‘You don’t need to be weird about this. I don’t want either of you to tiptoe around me. What I need from both of you is for you to act normal. Be normal, act normal.’
‘Sure,’ says Mum, a little too chirpily. ‘So, what’s new?’ she says as she selects a container of honeycomb and hands over a ten-dollar bill to the vendor.
‘Our baby is as big as a blueberry. Did you know that?’
‘No,’ says Mum, sounding interested. ‘What about yours, Caitlin?’
Caitlin shoots her a look.
‘Oh, Caitlin, yours is more like the size of a butternut pumpkin.’
‘Paige…’ says Caitlin quietly. ‘We really need to sort this out. I thought we’d moved on.’ She pauses. ‘What did they say at the clinic?’
‘Yum. Poffertjes,’ I say, spotting the food trucks. ‘Have you both eaten?’
‘Uh, no, not yet. Should we get some?’ suggests Mum.
‘Definitely. Yes,’ says Caitlin.
‘About what you said before,’ says Mum as we stand in queue waiting. ‘So, have you? Decided?’
‘I think I have.’
‘Right, but are you still considering the other option at all?’ asks Caitlin.
‘Yes, but I’m pretty sure I know what I want.’ After I say this, I realise I’m not totally sure about things. I think I know what I want but committing to that decision is a step I’m not yet ready to take.
‘Where does Nick fit into all this?’ asks Caitlin. ‘I can’t imagine he… Is he on board with this? I mean, he’s a medical professional, so of course he’s going to know what’s best,’ Caitlin deduces.
‘I know you’re both worried about me, but this isn’t helping. And to be honest, I’d like to talk about what happens if—’
Caitlin stiffens. ‘I’m sorry, Paige, but I can’t do this. I can’t talk to you about that right now. I think you’re rushing into this decision. Too quick.’
‘You can’t “do this”?’ I say, making air quotes. ‘Really? Because I had an appointment the other day at a clinic to discuss an abortion. The woman there, she told me everything I needed to know and everything I could expect. And I listened. I listened to her. I considered it. I walked out of there thinking that maybe I could do it. Maybe I could do this thing and be okay with it. Maybe not right away, but maybe with time. But I got into the car and I put the key in the ignition, and all I could think of was how I felt about this baby.’
‘But what if you leave us all behind? What are we supposed to do then? How are we going to live without you? And how are we going to live with ourselves knowing we didn’t try to prevent it from happening?’
‘Nobody is forcing me to take this risk.’
‘Mum, say something! Tell her this is crazy!’ says Caitlin.
Mum’s face pales. ‘Listen, honey, why don’t you spend a bit more time talking to Nick about his concerns? Take it slow, listen to each other, think about the future and what it might be like for either of you.’
‘Exactly,’ says Caitlin. ‘Ask him if he knows how often he should be changing a kitchen sponge or a set of bed sheets before you essentially ask him to become a single parent to your baby.’
‘There are millions of amazing and happy single parents in the world, Caitlin. You’re overstepping the line.’
‘Just telling it how it is.’
‘How dare you?’ I spit. ‘Do you have any idea how hard it was for me to show up at a clinic to discuss and seriously consider an abortion? After I gave birth to a baby that was not breathing and I nearly lost my life? He died inside of me! You held him in your arms! My life will never be the same after losing him, so you tell me how I am supposed to carry the guilt of willingly losing another baby.’ I throw my hands in the air. ‘Go on, tell me. Tell me how I am supposed to do that.’
‘Sweetheart, calm down,’ pleads Mum. ‘This isn’t healthy for you.’
Caitlin is staring at me, tears streaming down her cheeks.
‘Next, please!’ calls the guy in the food truck.
Through gritted teeth I tell her, ‘You’re my sister. You’re supposed to be here for me. You’re supposed to tell me you’d be here for Nick too.’
‘Next!’ the vendor repeats.
Mum takes me and Caitlin by our wrists, the way she used to when she’d march us out of a shop for touching what we shouldn’t have, and we step out of the queue.
‘Weekly! You’re supposed to change bed sheets weekly! But not everybody always does!’ I shake my arm free from Mum, who’s still holding onto me.
‘You know what, Mrs Perfect? I am sick and tired of you rubbing it in with your perfect life and your way always being the right way. Not everyone has or aspires to have the kind of life you have. And you might have a perfect house and perfect kids and a perfect husband, but—’
‘Actually, Paige, nobody has a perfect life, least of all me. You know nothing of my so-called perfect life.’
I cross my arms. ‘Oh, please.’
‘Well, you wouldn’t be saying that if you…’ She stops herself and her body suddenly stiffens.
‘If I what?’ I demand.
She presses her lips together. ‘Nothing. It’s nothing you need to concern yourself with.’
‘Oh, so you know all about my business and you’re allowed to interfere in it, but you can’t even tell us what’s going on with you?’
‘What’s going on with her?’ asks Mum.
‘This has something to do with the night Nick and I babysat for you, doesn’t it?’
Caitlin crosses her arms. ‘This isn’t the right time or place. We have more pressing things to worry about in this family right now.’
‘Oh, like what?’
‘Like you,’ she says.
‘Wow,’ I say. ‘I’m done here. Sorry, Mum, but I need to leave.’
I reach the main road around the corner and start gasping for air. My bus comes to a stop across the street. On it is an advertisement for wristwatches currently on sale.
Time is running out, reads the advertisement.
I catch the third bus home. The one promoting seat belt safety. Keep your kid safe, it says.
Thirty-Three
Nick
I’m in between appointments when Sarah pokes her head round the door and tells me there’s someone insisting on seeing me. ‘Apparently it’s urgent. Her name’s Caitlin Callaway. Is that your sister-in-law?’
‘Show her in,’ I tell her.
Moments later, Caitlin practically storms in and whips the patient chair out, plonking herself in it.
‘Nick, this is serious.’
‘I know. I know it’s serious.’
‘No, I mean it’s beyond. My dad is sleeping on the sofa. The sofa! In over thirty years of marriage, my dad has never by choice slept anywhere in the house but his bedroom. And do you want to know how many nights he’s been taking up residence on the sofa?’
‘How many?’ I ask, going along with it.