Another Piece of My Heart (24 page)

Oh, God. I felt so bad. But I didn’t know what else to do. And then I was thinking, she said she was
done.
What does that mean? Is she done? Is she leaving us? And I thought I’d be really excited that we would finally have our dad back, but I just felt sad.

And scared.

Sophia was in her room doing homework, and I went in and lay on her bed. She totally ignored me, so then I told her what Andi had said about being done, and asked her what she thought.

She stopped her homework then. She swiveled her chair and started biting on the end of her pencil, which is what she does when she’s thinking. Or nervous.

“Done?” she repeated, frowning. “How did she say it? What was her tone of voice?”

I said it as Andi had said it, although I think maybe I sounded more harsh than Andi. She sounded tired, and when I tried to say it the same way, it came out as sounding mad.

I tried again.

“I don’t know.” Sophia looked worried. “I’m going to talk to Dad.”

“No!” I swore her to secrecy then. I told her that I’d find out and tell her when I knew, but not to bother Dad. I didn’t tell her it was because he was upset enough already.

I stayed in Sophia’s bedroom for a while. She went back to her homework, and I just closed my eyes. I thought about telling her then, about the pregnancy, but there’s something I quite like about its being a secret. Maybe I’ll tell her soon, though. I think she’d be okay with it.

At least she wouldn’t disown me like my mom has done. My dad swears that isn’t the case, but I’m not sure I believe him. And now that she has checked out, I don’t know that I can do this if Andi’s “done”; I don’t know what I’ll do if she leaves.

It’s almost as if my hatred for her has changed into something else. I wouldn’t say love, but … oh I don’t know. Dependence maybe? Need. Whatever. I like her being around.

She has been amazing through this pregnancy, and I kind of feel that if I were to tell her my big secret—that I’m keeping the baby—and swear her to secrecy, she’d be okay with it. She’d support me.

Unless she’s “done” with us.

I’ve wanted her to leave for so long, I can’t believe that now it’s actually here, now it may become a reality; it terrifies me, and the last thing in the world I want is for Andi to leave.

I don’t know that I could ever tell her that, though. I don’t know that she’d even believe me. I saw her face after I lost it in the car. I saw how she looked at me. I have spent years wanting to hurt her, but now that I actually have,
for real,
I want to make it better.

I know sorry isn’t enough. I know I was causing pain, but … Oh, God. I don’t even know how to explain it. It’s like, when those feelings well up, when I’m overwhelmed, there is nothing, literally nothing, to stop them from coming out.

Even while I’m losing it, I know I shouldn’t, and I want to calm down, but I don’t know how to. It’s like this white-hot rage that builds inside of me, this huge wave of anger and pain, and I can’t keep it in, I don’t know how not to let it out because if I didn’t I might just … implode.

And I’m honestly scared that I might die.

When I was younger, I have to admit—and yes, I am a bit ashamed to admit this—but sometimes I would do it on purpose: lose my shit because I got what I wanted.

And when I was younger, when I did, genuinely, hate Andi, throwing a tantrum was a guaranteed way to split them up. She’d walk away and go off by herself, and my dad would sit with me for hours sometimes to try to calm me down.

Of course, I know that it was wrong—I told you I was ashamed. The thing is, it becomes self-fulfilling, and once I get started, I can’t stop. Whether it’s screaming at my parents, or sleeping with some boy I just met, or trying to numb the pain, once I get started with any kind of self-destructive behavior, I don’t seem to be able to stop.

I think that’s how my mom is with drink. And it terrifies me. Because I worry that I’m just like her.

“Cutting” is the latest buzzword that everyone’s terrified of. That one time I got caught smoking and my mom and dad came in to see the school counselor, she told them not to be surprised if I started cutting, and that was the next logical step for a girl with troubles like mine.

As if I didn’t know that. Most of my friends have done it, and I quite liked this threat hanging over my parents, but I’m terrified of blood. There’s no way in hell I would cut myself. Everyone talks about the release they feel, but even the thought of taking a knife and slicing my skin open makes me feel like throwing up. No way. Although it doesn’t hurt that they don’t know that.

