Chapter 17

The next morning, Sarah bit into a dry piece of whole wheat toast. Ugh—bland would be an understatement. But if she wanted to shed the extra fat on her midsection before Eduardo’s next invitation to stay the night—which hopefully would be soon—Choctella sobriety was a must. She chased the grainy bread with a sip of black tea—well, with a tiny splash of cream. A girl couldn’t give up everything. As long as she didn’t need to wriggle into blubber-busting, granny panties, she’d be content. Was that item even sold in Italy? If it was, she seriously doubted Eduardo had ever been with a woman who’d worn them.

Okay. Stop thinking about sex. She glanced at her phone. Nine a.m. was too early—too early to text Anna, too early to call Meredith, and certainly much too early to thank Eduardo for the date.

Two missed calls from Mom, both received during the date. If Mom wasn’t the last person Sarah wanted to know about her date, she might call her; she was the one most likely to be up in the middle of the night. Meredith would certainly be sleeping, and she had a long time to wait until their usual Sunday afternoon catch-up. As for Anna…had she even come home yet?

Sarah washed down the cardboard bread and pulled up Anna’s contact. She texted,

—You up?—

She paced the room but received no response. She sat back and drummed her fingers on the desk. How long should she wait to call Eduardo? Or did she just wait until he visited on Tuesday? Had they even discussed what time?

Opening her desk drawer, Sarah pulled out Eduardo’s business card. She hadn’t even given him her number. She typed in his digits, saved him as a contact, and chose an appropriate ringtone—the brindisi from La Traviata.

At nine forty-five, with no response from Anna, she twitched her fingers, letting her gaze stray back to the phone. She hovered her thumbs over the keyboard. How many years passed since she’d played this cat-and-mouse game? Too many. And she was too old to be playing games now. Besides, a simple thank you wouldn’t come across as desperate. She entered Eduardo’s contact into the sender’s box of a text message.

—Thanks for last night—

She pressed Send then stared at her phone. Her chest tightened. The five flipped to a six. Nine forty-six. Maybe he was at church. The six flipped to a seven. Nothing. Maybe she should have gone to church. The seven flipped to an eight. Nothing. What the hell was she doing?

Ten minutes later, Sarah stared at her phone. When it dinged, she jumped. But the sound was only a notification of a new email—Mom. A wry laugh forced through Sarah’s lips. This behavior was ridiculous—she was an adult. She lifted her chin. Why is my mother up at four in the morning? She opened the e-mail.

Subject: Don’t be upset

Great. Don’t be upset? What had her mother done now? Canceled her hostel in lieu of bunking at the dorm? She chomped down on her toast and read on.

Dear Sarah,

I called. I know you must be upset, but don’t think about them. Your turn will come. I know it.

Call when you can.

Love,

Mom

The words blinded her. My turn will come? Those words were the ones her mother used when she talked about… Sarah gripped the arms of the chair. Who was having a baby? Meredith? No. She would have said something. Sarah’s cousin, Nancy? Well, who cared? That girl had babies faster than Sarah could finish a container of Choctella.

Sarah chewed on her toast. Geez, Mom was prone to overreactions. Not like Amanda and Phillip were expecting. Sarah choked on the toast, the rough edges scraping her throat. Amanda, pregnant? She couldn’t be. Sarah stared at the laptop screen. Did she dare look?

Trembling rushed her fingers, but she forced them on the keyboard. As she trudged her fingers over the keys, her pulse raced. She opened Philip’s social media page. Why, Mom, did you never unfriend him? She scrolled down the page, straining her eyes to simultaneously look but not look. Then she found it. So happy to announce that Amanda and I are expecting!

Her stomach twisted. No. Sarah shook her head. No. The cardboard bread sat like a rock in her stomach—a rock she wanted to spit out and hurl against the screen. How could this pregnancy have happened? How could Amanda have her baby? She slammed shut the laptop and stood from her chair so fast it whipped back and hit the floor. She stumbled backward. Two years of demoralizing prodding, extracting, and injections, and not even one “yes,” one pink line—not a single one. And this girl, this temptress, opened her legs and, voilà, she’s—

Her phone beeped. Finally, someone texted her back. Meredith or Anna? Either one would know what to say to make her feel better. She grabbed her phone. Eduardo. Her breath caught.

