Status: Sorry to leave you hanging guys! The keyboard on my laptop is malfunctioning.
Stop Pretending That You're Sorry
46
The Red Oak Tree
Fuck. I felt like I’d just been cockblocked out of a pregnancy test. How the fuck does that even happen? Julia of all fucking people. What the actual fuck?
I ran an anxious hand through my hair. I’d left it down for once.
Shit. What was I supposed to do now? Maybe that was a sign, maybe it was some supernatural power letting me know that there’s no need to waste money on a pregnancy test because fuck it, I wasn’t even pregnant.
My feet took me in the direction of home, where I headed up to the bathroom in search of a hair band. All of mine were mysteriously disappearing. I always fucking lost my hairbands.
Coming up empty handed, I went to mom’s room to see what she had.
While searching through her vanity I accidentally spilled the contents of a folder marked: BRITTON.
I quickly started shuffling the papers back in the file they’d come from, but one caught my attention. A black and white photo of a fetus, an ultrasound. In sharpie across the bottom someone had written: Britton, 3 months. There was another one after that, Britton, 5 months.
“That’s your brother.”
“Holy shit.” my hand flew to my chest with a start. “Mom, you scared me.”
I hadn’t even heard her come in, but there she was standing behind me, all skin and bones with her golden hair down and wavy.
I stared back down at the pictures in my hands.
“My brother? I don’t have a brother.”
“Half-brother. Anthony’s his father.” A weary smile ghosted on her lips as she reached out to stoke the five months ultrasound with her index finger.
“Where is he now?” I asked. There was definitely not a baby in this house.
“Dead. He lived for about an hour. He died in Anthony’s arms.” She said this so tranquilly, it was spooky and rather unnerving. Mom was talking about the death of her child as if it was nothing.
We were quiet for a while, just looking at the pictures of little Britton. My brother. It was weird thinking that I’d had a sibling, even if only for just an hour. Still, he was my baby brother.
“Mom, I think I’m pregnant.”
She reached over with one of her skeletal arms and ran her boney fingers through my hair. Her lips pressed lightly against my forehead and she whispered, “It’s okay, everything will be okay.”
I didn’t even realize I was crying.
Fuck. I felt like I’d just been cockblocked out of a pregnancy test. How the fuck does that even happen? Julia of all fucking people. What the actual fuck?
I ran an anxious hand through my hair. I’d left it down for once.
Shit. What was I supposed to do now? Maybe that was a sign, maybe it was some supernatural power letting me know that there’s no need to waste money on a pregnancy test because fuck it, I wasn’t even pregnant.
My feet took me in the direction of home, where I headed up to the bathroom in search of a hair band. All of mine were mysteriously disappearing. I always fucking lost my hairbands.
Coming up empty handed, I went to mom’s room to see what she had.
While searching through her vanity I accidentally spilled the contents of a folder marked: BRITTON.
I quickly started shuffling the papers back in the file they’d come from, but one caught my attention. A black and white photo of a fetus, an ultrasound. In sharpie across the bottom someone had written: Britton, 3 months. There was another one after that, Britton, 5 months.
“That’s your brother.”
“Holy shit.” my hand flew to my chest with a start. “Mom, you scared me.”
I hadn’t even heard her come in, but there she was standing behind me, all skin and bones with her golden hair down and wavy.
I stared back down at the pictures in my hands.
“My brother? I don’t have a brother.”
“Half-brother. Anthony’s his father.” A weary smile ghosted on her lips as she reached out to stoke the five months ultrasound with her index finger.
“Where is he now?” I asked. There was definitely not a baby in this house.
“Dead. He lived for about an hour. He died in Anthony’s arms.” She said this so tranquilly, it was spooky and rather unnerving. Mom was talking about the death of her child as if it was nothing.
We were quiet for a while, just looking at the pictures of little Britton. My brother. It was weird thinking that I’d had a sibling, even if only for just an hour. Still, he was my baby brother.
“Mom, I think I’m pregnant.”
She reached over with one of her skeletal arms and ran her boney fingers through my hair. Her lips pressed lightly against my forehead and she whispered, “It’s okay, everything will be okay.”
I didn’t even realize I was crying.