I played on their fear, too. I was in the kitchen with Sophia, and she had just been on my phone, reading my texts, and I picked up the knife and told her I was going to cut myself with it.

Sophia turned white, and went running outside to call Dad and tell him. Of course I wasn’t, but my dad was walking on tiptoes around me for days afterward, which was pretty damned cool.

So even though I have thrown tantrums deliberately, a fact of which I am not proud, last week wasn’t deliberate. Honestly. I was just so scared, and it made it all so real, and I couldn’t tell anyone that there’s no way I’m giving the Bean up for adoption, and all those feelings just came out in a really bad way.

When Andi actually shouted—and let me tell you, Andi never shouts—and got out of the car, I was shocked. Then I was terrified that my dad was going to blame me, that this would ruin our relationship forever.

She didn’t come back to the car, and I had to bite my lip all the way home to stop myself from crying. My dad refused to talk to me. He did that thing where he clenches his jaw, and I know he’s beyond furious, and I decided not to say anything.

But when we got home and he still hadn’t said a word to me, I couldn’t help myself.

“It’s not my fault,” I said as I started to walk upstairs. “Now you’re blaming me and it’s not my fault your wife’s walking out.”

“SHUT UP!” he screamed, and that really upset me because my dad has never screamed at me before, and he’s never, ever, told me to shut up. It’s one of the reasons why I prefer being at my dad’s, even with Andi there, because my dad is always calm. You can always talk to him about anything, and he never gets mad.

My mom can be crazy. I love her so much, and when she’s nice, she’s the most amazing person in the world, but she can turn on a dime, and she screams at both of us all the time. You can be doing nothing, and you’ll hear her in the kitchen, snorting and working herself up about who the fuck knows what, and she’ll start screaming at you.

Actually, at me. She screams at Sophia but not nearly as much. I start screaming back, then it just becomes this big mess usually until I storm out, slamming a couple of doors as I leave. And then I just go to Dad’s, and he understands what a nightmare she is and why I can’t stay there.

Andi resents my being there on “kidless” weekends. I can tell. She’s fine, but cold, and I know that even though my dad welcomes me there all the time, she doesn’t. She’s fine with us being there when we’re supposed to be there, but she hates when we show up unexpectedly.

Dad says that’s not true, that she loves us and loves having us, and that this is home and always open to us, but that’s my dad: he’ll never say a bad word about Andi, he just defends her all the time and says all this bullshit about her loving us, which I don’t believe.

Although recently I could almost … almost believe it. Since the Bean came along, I can kind of believe she might, if not
love
me, then maybe like me a little. When I’m sick, she makes me hot chocolate and sits on my bed and we read magazines together. When I’m sick, I don’t have the energy to fight her, and she’s actually quite nice.

That’s why I felt bad about what happened last week. Since the pregnancy, she’s been the only one who’s okay with it. I see the disappointment in my dad’s eyes every time he looks at me, which he barely does now.

So the other night I could hear them talking in their bedroom, and I crept along the hallway and listened. I do this a lot. Whenever they lower their voices, I can be pretty certain they’re talking about me, and I stand just outside the room, as quiet as a mouse, and listen. Sophia always tells me I’m spying, but she wouldn’t dare tell on me, and I’ve learned tons of shit by standing outside doorways.

“I don’t know.” I heard Andi say quietly. “I’m here, aren’t I? I don’t know what’s going to happen. I really don’t know anymore.”

“This is temporary,” my dad said. “It’s the most stress any of us have ever been under, and it will be over soon.”

“You’ve been saying that for five years,” Andi said. “That girl has done everything in her power to get rid of me, and every time she treats me appallingly, you excuse it. She’s stressed because of exams, or she’s unhappy at her mom’s, or she’s under social pressure, and it will pass. And now she’s pregnant, and quite apart from this being the biggest drama yet, the one thing that would solve everyone’s problems, the one thing that would allow her to move on with her life and give us what we used to always talk about, is suddenly impossible. When we first met you knew I wanted a baby. Now, when it’s actually within our reach, you won’t even think about it.”

What the…? Is she talking about
Bean
?

“You can’t let this break us up,” my dad pleaded. “You and I have something that is so good. We’ll never find it again.”

