a son.
If he were here, he would hold me and tell me, “Baby, let go.” And he would tell me it would be okay because he would be by my side every second, every minute along the way.
Chantal and I share what’s now her queen bed, which feels minuscule compared to the king bed we shared at her house. My belly needs its own pillow these days, taking up more space than I could have imagined. I wake up early, and after watching Chantal sleep peacefully for a few minutes, find the courage to walk into Bastian’s room.
I draw the sunproof shades and watch the waves roll onto the shore, where early morning runners trot along the beach and couples play fetch with their labs and huskies. I slide open the closet door, taking in his California clothes still hung in the closet. Board shorts and swim trunks. T-shirts and jeans. Finally, I fall backward onto the bed, feeling as if Bastian was catching me in his arms, wrapping me in his love, telling me to keep moving forward. It’s all worth something. I just don’t understand it yet.
It’s not a terrible place to be stuck, but that won’t stop me from wanting to bury myself in my depression. Now that I’m here, I don’t know what to do with myself. So, I get up and walk out, closing the door behind me with no plans to go back in.
We spend the next few days preparing, shopping, and undertaking the busy work of putting roots into a new place. I do everything I can to avoid the places Bastian and I went to. I don’t go to the beach, but watch Chantal do yoga in the sand. We drive ten miles out of the way to avoid the grocery store where Bastian and I bought snacks. During the day, I sleep while Chantal works on spells and potions after finding a perfect New Age shop with excellent witchcraft supplies. I watch her as I put my dishes in the sink, working hard on her craft, trying to be a better witch.
She watches Bravo with me in her bedroom, the only room I can be in because it’s the only room I’d never set foot in. Chantal makes comments about the cute guys, the cool weather, the beautiful ocean, and I try my best to listen or pretend I’m listening, but it almost feels like I’m not fully inside my body. In fact, the only things that bring me back to reality are the little kicks I get from the inside by my little baby.
“We need a bassinet, right? And a stroller? Oh, and a car seat. What size diapers? When do babies eat real food? Why do you need wipes?Can’t you just use toilet paper? If you feed your baby with your boob, then why do you need bottles?”
Chantal’s questions overwhelm me, even if I find them amusing, but I answer them as best as I can, not wanting to remind Chantal that she will need to be a mother, and it’s not that far off.
After hearing about my home birth fears, Cassius arranges for a skilled doctor and birth at a birthing center. This doctor must be kept in Cassius’s pocket for human situations, as Cassius informs me that in some circumstances vampires rely on humans willing to help them out.
He assured me the facility has windowless rooms, and no questions will be asked about why my child needs this confidential care. I accept because it’s a place that’s more intimate than a hospital but has staff on hand in case of emergency. And until then, I’ll have weekly checkups until the baby is born.
Mother calls constantly, and I often don’t have the will to talk to her, so Chantal becomes my voice. “Yes, she’s eating. No, she’s not drinking enough water. I don’t know…pregnant women can’t sleep on their back?”
Packages show up on the doorstep multiple times a day, necessary baby items I order or Mother has sent. I don’t open them, but Chantal does, piling boxes of baby supplies in Bastian’s room and shutting the door. I know I’ll have to start doing something soon, something to prepare for this child, but I can’t seem to make myself move from the bed that I order everything from.
Mother has told the coven that Chantal and I have gone on a “baby moon,” whatever the fuck that is. So I look up the hashtag on Instagram, and it’s picture after picture of couples vacationing before their babies are born.
It’s heartbreaking, longing for a partner to share my child with, but then I look up at Chantal, my eyes filled with tears, and say, “There’s no one else on Earth I would rather baby moon with.” My head is on her lap as the TV glows across the room.
“No one alive, you mean.” She laughs with a side-eye. I can only shrug because yes, of course, I would love if I could be on a romantic getaway with Bastian before we welcome our child into the world, but that’s not our reality.
“What about you, Chantal? What’s going to happen when the baby police come for you?”
Chantal looks up to the ceiling, crossing her legs on the bed and grabbing a bag of Doritos from my hand. “I’ll dodge it until I can’t dodge it anymore. It’s what we have to do, right?” She pops a Dorito in her mouth, looking so beautiful.
We are so resigned to do what our coven tells us to, and it sickens me. Bastian always said I could change things, but I didn’t have the faith that I could.
“You’re happy you’re pregnant now, right? Minus the whole boy thing. You were happy.”
“Yeah, but that’s because he’s Bastian’s. And it wasn’t forced. It just happened. Chantal,” I say, grasping her hand swiftly. “Try to find love so it feels worth it. I hate the idea of you being pressured into what they were starting with me.”
“It’s not so bad. It’s what we were meant to do, right?” Her lashes flicker, her mind convincing her.
“Yeah. But it should be our choice when we’re ready.” I sit up and reach for the bag of chips, but she snatches it away, a snarky look on her face.
“Chantal. Give me the chips.”
“Your mom told me you’re eating too much salt, and have you looked at your feet lately?” She blows out her cheeks and widens her eyes, then mouths, “Huge.”
“Chantal. Give me the chips. They are the only thing I have left in this godforsaken life.”
“Too bad,” she sings and throws the bag in the air. Above us, the bag of chips bursts open, but instead of sinking to the floor, every chip floats from the bag, hovering above us. All the broken pieces dance in the air like little stars. “Get them yourself.” She laughs, the chips circulating above our heads. “Oh, but that would mean you have to get up, wouldn’t you?”
“You bitch,” I say, fighting the laugh inside me.
“Get em! Just dancing in the air, begging to be eaten.” She giggles, and I sneer, trying to think of something devious I could do with the chips to get back at her, but as my thoughts run wild with different ideas, the sound of a knock on the front door freezes us.
