Total pages in book: 125
Estimated words: 119964 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 600(@200wpm)___ 480(@250wpm)___ 400(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 119964 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 600(@200wpm)___ 480(@250wpm)___ 400(@300wpm)
The closet is a large square with shelving on two walls, hanging racks on the other two, and a massive waist-high dresser in the center.
“I’ve filled up the left side of the closet. Why don’t you take the right? Let me just clear out some old stuff from this drawer.”
“Sounds good.”
From a top drawer, I start taking out a mess of old ticket stubs and college game day programs—nostalgic shit I can’t seem to get rid of—and set them on the top of the dresser. “I’m thinking we should probably put a mirror in here. You know the kind that women use to put on earrings and shit? My mom has one in her closet—”
Chess makes a soft sound, and I glance back. She isn’t even looking at me. Her eyes are on the dresser top, her skin pale and her expression haunted.
It takes me a second to figure out what she’s looking at, but when I do, my heart gives a painful lurch. Scattered among the papers is a sonogram with the word Peanut scrawled across the top in vivid red pen.
The air in the room goes thin. I can hear my heart pounding, like it’s trying to break free. But I can’t move.
Chess’s hand slips into mine. “Finn.”
My fingers convulse, gripping hers tight.
With her free hand, Chess reaches out, her fingers just dancing at the edges of the picture. “Can I?” she whispers to me.
Dully, I nod.
She handles the flimsy piece of paper as if it was precious glass, bringing it closer to look at the image. A shiver goes through me. I don’t want to touch it. But I can’t look away.
“I forgot I put it there,” I whisper—to Chess or to my baby’s image, I don’t know. I’d tossed it so carelessly into a draw to sit in the dark. With a shaking hand, I take the picture from Chess.
It’s an old-fashioned sonogram that only shows an outline, not the more modern, high-tech version that renders a perfect image. “Britt was superstitious about seeing the baby’s face before she was born,” I tell Chess with a voice that sounds like chunky gravel. “Said some things should be a surprise.”
“Honey . . .” Chess rests her cheek against my arm.
“I don’t even know if I regret that decision or not.”
Chess wraps an arm around my waist and hugs herself against my side. I turn into her warmth and take a deep breath. “I’m okay,” I tell her. “I am. I just get sad sometimes.”
“I know,” she says, stroking my stomach. My thumb touches the little image.
Chess speaks again in a low, hesitant tone. “I could frame it for you, if you’d like.”
For a long moment, I stare down at my baby girl. “No.” I clear my throat. “I don’t think I can manage that . . . But she needs a safer spot to rest.”
“Of course.”
I take another deep breath and gently place the sonogram on top of the dresser, away from all the mess, before turning back to Chess and wrapping her in my arms. She hugs me tight.
“I feel bad for Britt,” I mumble into Chess’s hair. “But I’m sorry if it got too intense when she showed up.”
Chess looks up at me. “Don’t ever be sorry about something like that.” Her green gaze searches my face. “It’s okay, you know, to be friends with her. Maybe you can give each other something no one else can.”
“God, please don’t say that.”
“Say what?”
“That I have something no one else can give her. I hate the idea of Britt hurting, but I don’t think I’m the one to help her. She seems to think . . .”
I hesitate, and Chess frowns. “What?”
“Before you walked in, Britt started saying that she thought we were meant to be together.” I run a hand over my face. “She’s kind of messed up, Chess. She was talking about having another baby with me. I think she wants to . . . re-create . . .”
I can’t finish.
“Shit,” Chess whispers.
“She needs help, Chess, but I can’t give it to her. I tried to tell her that there will be other chances. She’ll find someone and have kids one day. We both will.”
If I hadn’t been looking right at Chess, I would have missed her flinch. She’s good at hiding it, giving my hand a squeeze as she puts on a brave face. “You will.”
Chess lets my hand go and opens a drawer to fill it with socks.
I stand there in heavy silence. “Something I said upset you.”
She glances my way. “Of course I’m upset. Your pain is mine.”
I believe that. I feel that. It’s a comfort I never expected but appreciate. Even so. “That’s not it, though. Something hurt you personally. What is it?”
The line of her slim shoulders tenses. She opens the next drawer. “I’m fine, Finn. Really.”