Page 38 of What Did I Miss?

‘This isn’t gin.’ Makayla blinks at Beau as he hands her a scorching cup of peppermint tea.

He ignores her statement, not rudely, but that doesn’t make it any less annoying.

She is a guest, after all. This is her first visit to his home.

It’s white, sleek and Scandinavian, like he cleared out a living room display at IKEA.

Everything has a place. Obviously. Her high heels strewn haphazardly across the carpet ruin the symmetry of the room.

It will only be a matter of time before Beau puts them neatly by the door.

How long has she been here? Makayla has a vague recollection of him ushering her into his car and exchanging heated words with Warren.

‘Step away from her, mate. I’m not saying it again.

’ Did Beau carry her into his house? She doesn’t remember walking, and when she tries to, her head pounds like someone’s taken a baseball bat to it.

The trucks honking in the background aren’t helping.

Beau must live on the outskirts of Goldbrooke, close to the freeway.

‘Thanks,’ Makayla says, referring to the blanket on her lap and the time he’s giving her to process something she’s not sure she ever truly can.

Her mind drifts to earlier in the evening, when Warren made his announcement, then further back, to memories that sit on a precipice.

They shouldn’t be there. She’d locked them in a box and thrown them into a deep ocean.

But now they come in waves, one by one, with no breaks in between, threatening to drown her.

She doesn’t have the strength to bury them again.

Makayla squeezes Beau’s hand. She’s ready to tell him the truth.

‘Trish? What are you doing here?’ Makayla heaved herself out of the uncomfortable waiting room chair.

How was she supposed to explain to her mother-in-law why she was at a radiology clinic? She clutched her wrist, prepared to fake an injury to throw her off the scent.

‘Don’t worry, petal. Warren told me you were pregnant a month ago.

’ Trish gave her a big squeeze and missed the shock on Makayla’s face.

‘I’ve been holding my tongue because he said you wanted to wait.

I don’t know why, you’re over four months along.

Not that anyone would know by looking at you.

’ She held Makayla’s arms out wide to inspect her body, hidden beneath a baggy jumper.

It was amazing what a strategic wardrobe could hide.

Not even Cece had clued on. Then again, it had been a while since they’d caught up.

Cece had been busy while on maternity leave, as evidenced by the daily influx of photos of her daughter on Instagram.

Makayla would tell Cece and everyone else she was pregnant in two weeks, when she hit the halfway mark.

That had always been the plan. Why did Warren have to open his big mouth early?

Makayla retrieved her phone from her pocket to blast Warren via text. It had been nice having this all to themselves, but now Trish knew, and she’d brought an oversized bag of pregnancy vitamins, like a drug lord. No wonder the pharmacy was out of stock the other day.

Makayla unlocked her screen. Where was Warren? Why wasn’t he replying to her messages? The ultrasound would start at any minute.

Trish read her mind. ‘Warren’s held up at work. You know how it is.’

Makayla didn’t know. Warren had never worked Saturdays, even though the overtime would have been great. Baby stuff was outrageously expensive. Why did he choose today of all days to be a responsible father?

‘Makayla Forsyth?’ A technician who looked barely older than her year ten students waved her into a dark room.

Trish trailed behind, announcing, ‘Grandmother is coming through.’

Makayla didn’t wait for instructions; she knew the drill. Lay down, pull her top up and brace for the slimy, cold gel.

The sight of her bump had Trish reaching for a tissue. Dear Lord. Here we go . At least it’s a better reaction than the midwife’s earlier this week. She wasn’t happy with how small the baby was and insisted on an extra scan.

Trish’s hand hovered an inch above Makayla’s stomach. ‘May I?’

‘Go ahead.’ Like anyone could stop her. Makayla flinched at the coolness of Trish’s palm.

‘Do you know the sex of the baby?’ the sonographer asked.

‘Oh, Makayla, we could have a gender reveal party. You know, where you pop a giant balloon and pink or blue confetti comes out? Wouldn’t that be fun? You could trust me with the envelope and—’

‘It’s a boy,’ Makayla said, woozy from Trish’s party planning.

‘A boy?’ Trish’s eyes welled up. She dabbed them with a tissue.

‘We’re thinking of naming him Eddie, if that’s okay with you?’

Trish reached across for the entire box of tissues.

She nodded vigorously, giving her blessing to use her late husband’s nickname.