“I will stay until this situation resolves itself,” Andi said slowly. “Until Emily has the baby. And then we’ll see where we are.”

“What do you mean?” My dad sounded scared.

“I mean … I’m not going anywhere today, okay? But, I don’t know. I honestly don’t know if I can live with it. It’s the best I can do. Every time I get hurt, it’s like another piece of my heart shuts down, and I just feel … completely shut down right now.”

There was a long silence, and when my dad spoke, he sounded like a scared little boy.

“You still love me, right?” he said.

“I love you,” Andi said, but from where I was standing, it didn’t sound like she was sure at all. “But I don’t know if I can live like this.”

“Are you serious?” my dad whispered, and then, I swear, he started to cry. I wanted to go in and smack her, but I couldn’t because I wasn’t supposed to be there; then I heard footsteps and I quickly went back to my own room so I wouldn’t be caught.

*   *   *

The spare room is made up. My dad created some bullshit story about Andi having some highly contagious rash, so he’s sleeping in the spare room. I had to walk out, I was so disgusted by his lying to me, but I couldn’t tell him I knew the truth because then he’d know I’d been eavesdropping. And boy, does he hate it when I eavesdrop.

So they’re sleeping apart, and when they are in the same room, it’s totally fake, and the atmosphere is so icy cold you could practically freeze even though they think they’re getting away with pretending everything’s normal.

I feel awful for my dad. And I feel bad for Andi. I heard her crying in the bathroom the other day. I stood outside the door and listened, and I wasn’t sure what to do, so I did nothing. But I felt kind of worried for her for the whole rest of the day.

Later that afternoon she brought me herbal tea, and when I fell asleep on the sofa, I woke up briefly to find her tucking a big fluffy blanket around me. I felt safe, and protected, and … okay. Yes. I’ll say it.

I almost felt as if I loved her.

*   *   *

If it was possible for me to get bigger, which I didn’t think
was
possible, I have gotten bigger. I am now thirty-five weeks, and I think there’s very little doubt that I’m pregnant.

I’m not going out too much anymore. Even on my birthday, two weeks ago, we just got a cake and had it at home. Way to go to celebrate turning eighteen!

I’m spending most of my time sitting around the house, bored. I’m on the computer a lot—I’ve read every website there is about giving birth, and babies, and the various developmental points during the first year, but I have to be careful Andi doesn’t see because she’s still looking for another adoption couple.

Sophia’s upstairs, doing some craft project in her room; Andi is outside doing yard work. I close down the computer and push open the door to Sophia’s room.

“Can you knock?” she says nastily.

“Why? You’re not doing drugs for God’s sake, you’re doing, what? Shrinky Dinks? I love Shrinky Dinks!”

“Yeah.” She doesn’t invite me to join in. “Still. This is my room, and I need privacy.”

“Okay, okay, whatever.” I collapse on her bed as she pretends to be busy doing homework, but I know she’s waiting for me to speak. “Sophia? Can you keep a secret?”

“What kind of a secret?” She puts down her pen, and I know I have her full attention because Sophia is the best kind of secret-keeper. She will never tell anyone anything.

And frankly, although I kind of like having this secret, I don’t like Sophia’s not knowing, and I know I can trust her. It’s time.

“You have to swear on your life you will not say anything to anyone.”

“Cross my heart and hope to die.”

“So you know I got really fat?”

“Yeah. You’re pregnant,” she says dully. “Is that it? The secret? Duh. What do you think I am, completely stupid?”

I’m impressed. “How did you know?”

“First of all, you look pregnant. I mean, you just looked fat up until about three weeks ago, and now you are definitely pregnant, and secondly, it’s all everyone talks about in this house. Everyone shuts up the minute I walk in the room, as if that means I’ll have no idea what I’ve overheard walking down the hallway. I know everything.”

“Not everything.”

“What don’t I know?”

“Do you know that Dad and Andi think I’m giving the baby up for adoption?”

“Yeah. I looked up the history on the computer and looked at the couples. Some of them look really nice. I think it’s so sad that they can’t have their own children.”

I grin in delight. Who knew that my perfect little sister had such a subversive streak. “You’re pretty cool, you know that?”

Sophia just shrugs.