I finished folding a tiny onesie, tucking it carefully into the top drawer with the others. The clothes were all officially washed, folded and put away. I looked around the little nook that I'd decorated as a makeshift nursery, and I have to say that I was very pleased with how it turned out. It was soft and calming, just a perfect fit for my little sanctuary at the sea. Although the last months of my pregnancy had become increasingly less enjoyable the overall experience had gone smoothly. I couldn't wait to meet my little bundle of joy.
I straightened a few more things and sat down at the kitchen table, pulling out a small shoebox and a few magazines. I'd started collecting articles about Lindsey from various places, cutting them out and tucking them safely away for our little one when they got older. I hadn't exactly advertised the identity of my child's father and as Lindsey's fame grew my lips tightened. I didn't want to get into that part of my life. It was hard enough, I didn't need to relive it constantly.
I was keeping only positive articles- rave reviews of his shows, articles about the band and hype about his upcoming solo album. I'd left out anything portraying him in a negative light- that didn't need to be commemorated. Articles such as those, however, had become increasingly numerous over the past months. I'd watched him enter into a downward spiral- I could see it in photos that he was drinking too much and doing who knows what else. He'd become the hottest new bachelor in LA and I wasn't ever seeing photos of him with the same woman more than once. And I'm sure all the girls dreamed that they'd be his partner. He looked like a rockstar, sure. He was a playboy, the one all the women in this city were after, and he was living the lifestyle of most peoples dreams. But I know him better than that. I know he probably hates going out and being paraded around, but he was certainly doing enough of it. I could see the misery in his eyes. I'd worked hard not to be bitter about this situation, but sometimes I couldn't help it. Our lives had become so vastly different from one another that I sometimes couldn't help but to wonder how our relationship had worked in the first place. I knew the love was always there though, and for so long that had been enough. If I was being honest, it was still enough. I doubt that will ever change.
But I couldn't allow myself to dwell on that now. I'll admit it was hard not to think about it. To wonder what could have been- how things would be different if he was here with me, ready to welcome our sweet baby into the world. I wondered if this little bitty would have his eyes or his hair- how much they would look like Lindsey every time I lay eyes on them. But what was I to do? The deck was currently stacked against me.
The baby always responded to the sound of my voice, moving around in there as I sang or spoke, so I tried to keep a steady stream of narrative going all the time. I flipped to the magazine article about Lindsey that I had purchased, staring at his face, adorned with a crooked smile and a mystic look in his life. Not so much as though he was engrossed in something, but that he was just a shell of himself. Pushing all rational thoughts to the side I began to talk to him as if he were sitting across the table form me as I clipped out the article to place in the book for the baby.
"Oh, you had me several years ago, When I was still naive. Well, you said that we made such a pretty pair, And that you would never leave. But you gave away the things you loved, And one of them was me."
I flipped to the next page, reading the article. He spoke so vaguely, answering only the bare minimum when it came to questions about his personal life, which was no surprise, and his rise to fame, which certainly did not go into detail about his relationship with me. He mentioned me briefly, evading any ultra intrusive questions. I couldn't say I blamed him- none of this was anyone else's business. "What about me, Linds," I questioned. "I had some dreams, they were clouds in my coffee, Clouds in my coffee." He continued on about his creative process, the technical aspects of the project and all the years he'd devoted to getting it down to a fine art. "Ugh," I sighed out loud. "You're so vain."
My lower back ached particularly horribly tonight so I finished up quickly an turned in early, laying down and grabbing my journal. I opened to the page where I had previously left off, removing the ribbon serving as my bookmark and placing my fountain pen to the page. I scribbled a few words, not saying too much as I wasn't feeling so well. Something about me was just a little off. My mother would be here in the morning, so I just decided to turn in early.
I tucked Lindsey's letter, still sealed in its envelope, between the soft leather and the front page of my journal. I hadn't had the nerve to open it, deciding that it would only weaken my resolve if I did so. Actions speak louder than words, anyway. So what could this letter tell me that would change the way I've felt these past weeks? Nothing. Still, I could only pretend I was okay for so long. I wished his arms were wrapped around me right now, holding me at night. Picking baby names and feeling tiny kicks.
I sighed, rolling onto my side and moving my pillow around, trying to get comfortable. My Braxton Hicks were becoming increasingly stronger and that's when I realized- I was in labor.
