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34

ANDI

It’s too much.

My chest burns, anguish squeezing my lungs as I listen to Ford tell me about Tilly’s mother.

I’ve never met this woman but I am gutted by what she has gone through.

Is still going through.

I can’t even imagine the pain she endured today, seeing her baby again and knowing it’s for the last time.

I am wrecked for Tilly and how she knew her mother for such a short time, for how she will never see her again.

And then looking at the things she saved for Tilly and the pictures and the letter she wrote—clearly Willa wants Tilly to know her.

There’s a book like the one I saw in the store that day, with the missing pieces from Tilly’s first months.

And it’s all packed into a pretty storage box with pink flowers on it, like the ones you buy at Michael’s.

It’s all too much.

The tears keep flowing and I can’t stop them.

Pressing a hand to my stomach, I rise to my feet.

I look at Tilly’s sweet, round face, her perfect lips, the tiny blue veins on her eyelids.

I’m swamped with such a fierce, protective love it’s painful.

“I’m so sorry, baby.” I swipe ineffectually at my wet face.

I turn to Ford.

His eyes are red, his misery evident on his face.

“I can’t do this,” I sob.

“I know. It’s so fucked up.”

“I mean, I really can’t do this.”

His eyebrows pull together.

“Andi…”

I shake my head, my heart lodged painfully in my throat, making it difficult to squeeze air into my lungs.

“It’s too much. I can’t handle it. I have to go.”

His mouth falls open.

“Andi?—”

But I’m fleeing, my feet carrying my numb legs across the room.

I almost leave without my key, and I pause to scoop it up from the table at the door, then dash out.

I just have to make it to my own apartment.

Then I can fall apart.

Then I can hate myself and hate this fucking world that allows such horrible things to happen to people who don’t deserve it.

Like innocent babies.

And mothers.

I slam the door shut behind me, stumble to my bedroom, and plant myself face down on the bed.

I let out the sobs that I’ve been trying to hold back, crying until I’m exhausted and limp.

I know I’m freaking out.

I can’t help it.

I was trying to be strong for Tilly but I guess I’m not that strong.

I fall asleep for a while.

I wake up in the dark.

My eyes are gritty.

I feel like I’ve been run over by a Zamboni.

I roll onto my back and stare up at the ceiling to think about everything.

The sick feeling in my stomach is guilt.

So much guilt.

I judged Willa so harshly and unfairly.

I thought she abandoned her baby.

I was angry at her.

I thought she didn’t deserve Tilly.

I hate myself for that.

She made the biggest sacrifice possible for her daughter.

And made sure her daughter was going to be looked after when she was gone.

The selflessness of her love for Tilly overwhelms me.

I don’t have that in me.

I told Ford I’d be there for him no matter what, but now he’s going to be a full-time father, forever.

And I hate myself even more when I think about how I wished that Tilly could stay with Ford forever because he loves her and doesn’t want to lose her.

“This is not what I wanted,” I sob out loud.

The guilt of wishing for something that came true, but at such cost to others, has my stomach swirling to the point I think I might vomit.

If only I could go back and change those thoughts!

I am the worst person in the world.

I drag myself off the bed and trudge to the bathroom to wash my face.

I peer at my reflection in the mirror, my face red, my eyes swollen.

I’m not Tilly’s mother.

I don’t deserve to be.

But I love that tiny little human.

There’s no biological connection.

How can I love her so much?

But I also love Ford.

And Elodie.

In different ways, of course, but there’s no biological connection there either.

Clearly there doesn’t have to be, to love someone.

You love them for who they are.

My love for Tilly didn’t happen immediately.

It grew over time.

There were challenges and frustrations.

But it grew, fierce and strong and boundless.

Making myself take deep, slow breaths, I dry my hands.

The reality that Tilly is not leaving is sinking in.

I want to be happy, but how can I?

Willa is dying.

Tilly’s mom is dying.

It’s such a massive conflict inside me, I don’t know how to deal with it.

I told Ford I’d be there for him no matter what.

Am I really ready for this new future?

Can I be a mother figure to Tilly?

What will that mean for me and Ford?

How much will my life change?

My head aches and I swallow an Advil capsule, then wander back to my bed.

I’m so tired.

Drained.

I take off my clothes and pull on my softest pajamas, then curl up in a ball under the covers.

