In the Stillness (10 page)

I quickly washed and dried my arm before rolling down the denim sleeve. I kissed the yellow ribbon once before pinning it back on my jacket.

Please come home.

* * *

Before I know it, I have to get my shit together and go get Max and Ollie from preschool. Looking down at my legs, I cringe; it looks like I ran through pricker bushes.
 

Shit. What did I just do?

I dump the last of the peroxide over my legs and throw my shorts in the hamper. I pull on a long, flowing skirt, plaster on my best mommy-smile and drive to pick up my boys.
 

“Hi Natalie, the boys had a good day today.” Miss Jennifer, the preschool teacher, is always smiling. Always. Why anyone chooses to work with 4-year-olds day in and day out is beyond me. But
believe me
, I’m glad someone does.

“Great! Hi guys, did you have fun today?” As I squat down to receive double-hugs, I feel the skin on my thighs pull against scabs that are working to form over my skin.

“So, any word yet from the university?” There are lots of upper-level students whose kids go to preschool here; this question isn’t uncommon.

“There is,” I force a proud smile, “but I need to wait for it to be official.”

“Well,” she leans in and whispers, “congratulations in advance.”

A few minutes later, as I’m buckling the boys into their car seats, visions of more car seats send my heart racing. Eric and I have never talked about having more kids. Hell, we didn’t even talk about having the kids we have now, and three seconds after telling me it was okay for me to start taking Ph.D. classes again he wants to knock me up?
 

You’ve got to be kidding me.

I reach for my cell phone and call Eric’s mom.
 

“Hey Grace, it’s Natalie,” I say when she answers. “Listen, I just picked the boys up from preschool, but something’s come up with a friend of mine. Can I drop them off at your house for, like, two hours or so?”

The ever bubbly Grace doesn’t hesitate in her reply. “Oh, of
course,
dear! In fact, why don’t you have them stay here through dinner, and come pick them up after? Eric told me the good news!”
 

“Isn’t it great? Thanks, Grace, I’ll be over there in a few.”

After dropping them off at their grandmother’s house, I stop at the gas station to buy a pack of cigarettes before calling Tosha and asking her to meet me at her apartment.

Chapter 11

“Shit, I forgot to buy a lighter—can I borrow yours?” I reach for Tosha’s lighter on the front steps of her apartment building.
 

“You smoke now?” She half-chuckles as she takes the lighter back and ignites her own cigarette.

I lift my eyebrows as I take a long drag. “Apparently only on days where my husband tells me he’s got a permanent job at UMass and wants to have more kids.” I look at Tosha, whose cigarette is suspended a millimeter in front of her lips.
 

“Can we . . . um . . . break that down a bit?” she asks when she finally composes herself.

I recap the “good news” to Tosha, who keeps a striking poker face.

“So,” she starts when I’m in tears again, “it’s a good or bad thing that he has a job, now?”

“Good,” I sigh. “It’s excellent. What’s not excellent is he wants to start talking about more kids. Not,
hey Nat, thanks for putting your entire life on hold to raise our boys while I finished my dream, let’s work on yours now.
No, he said I could still take classes, but we both fucking know there’s no
way
I can travel the way I would have been able to six years ago.”

“Do you think he actually wants to start having more kids right now? Maybe he just got wrapped up in the excitement of being done with school . . .” Tosha hesitates to finish as she studies my face.

“You’re probably right. Seriously, we’ve
never
discussed having more kids. We never even discussed having children when we first got together. Christ, we never discussed a future at all.”

“I remember,” she nods, “you were both so focused on school that it’s amazing you even made it as a couple at all.”
 

An uncomfortable silence overtakes the steps on the busy sidewalk.
 

“I’m going to be really lonely, Tosh, with him continuing this many lab hours. It’s like being a single mom half the time.” I wipe under my eyes.

“Nat, you’ve seemed lonely for a while—even when he’s around . . .”

I smash out my cigarette and look at her as I exhale. “What am I supposed to do now?”

Like any true best friend, she shrugs and pulls me into a hug.

* * *
 

I hadn’t cut since the night of Liz’s party. It turns out it was a huge pain to hide the marks—more than I’d thought. I didn’t think, really. I couldn’t even wear a t-shirt to bed out of fear that Tosha would see and would question me. But, I didn’t go to any more parties that semester. If one cranky bitch could set me off like that, it was best that I stay in, despite Tosha’s insistence that I don’t “let her win”—whatever that meant.

Luckily, Liz and Tosha hit it off and were spending a lot of time together at Liz’s place. I had a lot more alone time all of a sudden. I used the time to write letters to Ryker, and wait for his phone calls. They’d been getting further apart, and my anxiety was slowly building.

Despite the complete insanity of it all, I was feeling insecure.
What if he’s choosing not to call me?
Or, worse,
What if he’s calling someone else?
I tried to drown out the sounds of those voices by cranking Staind or Incubus, but that turned out to be a bad idea.
 

It didn’t take too long before my schoolwork started to slip. At first, it was a reading assignment here, or an outline there. Before long, I’d failed an essay by not turning it in at all. That landed me in my advisor’s office quickly.
 

“Natalie, is everything okay?” Angela Davis was my advisor. She was notoriously stern, but had been pleasant enough with me.
 

I uncharacteristically squirmed in my seat. “I’ve just been really busy—”

“You’re a student, Ms. Collins, your first job is to be present in your classes and turn in your assignments.”

I nodded and swallowed hard. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Davis, I’ll get that essay done and try harder.” I stood to leave, pleased I’d seemed to pull it off—when she continued.

“Your mother sent me an email, Natalie . . .”

She what?

“I’m sorry, she what?” I asked as I sat back in the chair.