What a relief. Warren had his heart set on Holden, and there was no way Makayla was going to scream that bogan name across a playground.

Eddie was a name she wouldn’t be embarrassed saying in public.

It was cute for a baby, but also something their son could grow into when he became a man.

‘Shall we get started?’ Makayla asked the sonographer, who seemed to think if he waited long enough, Trish would stop weeping. That wouldn’t be happening anytime soon.

The room darkened, and not even that made the sterile space feel cosy. Conditioned by cinema etiquette, Trish quieted and faced the glowing monitors.

Makayla drew a long breath from deep inside and controlled the exhale.

It’s showtime, little man. The wand glided over her abdomen and she waited for the sonographer to tell her things she would pretend to understand and google later.

But this time, he didn’t use confusing words or rattle off measurements.

He pressed the wand into her skin, then told her to turn from left to right, prodding her firmly.

‘I’ll be back in a moment,’ he said, overly polite.

‘What’s happening? Why’d he leave?’ Trish shuffled towards the door like the answers were written on the back of it.

‘He’s gone to get a colleague. That’s the protocol before they confirm …’ The words got stuck in the back of her throat. She stared at the ceiling, which felt like it was coming down on her. Don’t blink. Her brain ignored the warning and tears trickled into her hair.

‘No, petal. I’m sure everything is fine.’ Trish rubbed Makayla’s thigh like she was a child with a leg cramp. ‘He’s probably gone to get you a fizzy drink. It’s an old trick they use to get the baby to wriggle and—’

‘Stop!’

Makayla rolled away from her mother-in-law and cradled her belly.

This was why she hadn’t wanted her there.

Trish meant well, but Makayla didn’t want any fake positivity bullshit.

Something was wrong. She could feel it. Eddie hadn’t done his usual kickboxing routine upon waking.

She’d told Warren she had a bad feeling about today and he’d promised to be there. Where the hell was he?

The sonographer returned with a woman whose face said it all.

Concerned eyebrows. Apologetic eyes. Sincere lips.

Her grim expression didn’t slip as she performed the same routine her colleague had moments earlier.

There was no weather talk. No questions about the nursery.

No discussion about name selection. Just a thick silence.

The lights flicked on, glaring down at her. It took a minute for the dizzying spots to disappear. The woman clasped her hands together and straightened her back.

‘Makayla,’ she said, with the emotion stripped from her voice, like she’d done this before. ‘I’m sorry. There’s no—’

‘Please don’t say it,’ Makayla begged, shaking her head.

If the woman uttered those words, then it was real.

Makayla rested her head against the car window, and a dull headache took hold. The vibration of every pothole Trish couldn’t avoid made it worse. She had insisted on driving her home. Makayla should’ve known better than to let that heavy foot of hers get behind the wheel.

Trish burned rubber down the uneven road that connected Goldbrooke to the rest of the world. Makayla got tossed around like a salad, and she instinctively cradled her belly to protect the precious cargo. She pulled it away, fingers twitching like they knew what had happened.

‘It’ll be okay, love. My friend’s daughter went through the same thing and now has four perfectly healthy children.’

Please stop.

‘It’s quite common. They said one in four pregnancies.’

Makayla wouldn’t know what they said. She tuned out after they handed her a bunch of useless pamphlets.

‘You’re young, petal, and fit as a fiddle.’

Trish reached for her hand, but Makayla snatched it away. She didn’t want to be touched or soothed. She wanted to sit in this heavy space where everything hurt and breathing was painful. If Eddie suffered, why shouldn’t she? As long as he was inside her body, they were still a team.

If Warren were here, he wouldn’t be reciting facts.

Nor would he bring up hopeful stories. He’d suggest they get takeaway from her favourite noodle place, the one he had given multiple one-star reviews, so it was never crowded.

They’d eat in front of the television without saying a word.

She’d scrape leftovers into a container and he’d wrap his big bear arms around her.

No matter how hard she’d fight, he wouldn’t let her go for at least a minute.

Then they’d go to bed, and he’d never bring it up again.

It wasn’t ideal, but that was how they did things, and it was better than the alternative Trish was offering.

‘If there’s anything you want or need, please let me know.’

I want my husband.

As though she’d manifested him, Warren meandered dangerously close to the road on foot.

‘Pull over!’ Makayla yelled.