I feel hollow and cold.

Freezing.

My thoughts are blurry and floating.

I can’t catch any one of them before it drifts away.

And I sleep again.

In the morning, I’m stiff and sore and queasy.

I guzzle a glass of water and make myself a piece of toast so I have something in my stomach.

I had a dream.

It was crazy.

But it’s stuck in my head.

It’s something I need to do.

I find my phone, amazed it’s not dead.

As my stomach churns at what I’m contemplating, I’m not sure if the toast was a good idea.

I unlock my phone and see all the messages from Ford.

My bottom lip pushes out unhappily.

I just took off, freaking out, cowardly.

I close my eyes and take a deep breath.

I have to do this.

It takes some doing, but finally I get her on the phone.

I swallow the excess saliva in my mouth.

“Willa? My name is Andi Marsh.”

Silence.

“I’m Ford Archibald’s girlfriend.” I almost hesitate on the word girlfriend.

“I know who you are.” Her voice is soft.

“I saw pictures of you online with Matilda.”

I sink my teeth briefly into my bottom lip.

“Yes.” I pull air into my lungs, lost for a moment.

“Ford mentioned where you are. I hope I’m not… I don’t want to…” Fuck.

I close my eyes and tip my head back.

“This is probably nuts, but I felt like I needed to talk to you.”

“Okay.”

“I don’t know where to start.” I rub at the ache in my throat and swallow once.

Twice.

“I want you to know that I love Tilly. Matilda. I love her so much. I never thought I wanted children, and honestly, I was afraid of her at first.” I choke out a laugh.

“But she made me fall in love with her and now I would do anything for her. Anything. That’s what I want you to know.”

“Thank you.”

“I can’t imagine being in your situation. I am so, so sorry. I admire you so much, though, for your love for your daughter and your selflessness. Your sacrifice.” My voice is trembling.

“It won’t be in vain. Ford and I will take care of her and love her. And we’ll make sure that when she’s old enough to understand, she knows you and your love for her.”

“Oh.” I can’t see Willa, but I hear her choked voice.

For a moment, she says nothing, then, “Thank you. I appreciate that. This is so hard.”

“Yeah. I’m sure it is.” I’m trying not to lose my shit again, like I did yesterday.

“I love her so much. More than anything. That’s the hardest part. But knowing she’s loved… that means so much.”

Relief floods my body, weakening my legs, and I sink onto a stool at my kitchen counter.

“I didn’t want to make things worse. Or hurt you.”

“No, no. You haven’t.” She sniffs, and I brush tears from my eyes.

“Can you tell me more about yourself?”

I blink.

And swallow.

Rub my wet face.

“Um. Sure. What do you want to know?”

“Just… who you are.”

“Well. I love coffee. And cocktails.” Ack.

“Like, not for breakfast or anything.”

Willa laughs softly.

I don’t know what to say.

“I have a tattoo on my back that says Rise above the storm and you will find the sunshine. I try to remember that when things are tough. My mom always told me nobody ever damaged their eyesight by looking at the bright side. Sometimes…” I clear my throat.

“Sometimes it’s really hard, though. But it helps.”

“I love that.”

We talk for nearly an hour, which is bonkers because we don’t even know each other.

I tell her about Ford and me.

I tell her what I’ve learned from Tilly.

She talks about Tilly, too.

“Our children never really belong to us,” Willa says.

“I think that’s true. Tilly is her own person.”

“Yes, exactly.”

When we finally end the conversation, knowing we won’t speak again, I dig deep for my optimism and faith.

“Thank you for this, Andi,” Willa says.

“You didn’t make things worse. You made them easier.”

“I doubt that,” I croak.

“A little easier. It’s still hard. But I feel some peace of mind now, knowing you a bit, and knowing Ford, and that you two love Matilda. So thank you.”

I don’t cry.

I feel more peaceful, too.

That was so hard.

But not as hard as it is for Willa.

Life is hard.

Sometimes it’s great.

Sometimes it’s fucked up.

But it’s also short.

Too damn short.

And sometimes a lot shorter than it should be.

I can’t be a coward anymore.

I have to be as brave as Willa, although what I’m going through is nothing compared to what she’s experiencing.

Life is short, so we have to live it.

And I’m going to do that.

For Ford.

For Tilly.

For Willa.

And for me.