“I’m Abigail,” the woman says. “You must be Natalie.”
I nod. “How did you know?”
“Word gets around in this place …” She winks. “Us women don’t have a lot to do, so we notice … things.”
Her brows rise in such a peculiar way that I can’t help but snort a little.
“C’mon,” the woman says, and she grabs my hand and guides me to where the others are seated.
“Yeah, we don’t bite,” another one with silky blond hair says.
Why do I find that hard to believe?
“Sylvia,” the woman says as she too gives me two kisses and a short bow.
I introduce myself to each of the ladies. There’s Meghan, a brown-haired girl barely of age, Trisha, a dark-skinned beauty with a killer smile, and Ashley, a girl with short brown hair, who’s about the same age as me, I guess.
“Sit, sit!” Abigail insists as she pours some tea. “Here. It’s rose petals and honey flavored. My favorite.” She pushes a teacup in my direction.
I eagerly take a sip but am taken aback by how sweet it is. “Nice,” I lie.
No one says a word; everyone’s looking at me like they’re waiting for me … but to do what?
“Do I have something on my face?” I ask.
“Oh, no, darling, we’re all just so intrigued,” Abigail explains.
Sylvia leans in from right next to me. “Yeah, we want to know all about you. What did you think of the temple? Do you like the patriarchs? Have you enjoyed your time with the common folk?”
“The common folk?” I mutter.
“Yes, the people in the huts,” Meghan says. “You came from there, right?”
“Yeah …” I reply.
“I can’t believe she spent time with them,” Trisha says, checking out her nails. “I’m so glad I was born into this.”
“Not everyone’s as lucky as you are,” Ashley says, rolling her eyes.
“Are you not from here, either?” I ask her.
She shakes her head. “Trisha’s dad is a current patriarch. She’s not married yet.”
“What about you?” Trisha asks me.
“Oh, I … um … I’m not from here.”
“A lot of us aren’t,” Ashley says.
“No, I mean … I’m not from this community,” I say. When they all just stare at me, I continue. “I’m from the outside. Beyond the fence.”
Ashley’s eyes widen. “Oh my … an outsider?”
“I thought you were too,” I mutter, confused.
She shakes her head. “I wasn’t born in the temple; my parents live out there in the huts. I haven’t talked to them in years, but I know where I came from. This community is my home.”
“What’s it like out there?” Meghan asks, leaning in.
“Meghan.” Abigail eyes her down. “We don’t talk about those things here.”
She pouts and lowers her eyes. “Aww …”
“You know the rules,” Abigail says. “They keep us alive.”
“You’re right,” Meghan says, sighing. “I just wish we could know more. It’s so boring here sometimes.”
Trisha raises her brow at Meghan. “Maybe you should do more chores then.”
“How? Where?” Meghan retorts. “It’s not like they let us do anything. Unlike when you live in the huts.”
“Girls, please,” Abigail interjects, raising her hand. “No need to fight over simple things.”
“I’m not fighting,” Trisha says, leaning back with her arms folded. “I’m just saying, people should be grateful.”
“I am … I’m very grateful for my position as a matriarch,” Meghan says.
“Then you should act like it,” Trisha replies.
“Ah!” Abigail barks. “No more.”
Well, that escalated quickly.
I wonder if it’s always like this, or if it’s just because I joined that they’re now suddenly unhinged. She was right; I am an outsider … a catalyst to the storm yet to come.
“So I heard you were pregnant,” Abigail says to me. “How are you feeling?”
My lips part, but I don’t know how to answer. Sylvia beats me to it. “Oh my, really?” Her eyes sparkle with joy. “Can I feel it?”
Before I know it, she’s already gotten up and has placed her hand on my belly.
“Me too!” Meghan quickly says, and she immediately lunges out of her chair to touch me.
But there’s nothing to feel yet. The baby isn’t far enough along yet to kick. But they don’t know that, and I don’t have it in me to tell them that.
“How far along are you?” Trisha asks.
“I … uh …” I don’t actually know, but the question makes my head spin.
“Can you feel him kick yet?” Meghan asks.
I can’t even answer before the next questions pour in.
“How do you feel?”
“Are you gaining weight yet?”
“Have you guessed what gender it’s going to be?”
“Do you have names already?”
Soon, all of the women are circling around me, each touching my belly and giggling to themselves as though it’s something to be jolly about. But should I be?
This baby … I want to love it, but at the same time, I’m terrified.
Acknowledging it means it’ll come into this world.
It means that I’ll have to give it love in this heinous community.