The Playground

TW: Suicide, mental health, language

There was very little blood, but to hear him tell it, he narrowly escaped with his life. The enormous, bright green bandage wraps entirely around his tiny arm. I have normal-sized Band-Aids in the bag, but Joe won’t even consider them.

“Five more minutes, Joe,” I say, interrupting the retelling of his harrowing two-foot fall and subsequent scratch. He and the other boys race back to the swings.

I recheck my watch. Rose lays a gentle hand over my wrist, “It will be fine,” she says. I search her face for the lie; if it is there, I cannot find it.

I nod. If I open my mouth, another endless stream of unhelpful what-ifs will pour out. I lay my hand over hers; the bones are sharp under her soft skin.

She’s still not eating, I worry.

I should be comforting Rose, not the other way around

I met Rose and Charlie five ago. Rose was vibrant and animated, having just welcomed another son into the family. Charlie, a proud new dad, talked endlessly about how close they were to an entire infield. Their idyllic life assuaged my battered spirit.

Rose and Charlie married and began working to fill their home with children immediately. Unfortunately, despite their propensity for happiness and success, she, a marketing genius, and he, a partner in one of the city’s elite law firms, Rose and Charlie struggled in their attempts to conceive.

“I never felt sad,” Rose told me one evening over martinis and Shirley Temples.

“I kept waiting to feel a sense of loss, but it never came. We tried for a few years before seeing a doctor, so I suppose a part of me already knew. Then one night, while we were waiting on another round of tests to come back, we caught a news segment on adoption. Charlie looked at me and smiled,” she shrugged, “We knew then that the test results didn’t matter.”

Rose stiffens beside me, and I follow her eyes.

Jake isn’t alone. He’s brought Heather along. Adrenaline floods my system; I want to run. My eyes flick to Joe and back to Jake. Despite never meeting him, it’s clear how Rose knows - Joe looks just like Jake.

Fuck, I think, closing my eyes.

I glance at Rose, grateful for the army of lawyers her wealth can afford. She looks calm.

Across the distance, Heather sees me and stops. Jake turns to her, putting his back between us.

Rose’s hand, still steady on my arm, squeezes gently. Jake turns toward us, and our eyes meet. I imagine my shame reflected there.

“To Heather,” Jake says, raising another shot of cheap tequila.

“To Heather,” the rest of the wedding party repeats. A dozen small glasses return empty to the table.

The phone rings in the other room.

Landlines are so weird, I think, stumbling from the sitting room to the bedroom.

“Yep?” I answer.

On the other end, I hear a tired chuckle.

“This is the midnight Go To Bed call you ordered,” Heather’s mom says on the other end.

A loud chorus of Here Comes the Bride breaks out in the other room. Faye chuckles again.

“I’m glad I didn’t get stuck on the same floor with you hooligans,” she says.

“Hooligans,” I giggle, “who says hooligans?”

“Old people,” she replies, “you’ll be here one day, but first, Ms. Maid of Honor, get all those hooligans off to bed. The wedding is in eighteen hours, hair and makeup in twelve. Pictures in”

“I’m on it,” I cut in.

“Okay, everyone,” I yell over the singing, “it’s time for bed!”

A choir of half-slurred protests greets me as I return to the sitting area of the two-room suite.

“One more shot,” Heather pleads. She’s now wearing Jake’s shirt over her hair like a veil, and he has on her black sequined cami.

“Fine. One more,” I concede.

Jake’s brother-turned-best man pours everyone another round.

“To Lily,” Heather starts with a hiccup, “Tomorrow I will marry the love of my life, and I would never have met him without you. Thank you for giving him my number instead of yours. Thank you for convincing me to go on that first date. Thank you for helping him plan that beautiful proposal. Thank you for helping me plan this wedding. Thank you for,” she pauses, frowning at her glass.

Next to her, Jake laughs, “To Lily,” he finishes.

A few minutes later, I shoo everyone out the door and walk Heather down the hall to the honeymoon suite she and Jake will share tomorrow night. I tease her about her baby toothpaste while she washes her face.

“You’re going to be the only married woman with Elmo on her toothpaste tube,” I say through fits of giggles.

Finally, she makes it to bed. I grab bottled water out of the mini fridge, fish two aspirin out of her purse, and put everything on the nightstand next to her. She’s already snoring when I close the door behind me.

Across the hall, Jake is making a poor attempt at cleaning up the mess we’ve made at our Bachelor-Bachelorette Day of Debauchery after-party.

“It’s fine; I’ll get it tomorrow,” I say.

He stands up and smiles. Heather’s small top barely covers his chest. His old Levi’s, slung low, reveal the top of frayed boxers. No one can accuse the city’s newest lawyer of pretense.

“That what you’re wearing tomorrow?” I ask.

“Can you imagine?” He chuckles.