“Now, of course I can’t share any of your academic information with her, but she told me your boyfriend is in Afghanistan.” Her eyes flashed with something that could have passed for compassion, but it didn’t last long.

I hadn’t told any of my professors about Ryker. I didn’t want any pity or animosity directed my way, and I certainly wasn’t in a position to judge who would give me either. My mother went behind my back as a means to keep tabs on me. We’d be having words about that.

 
“He is.” My voice was almost a whisper as I tried to appear strong—like the wives and mothers I watched on the news.

“I appreciate the sacrifice he’s making, Natalie, but it doesn’t do you any good to sacrifice
your
schoolwork while you wait for him to come home.”

I nodded, my voice silenced under threatening tears. In retrospect, I could have—should have—used that window as an opportunity to ask for help in dealing with my stress. Asked the woman in charge of overseeing my academic experience for a phone number, a name, something for me to deal.
 

But, who? What would I say?
Hi, my boyfriend is in Afghanistan, like thousands of other people, but I seem to be having an extra hard time with it. Please help me?
Yes, that’s exactly what I should have said. I didn’t. Instead, I murmured a polite “thank you,” to Angela Davis and fled to my dorm room.

Once inside, I burst into tears and walked right to the bathroom.
 

Screw trying to hide it.

I didn’t want to use the pin again. That seemed wrong, somehow, so I reached for the cheap razors Tosha and I used because, well, we were cheap. I felt weak. Weak that my boyfriend was voluntarily in greater danger than I’d likely ever find myself in, and I was crumbling. I needed to punish myself for being so pathetic, and I needed to feel better.

 
I held up my left forearm, where I could just barely see the lingering reminder of the last time I cut. I pulled the razor across my arm, but nothing happened. I angled both the razor and my arm and tried again. A little nick, but nothing satisfying.
Fucking safety . . .

Breathless from anger and anticipation, I worked to bend the safety plastic underneath the blade until I heard it snap. After tossing the piece in the trash, I now had a wide open blade and nothing to stop me. I started haphazardly flicking the blade across the skin over the inside bone of my forearm.
 

God, it hurt like hell.
It was a shocking pain, the kind that screamed,
Wake up you pathetic, spineless, little girl, things could be worse!
It took my breath away and flooded me with relief when it was over; relief I wasn’t feeling anywhere else in my life. Relief that I would only feel when Ryker came home for good. I wanted to feel that immediately. So I did, over and over again as the razor did its best job on my arm.

Just as I decided I was done for now, my phone rang.

Unavailable.

“Ryker!” I chanced it. I was right.

“Natalie, are you okay? You sound all shaky or something.” He sounded strong. Sure. Ryker.

I dropped the razor to the floor and stared at the fear and insecurities slashed across my arm. I crumbled into more tears. “I miss you, Ry. So much. I know it’s only been four months but—”

“Hey, hey, it’s okay, Nat. I miss you like crazy, too. Before you know it I’ll be home.”

Little did we know, he was right. I know he’d take back that promise if he could.

“I’m sorry,” I sniffed, “how are you?”

“I’m fine. Tell me something good.” I could hear the smile in his voice and it broke my heart all over again.

“Um, well, I threw a beer in some girl’s face a few weeks ago.” I laughed, not thinking that I’d have to tell him the story.
 

Ryker let out a full-chested laugh. “What?”

“Yeah, she got all pissy about the yellow ribbon on my coat, so I soaked her.”
 

“That’s my girl. Don’t beat anyone up, though. I’d hate to come home to you in jail.” He sounded proud of me. I liked that.
 

“I won’t. Promise.” We spent the next few minutes in a place where neither one of us were lonely. I felt like, with Ryker, I would never be lonely. No matter what.

 
After we hung up, I stared at my arm—immediately feeling ashamed. The bitch of it is, it didn’t make me throw the razor away—it made me cut a few more times before I heard Tosha come through the door. I hopped in the shower as an excuse to walk into our room with my arms crossed over my towel around my body. I didn’t know how long I’d be able to hide it from her.

* * *

While inside Tosh and Liz’s apartment, Eric calls my phone.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Babe. I just talked to my mom. I’ll pick up the boys when I’m done here. She said something came up?”
 

“Yeah, I’m at Tosha’s. Everything’s fine, now—just a minor meltdown between her and Liz.” Tosha purses her lips as I flip her the bird.

“Take your time. Love you, see you later.”

I try to hide my sigh. “Love you, too. Later.”

“Well,
that
sounded convincing,” Tosha teases.

“Shit, do you think he noticed anything?”
 

“Knowing Eric, probably not. What are you gonna do, Nat? I haven’t seen you this unhappy in a long time.”

Almost on command, the cuts on my legs itch.

“I don’t know. I can’t leave him now. He’s a good dad, and he could never do it alone without massive help from his mom. I have no interest in being a single full-time mom. I’d lose it.” I sit back and run my hands through my long black hair.

“It sounds like you’re already losing it, Nat. Just take care of yourself, okay?”

“I will.” I nod.
 

I see it in her eyes, though. She doesn’t believe me. She already knows too much. She knows everything.

Chapter 12

I wander around Northampton for a little bit after leaving Tosha’s apartment, trying to get my thoughts in order before going home.
 

I don’t want to go home
.

I grab a cappuccino from the Italian bakery and float mindlessly through Thorne’s Marketplace, forcing myself to remember the clothes I used to wear, the incense I used to buy, and the person I used to be.
 

I shouldn’t have come here, not in this mindset. The creek of the floors and the smell of the fair-trade, organic coffee remind me of something I haven’t thought about in years. The worst day of my life. Sitting on the dusty wooden stairs, I dig my elbows into my knees and try to breathe away the impending panic attack.