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A part of me understands where she’s coming from. Sometimes, it’s easier to have blinders on than admit that what you’re doing is morally questionable.
It’s the one lesson I learned from Adrian. Nothing is simple. Every choice, every feeling, every fork in the road—it comes with complications. Even something as seemingly simple as love is the farthest thing from it, when you really look close.
You gift someone your heart and they turn it into a weapon.
“You want to leave, Junepenny?”Adrian asked me a year ago, after his third or fourth fall off the wagon.“Go ahead. See how far you get before you realize I’m the only family you have. I’m not perfect, but I’m here.”
“Here” was a low bar, but no one else in my life was clearing it. I had parents who weren’t around and a sister who left home long before she needed to, just to get away. Ex-boyfriends that never lasted and a career that had abandoned me.
But Adrian was there. And underneath his veiled threats, I saw the seal of a promise. He would never, ever leave.
Until he did.
And when he did, he left in the worst way possible. There is no coming back from where he’d gone. No phone calls or letters or hope for an encore. Just eternal silence.
I try to remember his scent. Whiskey, of course. Sweat. The blandness of his cheap laundry detergent.
But he’d had a specific scent before then. In the vast in-betweens of his sobriety journey, there were still moments when he smelled like himself.
What was that scent…?
I can almost pick it out in the fragments of old memories. On the periphery of my feelings. But every time I try to catch it, it springs out of reach like a dream that’s fading fast.
How can I have forgotten his scent so fast? So soon?
Maybe because all you’re smelling now is vanilla.
Don’t.
Am I wrong?
He’s not you.
No—he’s better isn’t he? Taller. Smarter. More confident. Far more handsome.
I sigh so deeply that Sara looks at me, her eyebrows knotting with concern. But she doesn’t ask me, and I appreciate that. I’m not sure I can keep up the pretense much longer.
“Well, enough of my boring life story,” she says, clapping her hands. “Shall we move onto the sonogram?”
“Yes,” I say, desperate for a distraction from my own thoughts.
The machine flickers to life, and Sara pulls out what looks like a metal penis. “I know it looks a little intimidating, but it’s just an ultrasound probe. It’ll be a touch cold and you’ll experience some mild discomfort, but I’ll be gentle. You ready?”
“As I’ll ever be.”
“Okay then. Lie back and part your legs for me, please.”
I do as I’m told, the smell of cold metal skimming my nostrils, followed by the acrid prick of sanitizer. Then I feel the probe at my vagina and I suck in a sharp breath.
“Then here we go.”
The probe slips inside me and I bite down on my tongue. The pinch of discomfort fades after a moment. I turn my attention to the monitor.
“Okay,” Sara says, looking at the screen along with me. “There we go. That’s your womb… aaand that’s your baby.” She points with one gloved finger at a blobby little alien shape rendered in black and gray.
A human being in the making.
“Oh wow,” I breathe. “Wow. Wow…”
