She’s lying in the bed wrapped in a towel on her side when I walk out of the bathroom. Her sandy brown hair looks as black as coal as it scatters erratically across the white pillowcase. I could leave and give her some space, but I don’t. I’ve made so many reckless choices, and I’m about to make another.
With my towel still intact and beads of water on my chest, I sit down on the edge of the bed. My weight on the mattress alerts her that I’m here and I watch as she tugs the towel tighter to her chest. “You’re wasting your time,” she says softly.
“Do you remember when Colby died?” I answer for her when she doesn’t respond. “Of course you do. You were at the funeral. Your family had just moved to Redwood. I still remember that pink foofy dress you wore while everyone else was dressed in black. You looked like you were at an Easter Sunday service, not a funeral for a four-year-old boy.”
“I picked my clothes for that day. Mom tried getting me to change, but I told her pink made people happy.”
Smiling at the image in my head of nine-year-old Willa, I make the point of this story. “I’m sure it helped lighten the mood. Anyways, I was sitting there with my chin to my chest because I didn’t want anyone to see the lack of emotion on my face. You sat down next to me and asked my name. I’m pretty sure I snubbed you and told you to get lost.”
Her body springs up and she looks at me. “I do remember that. You were so mean. I almost forgot about that day. I guess I pushed it in the back of my memories because I always wanted to believe that you weren’t really that cruel.”
“I was. Still am, I suppose.”
“You’re really not helping yourself with this conversation. What’s your point here?”
“Colby’s death isn’t what made me so calloused. It was Colby’s birth that did that. You see, I was this spoiled fucking brat who got whatever he wanted. Once Colby came along, I wasn’t a priority to my parents anymore. Colby died because of me, and for a while, I didn’t even care. My mom came running in the house soaking wet with Colby’s lifeless body in her arms and I kept playing my video game. Even my friends were freaking out. It wasn’t until my life on that game ended that I threw the controller down and pretended to care. I say pretend, because that’s what I did. There was a part of me that felt relief. And when I say part of me, I don’t mean a small part. My first thought was, I’ll have my parents all to myself again. Who the fuck thinks like that?”
“You were nine years old, Lars. Don’t beat yourself up over it.”
“For the last nine years, I’ve tried to make myself cry because I thought maybe that would mean that I was starting to care that he’s gone. I’m not a kid anymore. I should miss him, but all I feel is guilt because I don’t.”
“Colby was only four. That was only four years that he was part of your life. It’s not completely unreasonable to think that you just didn’t have enough time to connect with him. You’re not a bad person for it, if that’s what you’re getting at.”
Shaking my head, I disagree. “I am. I’m not a good person. I know that. I hate that I’ve never been able to connect with another human. I think I love my parents, but how do I really know if I do? I’ve got friends, but I’m not even sure how much I care about them. Never had a real girlfriend that I had feelings for. In reality, I’ve never really cared about anyone but myself.”
Turning her whole body, she crosses her legs and tucks the towel between them to refrain from exposing herself to me. Her hand grips the corner by her breasts and her hair falls carelessly around her face. Her eyebrows arch. “If that’s really how you feel, then what makes you think that raising a baby is what you want? If you think you’re incapable of caring for another, why put that pressure on yourself?”
“You’ve awakened something inside of me that I’ve been searching for my entire life. This unnerving urge to keep you safe, to protect the baby and your body, your feelings and your heart—to be near you.”
Each moment that passes leaves Willa’s eyes sadder and sadder. Behind them, I see so much pain and uncertainty. I just bared my soul to her and I’m sitting here with more vulnerability than I ever knew was possible for me to feel. It's a strange feeling, one that I’m not sure I like. Racing heart, sweating palms, and a gazillion possible outcomes racing through my mind.
When she finally opens her mouth to speak, I predict what’s coming, so I grab her hand. “Stop questioning everything.”
“Don’t do this, Lars.” Her head shakes back and forth, as she gets to her feet. “Please just leave.” She heads for the bathroom door.
“Would you just wait a damn minute?” I jump off the bed and jog over and throw my hand on the door before she closes it. “Why the fuck do you hate me so much, Willa?” I shout, more loudly than I planned to.
She shouts back even louder, her hands flying in the air as she speaks. “Because you ruined my life. You took this sweet and kind girl and shook things up, and in the process, you turned her entire world upside down.” Her hands stop wailing in the air as she slaps them to her chest. “Me, Lars. That girl is