—Sorry for delay.

Was in shower.

Can’t wait to see you again, Bella Cigna—

Bella, beautiful. A smile played on her lips, and her heart melted. And Cigna? What did that word mean? She commanded her phone to translate. Swan. Cigna meant swan. “Beautiful Swan,” she whispered. Closing her eyes, she felt his strong hands on her arms, and his soft lips on her neck. Her smile widening, Sarah opened her eyes and dropped her gaze to her laptop.

A coolness crept into her chest, and her smile faded. The phone slipped from her hand and dropped to the floor. She didn’t retrieve it. “Beautiful swan,” she whispered again, maliciousness in her voice.

Shaking her head, she stepped away from the desk, from the phone, and from Eduardo’s sentiments. She bumped the edge of the bed, and she lowered herself to it and buried her face in her hands. Tears dripped down her face. Not beautiful. Damaged. Broken. She curled up on the bed, closed her eyes, and pushed away thoughts of Philip and Amanda, of her mother, and of Eduardo.

****

“I know you’re in there,” Anna called.

Out of the corner of her eye, Sarah glanced at the clock. 8:30 p.m, but she didn’t budge. If Anna thought she was asleep, she might go away.

Anna entered anyway. “Are you sick?”

Sarah didn’t answer. Sick was one word for how she felt—sick of her shortcoming or sick of having her past thrown in her face.

Anna touched a hand to Sarah’s shoulder, shaking her. “Come on, Sarah. I’m getting worried. You’ve been sleeping all day.”

Sighing, Sarah rolled over, and opened her eyes. “Fine.” She sat up and stretched her arms in the air. “How’d you know I’ve been in bed all day?”

“I dropped by earlier. You were passed out.” Anna snapped her gum. “Late night?”

Sarah shook her head. “Just tired.”

Anna cocked her head in question but continued, “Well? How was the date?”

“How was what?” She rubbed her eyes.

“Your date, stupid!”

“Oh.” She paused. Eduardo’s words repeated in her mind. Kids are great. Sure, they were great if your body can carry them. With her lower lip quivering, she kept her gaze on the floor. “My date was fine.”

“Fine?” Anna planted her hands on her hips. “Just fine?”

Sarah shrugged.

Anna was quiet then stood. “Well, if you’re not interested, mind if I ask him out?”

“What?” Her pulse racing, Sarah leapt to her feet.

Anna pressed her pointer finger into Sarah’s chest. “Aha! I knew it.” She pushed Sarah back to the mattress. “You’re a terrible liar.”

Lips shaking again, she bit down—hard. The metallic taste of blood seeped into her mouth.

Her expression softening, Anna sat beside her. “Sarah. What’s going on?”

For a moment, Sarah didn’t speak. Her emotions—anger, sorrow, lust—were too varied and deep to understand. She took a deep breath. “It’s my ex. Well, soon-to-be ex.”

“I thought that was all settled.”

“It is. It’s…” Should she really confide in Anna? Children were bound to be the last thing from Anna’s mind. Then again, how long could she hide this predicament from the know-it-all anyway? A day? A week? “It’s something else,” she said. “Amanda…the woman he left me for. She’s…” She choked on the words. “She’s pregnant.”

“Oh, Sarah.” Anna wrapped her arms around Sarah.

Tears streamed down Sarah’s hot cheeks, and she buried her head in Anna’s scrawny shoulder. For a few minutes, she wept openly into Anna’s tight embrace. Finally, Sarah sniffed back her tears and wiped her nose.

“Genes.” Anna handed Sarah a tissue. “They’re not fair, right? She’s probably got big tits, too.”

Sarah didn’t know whether to start crying again or to laugh. She hadn’t given Amanda’s cup size much thought.

“Maybe she’s got fat genes,” Anna continued. “Those are the worst.”

