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A soft knock has me looking to the door where Cora slips in wearing a matching white pajama set and carrying a tray. “Morning,” she sings sweetly. “Want some breakfast?”
“Of course,” I smile, but when I shift my round body to sit up, I feel the urge to pee like a racehorse. “I’ll be right back.” Cora chuckles knowingly, and when I return, she has the tray sitting on my bed.
Sitting cross-legged on the bed in my borrowed mumu, I look at the tray. Fresh fruit and tea, but then I see the two things I’ve been having every morning for weeks now. “You have a craving for cottage cheese and mustard too?” I ask her. Before she answers, I add with a pinched brow, “Wait, is this carrot and turmeric juice? I love this.”
“Um,” she hesitates. “Actually, Rafael dropped them off on our porch this morning. Along with a ton of homemade food, your Tums, pregnancy pillow, and a small weekender bag.”
My head falls into my hands and I groan. “How am I supposed to fall out of love with him when he does shit like this?”
“I don’t know,” she says solemnly.
“I think I need to move out, Cora.” She sighs and waits for me to continue. “As much as it pains me, as much as I know it’s going to be harder as a mother of newborn twins, I don’t see how else I’m supposed to get over him.”
“Have you considered, oh, I don’t know, talking to him about the possibility of being together?”
“You and I both know where he stands.”
“No, babe. That was with other people. They’re not you.”
Her statement hits me harder than I expect it to. Maybe she’s right. I know I have to talk to him, and I will. I want to. But this something I can’t bring myself to fathom. Can Rafael change? Does he want to? Based on the way he looked when I finally confessed my love to him, he’s never even considered me as more than a friend. As more than a teenage crush.
“Good morning, ladies,” Marco says, peeking into the room and holding my bag Rafael apparently dropped off. He sets it down and leans against the door frame. “Sweetheart,” he says to Cora. “Are you ready for your prenatal massage?”
Her shoulders bunch up in excitement. “Yes, please.”
This lucky woman gets to be married to a massage therapist. I envy her.
“Angie, would you like one after Cora’s done?”
“Yes please!”
“Okay. You’re up first, my love,” he smiles, then heads down the hall to his home massage room.
“We’ll talk after?” Cora asks, squeezing my hand.
“Yeah. I’ll enjoy my breakfast. Go ahead.”
After she leaves, I open my weekender bag and immediately am surprised to find my mom’s journal on top as well as my Kindle.
Of course he would do something nice like this. Ugh.
Taking both, I sit on the bed again and crack open mom’s words, hoping to find solace in them.
4/18
Today my sweet girl, you had a poop so big you scared yourself. So while I finished folding laundry, Dada changed your diaper. You were so upset, screaming and crying. But I listened from the other room as he sang the silliest little song to you. And that was it. You stopped crying and listened to his awful singing voice while I fell deeper in love with him.
He’s wonderful with you, Angela. Serendipity brought you to our lives, but I know it was for a reason. He was made to be your father, I just know it. I know it like I know everything about you.
You’re almost two months old and I can’t believe it. It’s been both the hardest and most joyful time. Time has slowed. Our days and nights are the same. But you remain our bright light.
Never dull your shine, baby girl.
Love,
Mama
4/19
