Evie
It was still dark when they got home from the hospital. Evie grabbed Tilly’s hand right as Tilly had been about to go into her room and asked in a whisper, “Stay with me tonight?”
The unspoken just for tonight was there, but Tilly only nodded and followed her in.
They slept late. Tilly sprawled on her stomach, every now and again reaching a limb across the expanse of the bed. An ankle over Evie’s, a foot on her calf. A hand on her lower back, as if reassuring herself in half-sleep that Evie was still there.
With a head that felt stuffed full of cotton, Evie woke up and shuffled gingerly to the bathroom, her bladder aching.
The thought that had haunted her at the hospital still wouldn’t go away.
I didn’t know how much I wanted you until I almost lost you.
Back in bed, she lay on her back, her hand over her stomach, the fluttering inside barely ceasing, and she poured that thought back into herself. She concentrated on it, pushed the thought out, let it lace her breathing, coat her limbs, pushing back in through her fingertips, her palms, through the constantly tightening skin of her abdomen and the muscles and fibres beneath. Through the tissue and, finally, she hoped, into the baby, and infused the tiny being with the knowledge that sat so heavily:
I want you.
You are so very, very wanted.
Next to her, Tilly shifted, her calf brushing Evie’s before she stilled and was quiet again.
Evie’s heart thumped hard, and out of nowhere a lump filled her throat, almost choking her. God, she’d missed sleeping next to Tilly. Tears pressed against her lids and she let Tilly’s heat warm her leg.
Finally, Evie let an errant thought join the other one:
I will never let you feel abandoned like I did.
And that thought felt wrong, but right.
* * *
Softness. Light. A murderous need to pee.
A groan—wait, that was Evie’s own whining sounds. She threw a hand over her face.
Someone laughed at her.
“Shut up, Tilly,” Evie mumbled into her own forearm.
Another snicker.
Evie wrenched her hand away, wincing at the light flooding from her curtains. Everything was very bright. Her hand fell to her stomach and she grimaced again, this time at the warning stab from her bladder. Leaning against the doorframe with a steaming cup in her hand, Tilly took a sip, her eyes soft over the rim of the mug.
“What’s the time?” Evie asked.
“Almost one.”
Evie struggled into a sitting position, the baby kicking patterns against her insides. “So late?”
A hum was Tilly’s answer.
“Why didn’t you wake me?”
“I only just got up myself. And besides, you’re meant to be resting. The drool definitely indicated that that’s what you were doing.”
“I do not drool.” Evie gave herself away by swiping at her chin in case.
“Well you do, so…” Tilly’s smirk faded to something softer, and for the first time in a very long time with Tilly, Evie felt almost shy. “I’ll make us some eggs on toast. Poached?”
Evie blanched without even registering the reaction.
Tilly’s eyes widened. “Whoa, okay. No eggs?”
Evie gagged, her stomach twisting. “God, no. Don’t even say the word.”
“Okay, no, um, oval…things. This is new.”
For some reason, Evie almost choked up. “It is.”
“Are…” Tilly squinted at her. “Are you about to cry because the newest food you can’t stomach is e—oval things?”
Tears welled up in Evie’s eyes. “No.”
Tilly looked caught between laughing and feeling bad for her. “You really are.”
A tear fell down her cheek and Evie’s bottom lip actually quivered. “I’m not.”
Oh, but she was. She even let out a little sob and Tilly was smothering her laughter and sitting gently next to her, pulling her into her arms. It was ridiculous. It was. But Evie was really sad. Familiar arms wrapped around her, and for some reason, the unexplained sadness sitting in her chest intensified. She gave another little choking sob.
Tilly kissed the top of her head and Evie buried her face into her neck, arm coming up to grip Tilly’s.
“I just really like eggs,” Evie sobbed. Her stomach writhed at the word.
Tilly’s laugh was barely smothered in Evie’s hair, her hands running up and down her back. “I know.”
“And last night was really scary.” This was whispered, the words collecting, warm and clinging, against Tilly’s skin so close to her mouth.
Tilly’s amusement faded and she pulled Evie in a little stronger. “It really was. I’m—I’m so relieved.” And Tilly said it like she meant it, the words falling quiet and still.
The baby kicked, a sensation that was still so strange, yet next to her, Tilly felt familiar. Tilly felt like lazy mornings and softness and the person who offered to make her breakfast. She felt like Tilly, who was always there, in every way, until she wasn’t.
Evie pushed the sheet off her and started to clamber out of bed.
“Hey!”
Evie froze, and turned to raise her eyebrows at Tilly’s outburst.
“Bed rest?”
Evie raised her eyebrows harder. “Are you going to bring me a bed pan?”
Tilly looked like she was considering it. After a beat she said, “I suppose the nurse who discharged you said going to the bathroom was okay.”
Evie rolled her eyes and stood, stretching before making her way out the door. “Yes, he did.”
She checked her phone in the bathroom—a gross habit, but one she had all the same. Her mum had messaged her:
Are you getting enough calcium, Evie? Babies are like little leeches that sap all the calcium from your bones.
She cackled, tearfully, and hoped Tilly didn’t hear her cackle in the bathroom like a weirdo. She replied in the affirmative, assuring her mum that she was on all the necessities and added a thank you at the end.
She almost told her mum about the close call, but didn’t want her to worry. Evie then messaged Luke to reschedule their meeting, but didn’t say anything about why. Thankfully, his reply was as easy-going as ever.
The bathroom was cooler than the rest of the house, a relief on her warm skin after just waking up. She pulled in a slow, shuddering breath, overwhelmed by the rollercoaster of emotions she’d been on. From crying about eggs, to suddenly, desperately, craving Tilly closer and panicking that this was something Evie could never have.
There was a sinking realisation occurring, one that crept up on her, and she didn’t want to acknowledge it.
She didn’t want to acknowledge it at all.
The mirror reflected back her pinched face, bags under her eyes from a night of interrupted sleep and then sleeping through the morning. Her eyes were glassy from the hormonal tears she’d shed, and her freckles stood out stark on her cheeks.
So she had a cool shower, and ignored how that realisation turned into a solid thought, settling heavy in her brain. The heaviness only spread as she dressed and got comfortable on the couch for a relaxing afternoon of television, just as the doctor ordered. Tilly was jumping to do everything Evie needed, but Evie’s shoulders were tense, fingers picking at the lint on her old pyjama pants.
That thought wouldn’t leave.
This needed to stop.
This overly dependent friendship. It couldn’t keep going, not like this. Tilly laughed at something on the show, and the baby kicked back a pattern in response. Evie laid a hand over it, sending out a quiet apology.
It really had to stop.