Abruption (25 page)

I couldn’t take it anymore. “Of course it didn’t cross your mind! Why would it? You’re not an OB/GYN. You said even her OB was shocked. She had no risk factors.”

“That involves trusting what your patients tell you.” His strangled laugh sent a shiver down my spine. “Turns out my wife not only neglected to share that she tested positive for
two
severe thrombophilias, she
failed
to fill the prescription she was given. I couldn’t answer Quinn’s question on how she was handling the daily shots because Britt hadn’t taken one yet.
Not
a one. The real kicker is I excused the billion bullshit reasons she came up with—I forgave her. Chalked it up to a brief lapse in judgment or hormones or whatever. She promised me she’d take the Lovenox. She promised.” By this point, his bitterness was like liquid acid dripping from his tongue. My upset stomach curled into a strangling knot. “Lies on top of lies. She was a goddamn nurse. She fucking knew better.”

The black cloud hovered above, brewing a rainstorm. The kind that infiltrated every joint and settled in your bones hours before it hit. Everything ached. Even the lump in my throat ached. I wanted him to be wrong so bad, wanted his anger toward Brittany to be mistakenly fueled by grief. But Guy was not wrong.

Thrombophilias were considered rare, or
zebras,
as we liked to call them in medicine. So much so, only a few specialties dealt with these conditions on a regular basis or would even think to test for them. If I was asked to name them individually, I probably couldn’t. But I knew they increased a person’s risk for lethal blood clots and a pregnant woman’s risk for placental abruption. I also knew that some were more dangerous than others and that daily anticoagulation injections were reserved for the most severe cases. Anyone with
any
medical training knew this. Nurses definitely knew this. Scared or in denial, Brittany
knew
this.

“I
can’t
forgive her. I’ll never forgive her. Her choices, her lies are the reason my son has been through hell and back. The reason my kids ... have no mother.”
No, no.
I was sick. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. Guy was struggling to hold it together. My arms longed to hold him. To take it all away. But he kept speaking, “I found her. In our bed. A week and a half after she delivered Finn. If you could even call it a delivery. She had
another
crash C-section. This time she only made it twenty-four weeks before she completely abrupted. He was one pound six ounces. One
fucking
pound. I never even asked her, didn’t have to. She was so riddled with guilt she couldn’t look me in the eyes, wouldn’t even go see him in the NICU fighting for his little life. I came home that afternoon to put an end to her selfish bullshit, drag her back to be a mother to our son, and I found her. Lifeless. She
never
saw Finn with her own eyes. She left us. Left my kids without a mother, left me to do it all alone. For what? All because she didn’t want a bruised stomach.”

You left a beautiful family.
She lost it all. I wanted to shake her, wake her from her eternal slumber, and tell her what she’d been missing.
Your two precious gems have NO mother.

The blood in my brain boiled, yet a familiar sadness easily swooped in, stomping on my anger. But then a new fear took hold, and without a second thought, I asked, “What about Finn and Max? Did you have them tested?”

Inherited.
Oh, please no
.

“They tested negative. Thank God. Now I just have to hope they don’t inherit the rest of her family traits.” He shook his head with more disgust. “Did you notice Darla has a slight limp?”

My lungs released a sigh of relief knowing Finn and Maxie were spared. At the same time, his question completely baffled me. I’d met Britt’s mother only once when she picked up the kids a few weeks back. It was pretty obvious she favored her left leg. But our exchange was brief and definitely not personal. I would’ve never pried.

Confused, I asked, “Sure. Arthritis? But what does she have to do with Brittany?”

“No arthritis. The weakness in her leg is a residual impairment from a stroke she had when she was thirty-five, been on anticoagulants ever since.” My eyes went wide and the pit churned. “But when you’re vain and self absorbed, a fictitious car accident is a much more glamorous story to share. Even her daughter didn’t know the truth.
I
found out the nonfiction version after I buried my twenty-four-year-old wife.
After
she died of a pulmonary embolism. She really could have been screened years ago, if she’d known.”

The tears I didn’t remember starting were freely flowing down my cheeks. Swiping did nothing. They wouldn’t stop. The enormity of his grief pummeled me like a freight train with no brakes. Closing our gap, I wrapped my arms around his middle. I wasn’t sure he wanted me this close, but he didn’t pull away. His body seemed frozen, yet his heart beat erratically under my ear. I hugged him for his loss. I hugged him for the unnecessary devastation that had uprooted his life.

I hugged him because there were no words.

Literally none.

Nothing that could ever explain the whys.

The questions have no answers.
I know.

He abruptly stepped back from my arms. His eyes were glazed, and his normally rigid jaw looked limp, like the effort to hold onto his anger took too much effort. Defeat was so much easier.

“I’m tired, Jules. So fucking exhausted I can barely think straight. So please, just give me the decency of answering my question. Where. Were. You?”

“Upstate. We had plans to hike today.” It wasn’t a lie. It just wasn’t the entire truth either.

“At least the two of you are on the same fucking page … for his birthday, right? I call bullshit. Because if that was the reason, or if that was the
only
reason, you wouldn’t be standing here with tears dripping down your cheeks, looking like you just saw a ghost.”

“I’m so sorry. Let’s not do this now. Finn needs to be our first priority.”

