Chapter 7: What Renee Brought With Her
Renee arrived twenty minutes later with a bag from the diner two blocks over — soup, bread, two pieces of pie I wouldn't be able to eat — and the particular expression she wore when she had already decided something and was waiting for the right moment to say it.
Cara had gone.
She'd left her number on the kitchen counter, written on the back of a receipt, without being asked.
Noah had fallen back asleep in the car before they'd reached the end of the street, according to the text she sent me twenty minutes later.
I didn't know why she sent it.
I was glad she did.
Daniel was in the bedroom with the door closed.
I hadn't asked him to go there.
He'd gone on his own.
Renee set the food on the kitchen table and sat across from me.
"Eat something," she said.
"I'm not hungry."
"You're seven months pregnant.
Eat the bread at least."
I ate the bread.
She watched me for a moment.
Then she said, "I need to tell you something, and I need you to not be angry at me for not telling you sooner."
I set the bread down.
"I saw him once," she said.
"About a year ago.
At the farmers market on Clement Street.
He was with a woman.
They were looking at tomatoes." She pressed her hands flat on the table.
"I told myself it could have been a colleague.
A friend.
I told myself I wasn't sure enough to say anything."
"Were you sure?"
She met my eyes.
"Yes."
The word sat between us.
"I'm sorry," she said.
"I should have told you.
I talked myself out of it and I have regretted it every day since and I am so sorry."
I looked at my sister.
The person who had driven me to my first prenatal appointment when Daniel had a work conflict.
Who had helped me pick the crib.
Who had been standing in the garage doorway tonight with her hand pressed against her mouth.
"I'm not angry at you," I said.
"You can be."
"I know.
I'm not." I picked up the bread again.
"I'm tired, Renee.
I'm so tired."
She reached across the table and put her hand over mine.
We sat like that for a while.
Then she said, "What are you going to do?"
"I don't know yet."
"You don't have to know tonight."
"I know."
"But I want you to know something." She squeezed my hand.
"Whatever you decide — stay, go, burn it to the ground — I am with you.
Not with him.
With you."
The bedroom door opened.
Daniel came into the kitchen.
He had changed his shirt.
He looked like a man who had been rehearsing what to say and had thrown out every version.
"Can I sit down?" he asked.
Renee looked at me.
"Give us a minute," I said.
She stood, squeezed my shoulder as she passed, and went to wait in the living room.
Daniel sat down across from me.
"I don't have a speech," he said.
"I thought I did.
I don't."
"Good."
"I know I have no right to ask you for anything."
"You don't."
"I'm asking anyway." He looked at me directly.
"Don't make any decisions tonight.
That's all I'm asking.
Just — not tonight."
"Why not tonight?"
"Because you're exhausted and you're in shock and you deserve to make this decision when you can think clearly."
"I am thinking clearly."
"I know you are.
I just—" He stopped.
"I'm scared."
"You should be."
He nodded.
He didn't argue.
"I'm not making any decisions tonight," I said.
"Not because you asked me not to.
Because I don't want to.
But Daniel—" I waited until he looked at me.
"I need you to understand something.
Whatever happens between us, that boy exists.
Noah exists.
You cannot keep treating your son like a line item."
His jaw tightened.
"That child pointed at you tonight and asked who you were," I said.
"He is three years old and he does not know his father's face.
Whatever you decide to do about me — you fix that."
He was quiet for a long moment.
"Okay," he said.
"That's not a negotiation point.
That's a condition."
"I understand."
I stood up.
"I'm going to sleep in the nursery tonight."
He didn't try to stop me.
I walked down the hall.
I lay down on the small daybed we'd put in the corner for late-night feedings.
I pulled the blanket up.
Through the wall, I heard Renee and Daniel exchange a few words in the kitchen.
Low voices.
Then the front door opened and closed.
Then silence.
I put my hand on my stomach.
"I don't know what's going to happen," I said quietly.
"But I'm going to figure it out.
And you are going to be okay.
I promise you that."
My phone lit up on the floor beside me.
A text from a number I didn't recognize.
*This is Justine.
I think you should know — he told me you two were separated.
He said it for the entire time we were together.
I only found out tonight that wasn't true.
I'm sorry.
You deserved better than both of us.*
May you like
I stared at the message for a long time.
Then I set the phone face-down and closed my eyes.
