But I’m not Charlie Edwards.
She may have needed to grieve—I simply need to move on.
There’s a knock on my door, prompting me to look up. Charlie’s there, her mouth is curved upward into a half-smile. “Hey, I thought I might catch you here.”
“I was just reading your texts. I’m so sorry, it’s been hectic, and I lost track of time.”
“Can I come in?” She lingers at the door, and only now, I notice the flowy white dress which is unlike anything I’ve seen her wear. “I wasn’t sure if you were leaving just yet.”
“Maybe five minutes.” I gesture for her to come in. “So, what’s up?”
“How are you doing?”
I don’t want to have to answer again, but Charlie and Haden are relentless with my well-being. My frustration escalates, but this isn’t the place to berate her for asking me how I am. I need to let it go.
“I’m fine. Busy. Is that why you came?”
She takes a seat at the desk, wringing her hands, nervously. “So, listen, I’ve been trying to get you for a second because I have, um… something to tell you.”
I sit back into my chair, crossing my legs to hear what’s so important she needed to come see me on a Friday afternoon all the way at the office.
“There’s no easy way to say this. You’re one of my best friends, and I know it’s been tough lately, so I’m just going to say it because I think you should hear it from me.”
“My God, Charlie, what is it?”
“I’m pregnant.”
Silence falls inside the room as I feel my heart cracking like glass, spreading its pieces throughout my body with a sharp and stabbing pain. Nausea swirls unrestrained in my stomach, making the temperature in the room stifling hot. My head swims with guilt, despair, and a range of emotions clouding my ability to speak.
“Presley, I’m sorry. Are you okay? I know this must be hard.” Charlie’s eyes begin to glass over, tears building up as I continue to remain silent. I don’t understand her need to cry. She is expecting a child. A new baby. She isn’t walking around feeling guilty because she lost her baby.
My eyes shift toward the window, trying to absorb the news, but the more I try, the more my thoughts become angered, envious of the so-called perfect life she always seems to have.
Yet, I don’t need her pity.
Hiding the pain, I force a smile. “I’m fine. Congratulations.”
Wiping the lonesome tear on her face, she reaches out her hand. “I’m so sorry.”
“Why are you sorry? It’s not your fault I miscarried.”
“I know, Pres. But I remember what it’s like to lose a baby and watch others around you grow their family. It’s a gut-wrenching feeling. Something I have never forgotten.”
“Well, I’m fine. Life is good for me right now. It wasn’t going to work, timing wise, but listen, I really need to get back to work.”
“Oh, um… okay. Can we catch up this weekend?”
I want her out of here. Fast.
“Sure, just text me.”
Standing up, she extends her hands to embrace me, but suddenly, she retracts. Walking toward the door, she stops just shy of the entrance and turns around. “I’m here if you need me.”
My eyes widen, mouth planted with teeth baring. “I’m fine, okay? I’ll speak to you on the weekend. Promise.”
The second she leaves my office. I close the door behind her. My hand is clutching the doorknob as my chest begins to heave, overcome by waves of helplessness and anxiety which hits me like a raging storm. I lean against the door, strangled by the memories of the last few weeks.
The pregnancy test.