4: 4
I picked up the tablet and opened Isabel's social feed.
The tenth date we'd "chosen" for the wedding — she and Arthur were in Iceland watching the northern lights. Blocked from me only.
The ninth date — she and Arthur were at Mount Rainier under the cherry blossoms, soaking in hot springs. Blocked from me only.
The eighth date — she and Arthur were at the Grand Canyon, taking in the view. Blocked from me only.
……
I curled up on the bed like an infant and wept out loud.
There was nowhere to put the bitterness inside me, and I couldn't stop the thought from coming,
that maybe it would be better to go find my parents, gone so early, so I wouldn't have to hurt like this anymore.
I cried until I had nothing left, then forced myself up to gather my documents and paintings, and slept like the dead.
Maybe it was the swing of emotion. That night, stomach pain and a high fever swept over me together.
Half-conscious, I drifted back to our past.
Arthur and I were opposites from the start.
He was handsome and outgoing, the top student and campus heartthrob everyone chased after.
I was ordinary and shy, a poor student, and I only made it into a decent college on a little talent for painting in high school.
Yet two people this different somehow became the closest of friends.
I listened to him vent about his parents fighting and throwing things; he stood up for me when others picked on me for having no parents.
That was how we held each other up through so many years.
Wherever he was, no one could see me.
And just when I'd grown used to sitting in the audience clapping for him, Isabel appeared.
She held my face in her hands, so focused,
"Even with the sun that bright, a star can still shine its own light."
"I just think our Ulysses is the best of all."
Because of that one line, I willingly lived all these years like a tree.
Rooting myself down for her.
Learning, clumsily, to have everything ready for her, hoping only that she might pause and stay a while now and then.
But in the end, once the sun comes out, the stars can't be seen.
The next day when I woke, Arthur and Isabel were already home.
My stomach hurt, my head hurt, so I stayed in bed.
Arthur laughed and pulled off my blanket. "He used to just be dumb. Now he's dumb and lazy."
Isabel leaned into him, an arm around his waist. "Right, from now on we'll call him our dumb little lazy pig."
I pressed at my throbbing temple and suddenly didn't want to keep playing along with them.
"Isabel, let's get divorced."
Her eyes went wide, like she couldn't believe it.
"Divorce, just because I called you a dumb little lazy pig?"
"You think because I'm carrying your kid, you can jerk me around however you want?"
Arthur smoothed it over. "Ulysses probably just woke up on the wrong side of the bed."
"Come buy a pair of sneakers with me first. They drop today, actually. Let Ulysses cool off on his own."
There it was again. Sounding like he was taking my side, when really he was just shoving me aside.
Isabel nodded her agreement without a second thought.
But something in me wanted to try one last time. I lifted my head and caught her sleeve.
"Isabel, don't go. My stomach hurts."
She pried my fingers off one by one.
"Quit the act! Yeah, I'm carrying your kid, but that doesn't mean I got sold to you!"
She hooked her arm through Arthur's without hesitation and turned to leave.
No one noticed I'd been running a fever the whole time. No one noticed I'd packed up my paintings.
I let out a small, bitter laugh and sat there on the bed for a long while.
The stomach pain flared without warning, sharp enough to break me out in a cold sweat.
On reflex I called Isabel, only to find she'd blocked me again.
Every time we fought, Isabel would block me, then wait for me to come begging before she let me off the list.
But this time I wasn't going to beg.
Hands shaking, I called 911, and while I waited the tablet screen lit up.
A message in the group chat, "Family of Three."
Arthur: Then let's do a destination wedding in Aspen, family only. Don't set Ulysses off.
Isabel: Fine, we'll go today. I'm barely pregnant and he's already acting up. I'm not indulging that ugly little habit of his.
Isabel's mother: Arthur's just so accomplished and thoughtful. If only you'd been my son-in-law.
The ambulance came, and the crew carefully lifted me onto the stretcher. The doctor's tone was grim.
"This pain's gotten pretty serious. No one's been looking after you these past few days? We need to get you to the hospital right away."
A message alert came through on my phone. Isabel, of all things, was offering me a way to smooth it over.
Ulysses, got a last-minute flight assignment, out for half a month. Pack my bags for me, I'll swing by this afternoon to grab them.
But I didn't fire back a reply in a second the way I always had.
I just held on to the edge of the stretcher and begged the doctor to bring along the documents and paintings I'd packed.
After the emergency treatment was over, Isabel called that afternoon.
"What are you so busy with that you can't answer? You won't even pack my bags. Do you still want this kid or not?"
I looked at the IV line taped to my hand and answered, calm. "It's your kid. Keep it or don't, up to you."