He imitates his mother’s haughty, British accent, “Jacob, don’t be absurd. You’re embarrassing yourself.”

We laugh.

Jake picks up more glasses, heading to the sink, while I gather the discarded wrappers and bags from our late-night snack. The silence is comfortable as we tidy up.

When it’s good enough, I turn to Jake, “Your turn, good sir,” I say, making a horrible attempt at his accent, “off to bed… off you go.”

He smiles. “After all these years, how can you still be so bad at that?”

“It’s a gift,” I say.

He swishes the rapidly emptying tequila bottle. “One last shot?” He asks.

I look at the bottle. Only about a third of it survived the last two hours. “To married life?”

He grins and hands me the bottle. I take a small swig and hand it back. He exchanges it for a small bottle of Sprite.

“To married life,” he repeats, taking a long swig.

“She’s right, you know,” he says, handing the bottle back to me. “We have you to thank. If you hadn’t fake-numbered me,” he shrugs.

I chuckle, “Technically, I didn’t ‘fake number’ you,” I say, taking another small sip.“You got a real number.”

He leans back against the counter in the small kitchenette. He pulls another sip from the bottle, and we exchange again.

“Why?” He asks.

“Why, what?” I reply.

“Why Heather’s number?” He asks.

I frown back at him.

“I know I never asked,” he continues, “but I always wondered.”

“Because I knew you were only asking me to get to her,” I say, smiling.

“You were at the back of a long line of men who went through me to get to the beautiful Heather Griffin-Maxwell,” I continue, slurring a little on the last few words.

I hand the bottle back. It’s his turn to frown.

“Not me,” he says.

He holds my eyes while he takes another sip. I hand him the Sprite.

“I wanted you.”

When my alarm went off at 8:15, Jake was lying beside me. Those next few minutes were among the worst of my life. We didn’t say a word while we searched for our clothes, and he left after giving up on his socks.

Heather’s wedding day was a haze of fake smiles and manufactured laughs. Fortunately, a chaotic destination wedding is a perfect place for hiding spiraling emotions. Everyone chalks it up to the Big Event.

Two days later, Heather turned up on my doorstep with a box. It included every gift I’d ever given her, right down to the tattered, matching friendship bracelet I gave her the day we met eleven years earlier.

Jake hadn’t wanted to start his marriage with such a cancerous secret. Naturally, everyone stopped speaking to me once word of my betrayal made the rounds. Her father paid to have the marriage annulled; last I heard, she’d moved to a new city for a fresh start.

I ran out of tears long before I ran out of shame.

Joe pulls my attention back to the present.

“Five more minutes?” He asks.

Rose smiles at him, “Five more,” she says, and he sets off at a run.

I look back at Heather and Jake.

A fresh round of panic follows the brief feeling of relief seeing them together. If Jake and Heather are back together, will they want Joe?

In my haze of despair, pregnancy never crossed my mind. Missing my period brought a fresh wave of grief. Even if I were interested in being a mother, this child would only remind me of everything I’d lost.

I made an appointment at the nearest planned parenthood the following day. After verifying the pregnancy, the nurse asked me what options I wanted to discuss, and I left with an appointment to terminate the pregnancy the following week.

The next day my father died on the ninth hole of his favorite golf course. The doctors assured us the aneurysm that exploded in his brain would have been painless. I convinced myself his death was a harvest of the devastation I sowed into Heather’s life. I missed my appointment the following week and spent that day burying my father.

After that, I spiraled. I lost my job and my apartment. By the time I rescheduled my appointment, it was too late. The nurse took my hand and told me I was too far along. She explained my other options, and I nodded, not hearing anything. I left the clinic with several pamphlets I tossed in the trash on the way home.

The following day I woke up in the hospital; the Xanax and Vodka had not worked. My mother’s face was the first thing I saw. Her puffy, tear-filled eyes held none of the anger I deserved, only fear. The guilt of what I’d almost done, so close to my father’s death, ached in my chest. As penance, I agreed to three weeks of in-patient care at the finest mental health facility our insurance company would agree to. If the doctors revealed my secret, she never said.

Despite being jobless, homeless, and filled to the brim with an unwanted pregnancy, I managed to leave the treatment center better than I started. Not wanting to interrupt my progress, I decided to stay in the city, close to the therapist I trusted.

I used my inheritance to rent a small apartment, and my marketing degree helped me land an entry-level position at Rose’s firm. We hit it off immediately. For the first time, I imagined putting the pain of my mistakes behind me.

Then one day, I stood in front of the mirror, unable to hide my growing belly any longer. When Rose showed up at my apartment that afternoon, worried that I was a no-show at work, I told her the news over a box of tissues and a pint of ice cream. The next day, we both skipped work and shopped for maternity clothes.

“Will you take it?” I blurt out.

Rose looks confused. “Take who?”

I stared back at her, letting the silence answer her question.