“And what would you know about that? You aren’t his
mother
.”

He was right—I was no one’s mother. The last stitch evaporated into thin air. His words took the two pieces of my fractured heart and shattered them. Into a thousand little shards.

He shook his head one last time, disappointment clouding his face before turning and walking away.

“Where are you going?” I couldn’t let him leave like this.

He swung the door open. “I’m doing what a parent does. I’m taking care of my son. I’m … taking
my
minute.”

“Mercedes, that-a you?”

Casey came barreling around the corner, barking. “Shh. Shh. No, Ma, it’s me,” I said, scratching Casey’s head. I knew they’d be up.

“Jules Marie? Why are you-a here? It’s-a five in the morning.” My mother’s voice boomed down the narrow hallway that led to the kitchen. I couldn’t see my parents, but it was a given they were both sipping an espresso, my father with an apricot crostata hanging off his saucer. I could hear her and my father exchange hushed whispers before the kitchen chair scraped against the linoleum.

“Sorry, Ma. Where’s Mercedes? She’s not home?” I asked, wondering what shenanigans my little sister was up to now and thankful for the distraction. I shrugged off my coat and dropped my purse. My mother met me halfway.

“No. She stayed with-a Laura, helping her babysit da kids.” Laura’s little brothers were high school juniors. Babysitting, yeah right. She was getting a call right after I pulled myself together.

My mother palmed my cheeks and rose onto her tiptoes to examine my face. “Bella, what’s-a goin’ on?”
How does she do that?
She always just ... knew. “Alonzo,” she bellowed. “Put the pot on. And bring some-a biscotti. Our girl is-a sick.”

“Ma, I’m not sick and I don’t need tea.” Well, I was sick but not the way she and I were both wishing right now.

“Just biscotti then, you-a need to eat. Come-a sit.” Food made everything better according to CeCe.
Not this.

I walked into the den and sat down. Something about the tattered brown couch (the one my parents refused to get rid of) was comforting. I shared their attachment, a lot happened on this couch over the years. We shared good and bad things, happy and sad things. It was the silent receiver of all Chiappetti memories. Maybe that was why I was here.

“Where’s Lucca?” she asked.

“Finn’s sick again—he had a seizure. Guy called a little before midnight, so Lucca drove me straight to the hospital. He’s okay for now, but he’ll need a few more tests.”

My mother immediately crossed her chest, kissing the rosary beads that dangled from her neck. She reached for my hand lying loosely on my lap and squeezed. She knew what today was, everyone I loved did.

Everyone but one.

I had no idea how it happened, but I couldn’t lie to myself any longer. Somewhere along the line I fell in love with him. With all of them.

Closing my eyes, I prayed too.
God, give me the strength.

“My Bella, you-a can’t go on like this anymore. Too many years. Your heart won’t-a survive. You-a need to open it up, let it bleed. I can-a see it in your eyes, your smile, Jules. He can heal-a you; you can do-a the same for-a him. Va bene, bella. Va bene.” She placed her hand over my heart this time before rising and kissing her rosary beads once more. “Do what you-a need to do to make it-a okay, then you-a find him, tell him, love-a him.”

She just … knew.

Va bene. It’s okay.
It was time.

Know it’s early, but we need to talk.

The scrolling bubble appeared below my text immediately. He was awake.

Bundle up. Meet in the park. 5 minutes.

There was a small playground across from our parents’ building. Lucca was sitting on our bench. A bench that was almost as comforting as the couch. This was the spot we would blabber for hours about our hopes and dreams. It was funny how when we were little we’d hope for a puppy or wish the ice cream truck would come a second time. When we got older, we’d dream about our first cars and imagine our life as grownups. It wasn’t until the end of high school that my aspirations became single focused. Freedom. My desire was to find my own way and break free from the Chiappetti expectation. So Lucca and I made a vow to leave home and be the first in our families to go to college. We may not have crossed the country, but Columbia University to us was new and exciting and a place to find ourselves and test the boundaries of our friendship.

“How’d you know I’d come to my parents’?”

Lucca slid over to make room for me. “The world could be coming to an end and you’d never leave that dog for longer than you have to.” He shook his head with a knowing smile while mumbling, “Open book.”

“Because you’re so hard to read?” I countered, trying to keep it light. There was nothing light about our friendship.

“Knew you’d be here, just surprised to see you this early. Figured you wouldn’t want to leave them.”

“I didn’t,” I responded, leaning back against the frigid bench and pulling my scarf a little tighter. Nothing could warm the chill in my bones.

“I’m gonna apologize now because I know I didn’t make this shit day any better for you.”

“Apologize? For what?” I couldn’t fathom why Lucca needed to apologize. If anything, I was the one who should be explaining.

“I understand the guy was having a rough night, stressed about his kid, and probably thrown for a loop with the cousin thing, but he rubbed me the wrong way. Know you care about him, Jules, but—”

Before he finished that sentence and said something that couldn’t be unsaid, I cut him off. “I love him, Luc.”

My words cleared all expression from his face. “Oh. Wow,” was his only response.

Wow was right. My breath hitched from my admission, the realness of it all sinking in. Somewhere deep down, beyond the reach of reasoning, I knew I was falling in love with Guy all these weeks. With Finn. With Maxie. With their family. But voicing it aloud was something else.