The air outside was chilling—maybe it isn't, or maybe it's just a feeling—I couldn't help but shiver.
I stood bent over in front of the clinic, catching my breath like I had just run a marathon, and not because I had a change of mind regarding my abortion.
What do I do now? I thought to myself. I already retracted my decision—now what's the way forward? How do I raise this child alone? How do I explain to people who the father is when the time comes? What if he or she starts asking about their father—what do I say?
I raised myself from the position I was in and put a hand on my waist, rummaging through my purse shakily, looking for my phone. When I finally got it out, I dialed Chloe's number—again. She picked up on the first ring.
"Hey," her soft voice came from the phone.
"Hi," I whispered, not knowing what else to say.
"Are you okay?" she said, concern evident in her voice. "Don't worry about anything for now. I'll always be with you every step of the way," she reassured me.
"I know, I know... but what if—"
"Uh-uh... no what ifs. What's done is done. You can't go back on it," she cut me off.
"Okay," I affirmed, not wanting to argue, because I wouldn't win.
"Good... can I call you later in the afternoon? I have a lot of work on my desk that I have to finish before closing hours. I don't want to stay late at work," she said, exhaustion dripping from each syllable. And I understand—Chloe's job is exhausting and time-consuming, but it pays well. Really well.
"Alright. I won't take your time any longer. I'll be expecting you later in the evening," I responded. "I'll be making dinner," I added.
"Yes, Lord! I can't wait," she cheekily responded. I can't cook—not even a bit—and she knows it.
"What? I'm serious," I exclaimed, feeling offended by her jab. "Like it's that hard to cook." I rolled my eyes, not understanding the complexity in the art of cooking.
"Yeah, yeah, I know right," she mocked.
We spoke on the phone for a little while before hanging up. I ordered a ride home and slept immediately after I got home, throwing myself on the bed. I was drained—mentally, emotionally, and physically. It felt like I had been beating iron all day with no rest.
*******************
Ring! Ring!
The sound of my phone ringing woke me from my slumber, and my face twisted in a frown, not appreciating the disturbance.
The frown deepened when I saw the name flashing like a warning on my phone—Selena.
Urgh! What does she want? I thought to myself. I wasn't really in the right headspace to have a conversation with my sister. But I picked up anyway. If I didn't, she wouldn't stop calling—and I definitely did not want that.
"Hello," her voice sounded through the phone speaker.
I took a deep breath before answering. "Hello."
"So, I just wanted to remind you that the dinner is in five days. Which is next week! Are you prepared?" she said, but I knew she was lying. That wasn't what she wanted to ask. She knew I knew the dinner was next week, so it made no sense to call me.
"Selena, cut the bullshit and say what you really want," I snapped, going straight to the point—not in the mood for beating around the bush. "Sorry, you just met me at a bad time," I said, later feeling guilty for my tone. She's still my sister.
"It's fine. Did you... do it?" she whispered, like it was a secret even the air wasn't supposed to know—it is a secret.
"What?" I said, playing dumb and pretending not to know what she was talking about.
"You know what," she countered.
"I don't. You have to spell it out for me," I continued playing dumb.
"Serena... the baby! Did you... abort it?" she finally said.
"No," I deadpanned—and hung up.
My phone rang over and over again, but I ignored it, slipping it under the pillow. I wasn't in the mood.
The vibrations eventually stopped beneath the pillow, which meant she'd finally given up and stopped calling.
The silence that followed was loud, and I stared at the ceiling, hoping for answers that were never going to come.
The room was dim. The late afternoon light filtered through the curtains, casting a dull glow inside. I hadn't eaten all day, and my stomach reminded me with a quiet growl. I placed my hand on it—but the moment I touched my bump, hunger was forgotten temporarily.
I thought of my child again.
Not with the sadness from earlier... but with a flicker of renewed strength.
I have to be the best for my child, I told myself. And feeding myself is the beginning of that.
So I ordered food from the downtown Mexican restaurant. I'd been craving tacos for days now, and today felt like the day to finally indulge. While waiting, I went into the bathroom to shower—to rinse away the weight clinging to my skin, to wash the shadows floating above my head.
*********************
Ding!
The sound of my doorbell ringing made me lift my head from my phone. I stood up from the couch and headed for the door, but remembered to check through the peephole before opening it. It was the delivery guy.
I opened the door and collected my food, then shut it again without saying much.
I relished every bite and finally lay on the couch in quiet comfort, belly full, body warm.
I must have dozed off again, because the next thing I heard was the sound of keys jingling and the front door opening.