I smiled as I walked out of the house, David’s high-pitched shouts indistinguishable. Courtney handed me my coffee as soon as I got into the car. I grabbed it and took to it like a newborn to a nipple. The first sip produced almost instant euphoria. I thought that the chemicals in this hot, black silken elixir worked as well as any antidepressant meds I’d ever taken, and with a lot less side effects. When I looked up, I saw Courtney looking at me with a Cheshire cat smile and a mischievous sparkle in her eye.
“Don’t say it,” I warned.
“Are you ready to shop till you drop?” “You had to say it?”
“I say it every year.”
“I know. And every year I hate it more and more.”
“Oh, come on. What’s eating you? We’re going to have some fun today.”
“Let’s just go and get it over with.”
As she pulled away from the curb and drove out of the apartment complex, I imagined that I was leaving and never coming back, not to this apartment, not to David. I wished I could just run away from it all. If only it were that easy. Just hit the reset button and start over. No fuss, no muss. But there was always muss.
“Hey, where’s my donut?”
Courtney kept her left hand on the wheel and reached her right hand into the side pocket of her jacket, rummaging around for something.
“That better not be my donut.”
She removed her hand and held out something round and red in front of me.
“That’s an apple.”
“It’s a Macoun. They’re so sweet. I have some protein chips, too. They’re in the bag in the backseat.”
“I’m good, thanks.”
Halfway through my coffee I felt a lot better. Now, at least, I could deal with the crazed shoppers and my younger sister’s apple, and her often facetious, personality.
Courtney had already begun telling me about her plan of attack, what stores we should go to, and in what order. I nodded in agreement to whatever she said while staring out the passenger window and sipping on my coffee.
“You don’t seem happy lately,” Courtney said, breaking the silence that lasted all of three minutes, which had to be near a personal record for her. “What’s wrong? Talk to me. Come on. I’m your sister. We haven’t had a heart-to-heart in a long time. Does it have anything to do with sex?”
For just about anyone else, it would be unusual to ask a question like that out of the blue, but I was not surprised. My sister had sex on the brain. It wasn’t that she slept around or engaged in risky sexual behavior or anything, but she certainly liked to talk about it. She seemed to get her thrills living vicariously through me and other people. I hesitantly turned to face her. She raised her eyebrows up and down in a suggestive manner. I just looked at her, not knowing where to begin.
“I know that since the miscarriage, you’ve been down in the dumps,” Courtney began, jump-starting a conversation I really did not want to have now. “You have every right to feel that way. But it’s been six months. You can try again. And hey, that’s the fun part. Am I right?”
“It’s not that, exactly.”
“Because he doesn’t want to get married? You’re worried about the stigma? I know it’s not like it used to be. Heaven knows, society is more lenient about such things. You don’t have to be married anymore to have kids. But still, the kid, how will it affect him? Believe me, I understand. You don’t want your son or daughter to have to deal with judgmental parents, the other kids, the teasing and all that.”
“No, that’s not it either.” “What then?”
I averted my eyes. “It’s David.” My voice faltered, it was barely above a whisper.
We came to a slow stop. I looked out over the hood of the car at the bumper-to-bumper traffic. We would be in this for a while, and I knew I was trapped.
“Okay.” Courtney’s tone was calm but expectant as she peered at me and waited for me to fill in the details.
I took a deep breath. “He blames me for losing the baby.”