Comprehension dawns across her face, and she turns away, stepping up to the counter.

We each place our order and settle into a small booth to wait on our food.

“Lily, I cannot imagine how scared you must feel, but you are not alone. I am here. Charlie is here,” she says, smiling. “The boys are here,” she adds.

“The boys may not be your best selling point for motherhood right now,” I say, grinning.

She and Charlie have their hands full with three boys under six.

“Fair point,” she agrees, laughing. “But you are scared and overwhelmed. Now is not the time for these decisions,” she reaches across the table and gives my hand a reassuring squeeze.

I ignore the food as it’s delivered, “True, but that’s not why I’m saying this.”

“Please don’t be offended,” I say, “but I’m not interested in being a mother. It’s never been a part of my plan. I just… lost myself before I could handle this any other way,” I continue, stumbling along.

She stares at me across the table. “We can talk about it later. Is that okay?” She asks.

I nod, and Rose points to my food. “But, eat up. I like fat babies.”

Rose stands as Jake and Heather approach, pulling lightly on my arm. A large ball lands at my feet, followed closely by Joe. I scoop it up and hand it over.

“Five more minutes,” I say.

Jake’s eyes follow him as he rushes back to the group of waiting boys. I glance between Jake and Heather. The breeze that passes through our tense circle shifts her dress just enough to reveal a slight bulge. She rubs her hand across it.

“He looks like you,” Heather says to Jake. He nods and turns to me.

“Lily,” he begins,

“Before you say anything,” I start, “I want you to know that I told Rose and Charlie I didn’t know who the father was. And no one from before even knew I was pregnant.” I turn to Heather, “I know I ruined your life, and I won’t insult you by apologizing, but please understand that I was trying to fix the terrible mess I made and,”

“Lily,” Jake interrupts, “We made a mess of things together,” he turns to Heather and takes her hand in his, “and I understand why you did what you did.”

He twists the ring on Heather’s finger. I notice it’s a solitary diamond with no band.

“I came to tell you,” he looks to Rose, “I have no interest in pursuing a legal claim to Joe. I cannot imagine doing so will benefit anyone. Especially him,” he looks to where the boys are now kicking the ball in a circle.

“There’s been enough suffering,” he continues.

“I agree,” Rose says, her voice cracking. “And because of that, I am prepared to make room for you in Joe’s life, but only as a friend. I want our children to remember Charlie as their father; he deserves that.”

Tears spill down her face at the mention of Charlie.

Six weeks ago a drunk driver ran a red light leaving a gaping hole in our family. In a predictable twist of fate, Jake is part of the legal team hired by the driver. I spent half an hour in the bathroom throwing up when I found out. That day, I told Rose the whole truth, apologizing through a torrent of tears.

“It isn’t that we,” Heather begins, speaking to Rose…

Rose holds her hand up, interrupting, “You don’t have to explain.”

Heather nods, giving Rose a small smile.

“Of course, there may be paperwork involved. I’ll speak with my attorneys,” she adds, turning to Jake.

“Of course,” he says, “Please let me know if I can help.”

“Mommy! Lily!” Jake yells, hopping his way to us.

“Bathroom?” Rose assumes. He nods urgently.

“I can…” I begin.

“No, let me,” Rose says. “You grab our things. We need to pick the boys up from school soon.”

“Jake, Heather, it was nice to meet you,” she says. “I’ll be in touch.”

“Come on, bud, let’s go find a bathroom,” she says to Joe.

“He looks happy,” Heather says, watching them leave.

I nod. “He is, but he misses Charlie. We all do. Rose has us twelve types of therapy,” I joke. “But, if I’ve learned anything about pain, it’s that time has a way of making it…. more bearable.”

“He doesn’t know you are his mother?” Heather asks, looking at me for the first time.

“Rose is his mother. She and Charlie adopted him at birth. I met her when she hired me at her firm. I took a year off when he was born and took care of all four boys. Somehow I just… never moved back out, even after I went back to work,” I say, watching Rose and Joe hurry across the playground to the bathhouse. We’re a…” I let my words trail off, afraid the Universe will learn of my happiness and seek to balance the scales.

“Family,” Jake finishes. He rubs the back of his knuckle across Heather’s belly, and she grins up at him.

“A family,” I say, smiling, taking a moment to ignore my losses and appreciate my gains.

“We should go,” Heather says to Jake.

“Us too,” I say, grabbing purses and bags from the bench where we sat.

“If Rose needs anything, have her call me,” Jake adds, handing me a card and turning to leave.

Heather waits until I turn back around, heavy with playtime paraphernalia. She gives me a small smile, and I watch tears gather at the edges of her eyes.

“I think things worked out after all,” she says softly.

I nod, swallowing the lump in my throat, and watch her turn to leave. She and Jake make their way across the expansive lawn that separates the playground from busy neighborhood roads.

“Me, too,” I whisper.