this conversation is annoying the piss out of me.
She sighs heavily into the phone and I’m growing impatient.
“OK, listen; Cam is obviously not herself,” she begins (yeah, no shit), “and you need to try to talk her into going back to her psychiatrist. Soon.”
Her psychiatrist?
I hear the water shut off, and I glance toward the closed door again.
“What are you talking about, her psychiatrist?” I ask in a lowered voice.
“Yeah, she used to see one and—”
“Wait,” I whisper harshly.
The bathroom door opens, and I hear Camryn shuffling back toward the room.
“She’s coming back,” I say really fast. “I’ll call you back in a few.”
I hang up and set the phone on the nightstand seconds before Camryn opens the door wearing a pink bathrobe and a towel wrapped around her head.
“Hey,” I say as I pull my hands behind the back of my head and lock my fingers.
All I really want to do is call Natalie back and find out everything she was going to tell me, but instead I do one better and just go to the source. Besides, I’m not about keeping secrets from her. Been there, done that once, and I won’t do it again.
She smiles across the room at me, then tosses her hair over and works the towel in it with her hands.
“Can I ask you something?”
“Of course,” she says, rising back up and letting her wet blonde hair fall behind her.
“Did you used to see a psychiatrist?”
The smile disappears from her face and is instantly replaced by a deadpanned expression. She walks over to the closet and opens it. “Why do you ask?”
“Because Natalie just called and suggested that I try to get you to go back.”
She shakes her head with her back to me and starts sifting through the clothes hanging in front of her. “Leave it to Natalie to make me out to be a crazy person.”
Still in my boxers, I get out of the bed, letting the sheet fall away from my body and I walk over to her, placing my hands on her hips from behind.
“Seeing a psychiatrist doesn’t make anyone crazy,” I say. “Maybe you should go. Just to talk to someone.”
It does bother me that I can’t be that someone, but that’s not the important issue.
“Andrew, I’ll be fine.” She turns around and smiles sweetly at me, placing her fingertips on the edge of my jawline. Then she kisses my lips. “I promise. I know you and Nat and my mom are really worried about me and I don’t fault you for that, but I’m not going to a psychiatrist. It’s ridiculous.” She turns back around and pulls a shirt from a hanger. “Besides, what those people really want to do is write a prescription and send me on my way. I’m not taking any mental drugs.”
“Well, you don’t have to take any ‘mental’ drugs, but I think if you had someone else to talk to it would help make what happened easier.”
She stops with her back still turned to me and lets her arm drop to her side, the shirt clenched in her hand. She sighs, and her shoulders finally relax amid the silence. Then she turns around and looks me dead in the eyes.
“The best way for me to cope with what happened is to forget it,” she says, and it tears a gash in my heart. “I’ll be OK as long as I’m not forced to be reminded of it every day. The more you all try to get me to ‘talk about it’”—she quotes with her fingers—“and the longer you all keep looking at me with those quiet, sad expressions every time I walk into the room, the longer it’s going to take me to forget.”
This isn’t something you can just forget, but I don’t have the heart to say this to her.
“OK, so …” I step away and move absently back toward the bed “… how long are we staying here? Not that I’m eager to get back.” It’s only one of several questions I want to ask her, but I’m equally leery about all of them. I’ve felt like I’ve been walking on eggshells around her with everything I’ve said in the past two weeks.
“I’m not going back to Texas,” she says casually and goes to slip on a pair of jeans.
Eggshells. They’re everydamnwhere.
I reach up and rub my palm over the back of my head.
“That’s fine,” I say. “I’ll go back by myself and pack and if you want to, while I’m gone you can go out with Natalie and look at apartments for us. Your pick. Whatever you want.” I smile carefully across the room at her. I want her to be happy, and I’ll do anything I can to make that happen.
Her face lights up, and I think I’m genuinely tricked by it. Either that or she’s genuinely smiling. At this point, I can’t tell much anymore.
She walks over to me and backs me up toward the foot of her bed, pressing her palms against my chest. Then she pushes me down against it. I look up at her. Normally I would be on her by now, but it feels wrong. I know she wants it. At least, I think she does … but I’m scared to touch her and have been since the miscarriage.
She sits on me, straddling my waist, and despite being afraid to touch her it’s instinct to press myself against her. She drapes her hands over my shoulders and gazes down into my eyes. I bite down on the inside of my mouth and shut my eyes when she leans in to kiss me. I kiss her back, tasting the sweetness of her lips and taking her breath deep into my lungs. But then I pull away and hold her by the waist to keep her from trying to force herself on me.
“Babe, I don’t think …”
She looks stunned, cocking her head to one side.
“You don’t think what?”
I’m not sure how to word this, but I just say the first version that comes to mind.
“It’s only been two weeks. Aren’t you still—”
“—bleeding?” she asks. “No. Sore? No. I told you, I’m fine.”
She’s anything but fine. But I have a feeling that if I try to convince her, it’ll backfire on me somehow.
Damn … maybe I do need to brave the wild and talk to Natalie, after all.
Camryn slides off my lap, but I stand up with her and wrap my arms around her back, pulling her into my bare chest. I press the side of my face against the top of her wet hair.
“You’re right,” she says, pulling away to see my eyes. “I should, ummm … get back on my birth control pills. We’d be stupid to risk this again.”
She walks away from me.
That’s not exactly what I was getting at. Sure, it’s probably for the better that we were more careful this time around because of what she just went through. But to be completely honest, I would lay her down right now with the sole intention of getting her pregnant again if that was what she wanted. If she asked me to. I don’t regret the first time at all and would do it all over again. But it would need to be what she wants, and I’m afraid if I was ever the one to bring it up that she might take it as my suggestion, that she might feel guilty about losing my Lily, and she’ll want to get pregnant again because she thinks it’s what I need to feel better.
Camryn takes the robe off and tosses it on the end of the bed and then starts to get dressed.
“If that’s what you want to do,” I say about the birth control pills, “then I’m with you on that.”
“Is that what you want?” she asks, pausing to look me in the eyes.
Feels like a trick question. Be careful,