From Under the Cork Tree

Thanksgiving came and went, as did Christmas and New Years. Things were bleak and quiet, as well as rainy and cold. My stomach and appetite grew like you wouldn't believe; I could've eaten a cooked turkey, a big bowl of mashed potatoes and a tray of dinner rolls by myself; that's how much my appetite enhanced.

The reason I ate so much was because of my baby, but also because when I ate my mind focused on something else.

My mind was always on John; every single day I thought about him. I woke up to the thought of him, and I went to bed with him on my mind. When I threw up from morning sickness, my mind crossed to think maybe he would be beside me, holding my hair back. But, it was just me, and Cupid and my pregnant belly, alone in my apartment each morning and night. Some days Rae was here, as was Pete, Andy, Patrick, and rarely Joe; still, I felt alone.

I had put his notebook in our baby's room, so I would be able to read his letter to the baby once they came home. I put the rest of John's things away in my closet, like he was still there. His clothes were still hung up, and I would go in my closet and inhale his cologne, and then I'd cry. Most of the time I would wear his shirts and cardigans to bed; I never washed them because I didn't want to lose his smell. I would wear his hoodies or cardigans when I would leave for a job, because I wanted him close; all too often I would look at my phone and wait for him to call and ask me where I was, ask me how I was and then tell me that he loves me.

The first 4 months were brutal; I cried at work, at home, in the shower, when I watched TV, when I was ready to fall asleep, and when I would wake up. I finally stopped crying everyday once February approached, which happened to be my 8th month of pregnancy. I was slowly accepting that John was gone and all I had left was our child, his things and the wonderful memories; they were what I cherished most. Valentine's Day was coming, and that didn't even make me cry, I felt okay, I felt as though I would be able to handle it.

I spent the first week of February at home, forced into maternal leave from working on set. My stomach was way out there that I could rest a bowl of cereal on it; my baby kicked and moved a lot that my balancing act didn't last too long. The only qualm I had about being pregnant was that I couldn't sleep on my stomach anymore; I slept best on my back in my couch now-a-days, and that's how I was when Pete found me.

He came in, having carried a spare key with him now, along with my parents and Rae, and set his backpack down, "Angel, you asleep?"

"I'm resting my eyes," I murmured, then opened my eyes. "What's up?"

"Just got back from the TRL awards," he grinned.

"What'd you win; surfboard? Moon man?"

"Uh," he scratched his head, "I don't remember."

I tried to sit up, but failed, whining a loud, "Could you help me?" Pete rushed over and helped me sit up, then helped me move over so he could sit down.

He sat beside me and then placed his head on my shoulder, "I'm tired."

"I was too until you came in here."

He laughed, "So? Ya love me."

Pete grabbed my remote from the coffee table, returned his head to my shoulder and flipped on the TV. We were quiet as he flipped the channels, I was growing tired and didn't really care what was on; I drifted off, my head falling atop of Pete's. I wasn't out long, I heard Pete gasp softly and then I felt his hand on my belly.

"What?" I asked, moving my head back.

"Your kid moved," he said in amazement, "it moved on my arm and now its moving under my hand."

I smiled, "My baby does that."

"What is it?" He looked at me.

I shrugged, "I don't wanna know...I just..." I trailed, my mind returned to the thought of how selfish I was to be doing all the things John couldn't.

"John?" Pete murmured.

"Yep," I exhaled, "yep."

Pete moved his hand around my belly, "Aw, she's stopped kickin'," he pouted.

I smiled, "She? You think my baby is a girl?"

He hummed, "She kicks like a girl."

I laughed then, "Oh, shut up!"

"I'm bein' serious, not sexist!" He laughed too, "I think she's a girl, feels like a girl in there."

"I want my baby to be a boy...I want him to look like John," I looked down at my belly, "I just want a piece of him back."

Pete removed his hand and sat up, turning his body to look at me, "I know it's gonna be hard, but you have to understand that you gotta be strong, you gotta hold your head up and accept that John is gone, but you got his kid growing up with you. That piece of John you want back," he paused, causing me to look up at him, "that piece is growing inside of you, and that's more than a piece. Whatever your kid is, he or she, will be more than you could ask for."