Anna spoke in a snarky tone. The corner of Sarah’s lip twitched, but she held back her laughter.

“Hey, I’m serious. She can’t have all the good genes. DNA perfection is mathematically almost impossible.”

A single laugh escaped Sarah. Anna always knew what to say.

“So, you gonna go out with him again?”

Sarah returned her lips to a hard line. “Eduardo?”

Anna nodded.

“I don’t know. I need time to get over this loss first.”

“Fine.” Anna pursed her lips. “But don’t forget, he’s hot.”

Yeah, he is. Sarah smiled.

Anna crossed to the door then pivoted on her heel. “And Sarah, just remember, for what it’s worth, your friends, your family, hell, even Sister Maria—we’re here for you.”

“Thanks.”

“Yeah, well, if I ever stay with someone long enough to get dumped, I expect the same from you.” Anna left the room.

Sarah couldn’t help but muster a shallow laugh.

Over the next few days, Sarah intended to heed Anna’s advice, to call Meredith—heck, maybe even her mother—to discuss recent events. Instead, she wandered the streets of Rome. Strangely enough, on Monday evening she stood in a church of all places, among a crowd of tourists marveling at the chiseled dome of St. Peter’s Basilica.

She’d been there before, many times, and even climbed to the top of the dome along the narrow, winding spiral staircase. But tonight, as she entered the cathedral, she thought perhaps she was drawn by its reverence. Perhaps she hoped to absorb some serenity from one of the numerous cloaked men of God circulating the nave.

She didn’t head to one of the priests, however. She made her way to the stoic face of the Virgin Mary, holding the limp corpse of her son in her arms. Michelangelo’s Pietà. She placed a palm on the translucent, protective case but immediately withdrew it. The coolness of the glass was like the frost on a December morning—a stark contrast to the stifling, stale air of the cathedral. Goose pimples marked her flesh, and she was unsure whether they were her body’s response to the icy partition or the cold, chiseled stone it enclosed.

As she stared through the glass at Mary’s somber expression, she realized the statue was more than just an exquisitely carved marble. The Pietà depicted a mother who’d suffered, who’d lost, and who’d sacrificed. Yet, not one tear showed on Mary’s shiny, polished cheek—not a trace of agony emanated from her downcast gaze. No, Michelangelo’s greatest work captured the silent grief of a woman, hidden deep beneath a sculpted, serene expression.

A camera snapped behind Sarah, and the flash illuminated her reflection in the glass—her own serene expression. She thought back to the day she too had begun to wear the mask of indifference. She recalled the coolness of the vinyl on the exam table and the medicinal scent of cleaning products and rubbing alcohol. But most of all, she recalled the doctor’s sympathetic expression as he’d delivered the news she’d been expecting.

“I’m sorry,” the doctor said. “None of the eggs implanted.”

Sarah winced. Three negative pregnancy tests should have been all the confirmation Sarah needed. But she came in anyway, clinging to desperate hope.

“These were the last eggs we fertilized. We’ll need to determine the next course of action. Is your husband here?”

Feeling numb, she shook her head. That expression appeared again on the doctor’s face—pinched, glassy eyes that could only be read as I’m sorry.

“Take some time to discuss it with him then.” He squeezed her hand and had gotten up. “Call me once you’ve reached a decision.”

Sarah stared at the statue. She’d had as much choice in the matter as Mary had in losing her son. Sacrifice was the only option.

The door to the nave opened behind her, and a chill rushed inside.

She turned and caught sight of the towering buildings in the distance. One of them was Eduardo’s. Heaviness weighed on her chest. What choice would he make when he found out about her infertility? She picked up her phone and checked Eduardo’s text from that morning.

—Buongiorno, beautiful.

Hope you have a good day—

How was she supposed to “just have fun” with Eduardo? How was this flirtation not the beginning of a relationship—a relationship destined to end just like her last one had? Tears blurred her eyes, and she gazed a final time through the glass. This time, she didn’t see Mary and Jesus. She saw herself, holding an empty blanket.