“And if we don’t sue, and we keep using that little gold card?”
“I told him that you weren’t ready to discuss the particulars.” Mom begins to blush as the depth of her lies starts to sink in. “But he wants to be part of the baby’s life in whatever capacity you’ll give him, Autumn.” She gives Aunt Angelina and I look that is more pleading than when she was advocating for herself. “The man has so many regrets.”
“He should,” I say. “And so should you.”
Mom nods. She either mouths or whispers that she’s sorry, but it’s too quiet to hear.
twelve
Marcia, the former juvenile public defender, brought a box of coffee to share with everyone at group therapy today. It smells amazing. I never liked coffee before, and I want to get some too, but everyone can see that I’m pregnant now. I’m not sure if they’ll judge me.
It’s not that pregnant women can’t have caffeine; it’s that you’re not supposed to have over a certain amount. The doctor said I could have a large cup of coffee every day and it would be okay. Until now, I didn’t really care to have any.
Everyone acts like the rule is no caffeine when you’re pregnant, and I’m already feeling self-conscious enough in this room full of people mostly in their thirties.
But the coffee smells so good.
“Are we ready to begin?” Dr. Singh asks us. Everyone is murmuring assent when I jump up.
“I’m just gonna…” I mumble over my shoulder as I rush to the table. My mouth actually waters as I pour the cup and stir in a bit of milk. I hurry back to the circle, careful not to spill a precious drop.
One of the older women leans over as I sit down.
“Do you think you sh—”
“Oh my God, Wanda! Mind your own fucking business,” Brittaney groans. She rolls her eyes in my direction, and I give her a weak smile of thanks.
Dr. Singh doesn’t remind Brittaney about her language, which I think means he agrees that Wanda should mind her own business. He starts the session talking about how trauma causes physical changes to the brain. I can’t help but think about how Finny would find it interesting, all this talk about inflexible neuropathways.
“Your novel came from your brain, Autumn, word by word, and I wish I could understand how your brain is able to do that.” His hands on the steering wheel, his face illuminated in the dashboard light. Just being near him made me feel more alive.
Brittaney chimes in, “Sometimes it’s like I hear my ex-boyfriend’s voice, saying, ‘You killed my baby. You killed our fucking daughter,’ over and over, exactly the way he said it. And it feels like I physically can’t stop myself from thinking about that moment. My brain gets caught in a loop.”
Part of me thinks I had to have misheard her. I’ve covered my mouth with my hand, and as I lower it, I look around the room, but no one seems to think that Brittaney has said anything particularly shocking. A few people are nodding. Someone else talks about being unable to stop analyzing the moment before their assault.
I drink my coffee and listen and wonder why I am here.
But then I remember; I can hear my boyfriend’s voice in my head too.
This time, I’m not surprised when Brittaney is waiting for me when I come out of the bathroom stall.
“You’re having a girl,” she announces without preamble. “I thought you should know.” She’s leaning against the counter so she’s practically sitting on it, her toes barely grazing the ground.
“Cool,” I say as I head to the sink.
“I know you don’t believe me,” she says, “but I’m always right. When’s the ultrasound where you find out?”
“Next week.” I begin to wash my hands. This seems to be our routine.
“Are you excited?”
I look up. Our eyes meet in the mirror.
“No,” I admit to her.
“Why not? You have someone to go with you? Where’s the daddy?”
“He’s dead,” I say, because I figure if we’re going to talk, I might as well match her speed. I turn from the mirror and grab a paper towel to dry my hands. “My mom will go with me. But I’m scared that there’ll be something wrong with the baby.”
“Oh, girl, it’ll be fine!” She shrugs. “And if it’s not, it’s outta your hands. Sometimes shit is.” She sighs.
I hesitate before asking, “You had a baby die?”
“Brain cancer,” Brittaney says. “It was fast. They found it on her one-year checkup, and she was gone before she was two.”