I smiling at Pete made tears build up; I shook my head, not to disagree, but because I was so amazed by him. Pete is a poet, but when he talks, he stumbles over his words and he makes jokes; but right here, right this moment, his words were perfect. It was as if he was repeating words from one of his songs.

I sniffled, wiping away the tears, still with a smile on my face. Pete looked at me, his face was twisted with worry, but softened when I petted his cheek; "Do you know how fucking perfect you are, Pete Wentz?"

He smiled back, that big grin of his; the little dimples deepened above the corners of his mouth, "Nah, I'm just some fuckin' loser from Chicago."

I shook my head, this time to disagree, "No, no, you're perfect. You're perfect to me, you're my best friend, and..." I trailed, shrugging my shoulders, "I love you, dude."

He chuckled, "I love you too, Angelus. You're my best friend and all I wanna do is make you happy..."

Pete wanted to say more, but he trailed instead, only smiling softly at me.

"Thank you," I told him, petting his cheek once more.

He grabbed my hand from his cheek, squeezing it in his grasp, "I'm just doin' my job."


"What're we doin' a'night, Angel?" Pete had asked from the kitchen.

He had only been here for a day and already he had deemed anything I wanted to do as boring.

"Hmm, what exactly can a 24 year old pregnant woman do right now?" I asked out loud sarcastically. "Oh! How about we go to Six Flags?"

Pete sighed dramatically, "Oh, Angel," he muttered my name like a disappointed parent, "do you have to talk to me in that way, babe?"

"Only when you ask dumb questions," I replied back. "Now, where's my grilled cheese? Chop, chop!"

Pete scoffed jokingly, "Can I hear a please?"

"You're the one who offered when you went in there," I called back.

Pete didn't say anything; he returned to the living room with a plate of two grilled cheese sandwiches like I had asked; "Here, bossy pants."

I groaned, "Oh my god, I'm so hungry, thank you, Wentz."

Of course, I could eat them both by myself, but I offered one to Pete, who was pouting at me mockingly.

"Peace treaty," I said, smiling at him.

Pete smiled back and took one half, "Thanks."

"You knew you were getting some of it," I murmured before biting my piece.

"I was waiting for you to see my sad face and gimme one," he grinned now. "I love when you give me things."

I rolled my eyes, "Oh, wow, you duped me out of half a grilled cheese. You're so intelligent."

He scoffed again, "I am intelligent! I went to college!"

"Yeah, but you're the idiot who dropout with only a few credits left," I shot back, "so don't be so high and mighty, mister."

Pete grinned with grilled cheese in his mouth. He shook his head at me, trying to eat and not laugh. I could only roll my eyes at him and then watch the TV; we were watching TRL to see what number his video was at. Unfortunately, all that was on was one of these new hosts talking to some washed up ex-boy band member about his new solo project.

"This show is so boring," I grumbled, "I hate TRL."

"You should be proud, some of your work has graced this channel," he said, nudging my arm.

I sighed, "I have to pee, help me up."

Pete put the food on the coffee table, stood and held out his hand, letting me take a hold. Pete grunted as helped me up, "When's that baby gonna pop outta there?"

When he asked that, this feeling came over me; my stomach knotted, my heart shot into my throat. His question sent me immediately into this frozen, sadden state; I felt like I couldn't move or think. My brain had shut down.

My hearing had gone, my heart was beating rapidly, and I couldn't breathe. Nothing registered, I heard faint words as I stared at nothing. In my head, I was stuck; then, my mind flashed back to when I was with John. The memories swirled inside my head, the overwhelming love and admiration I have for him washed over me like a cold, cold crashing wave of ocean water. I could hear his voice in my head, see his face so clearly; his funny little smile, his dimples, his wispy hair, and his long fingers brushing against my neck.

I missed him so much that my entire body shut down and he was there with me. It was like he was inside of me, as if he was my soul. He had truly been my soul mate, the only man I would ever love and he isn't here anymore.

"Angelus?"

I heard John's voice, I swear. I fell hard, wherever my body was; I felt the pain in my side.

"Angel!"

That was John, I knew it, I just did.

"Angel, get up," he spoke frantically, "please get up!"

My vision was blurry, all I could make out was a blurry black figure. I didn't want to get up, I only wanted to hear John beg me to. I had him back.