know.â
By the time she reaches the stop sign on the corner, her skin, which was merely hot before, is on fire. She finds it difficult to breathe. Melissa turns off the heat and rolls down the window, letting more cold air fill the car. A rope of snot is coming from her nose, and she mops it up with her sleeve. If someone were to ask before tonight, she would have said that it wasnât possible for her to miss Ronnie any more than she already does. But as she picks up speed again and the bare trees and dark houses flash by outside her window, Melissa is overcome with a new kind of sorrow and loneliness, worse than anything she has ever felt.
I am all alone in this, she thinks, or maybe says, out loud.
Thatâs when the kicking starts, harder than she has experienced before. She imagines the babyâs feet pushing and poking against her womb, fighting to be let loose into the world.
âNot yet,â she says, pressing her palm flat against her stomach as her face crumples in tears. âNot yet. Not yet. Not yet.â
At the intersection of Matson Ford and King of Prussia Road, Melissa turns right, then makes a quick left onto Blatts Farm Hill. She is taking the long way home on purpose, driving faster now, doing forty-five in a thirty-five zone, then fifty. As she zips over the hill and snakes around the third sharp curve, she glances in the direction of the stump on the side of the road. Melissa has seen it there hundreds, maybe thousands, of times, but she stretches her neck in hope of catching another glimpse. The sky is so starless and black, though, that itâs impossible to see it there in the shadows, skinned of so much bark that someone might mistake it for a boulder rather than the remains of an old tree.
The memory sweeps over Melissa anyway.
She and Ronnie are sticking their heads through the sunroof of the limousine, their mouths open wide, shrieking, howling into the night as they whip around turns and sail over the hills. Melissaâs stomach drops, then drops again, as though she is riding the most thrilling and terrifying roller coaster of her life. Down below, Chaz and Stacy are tickling their legs. One of themâmost likely Chazâpinches her ass.
âCut it out!â Melissa screams, but her voice is sucked into the night.
Ronnie leans his head down and shouts at them to knock it off. When he looks up again, Melissa tells him that she thinks she swallowed a bug. He asks her how it tasted, and this makes her laugh. Ronnie licks his lips and leans forward for a kiss, but the limo winds around another turn and they lose their balance. Melissaâs hair comes completely undone and goes wild around them, thrashing and snapping at their faces. When they steady themselves, Ronnie gathers it behind her head and kisses her, slipping his tongue quickly in and out of her mouth. When he pulls away, he tells her, âYou know I love you. Even if tonight didnât go as planned, I love you no matter what.â
âI know,â she tells him. âI love you too.â
By the time Melissa comes to a stop in front of 32 Monkâs Hill Road, most of the snow has blown off the hood, roof, and trunk of her Corolla. Her driveway, which is nothing more than a patch of dirt beside the road, has been cleared of snow too. Mr. Erwin must have shoveled it while she was in Philadelphia seeing Chantrel earlier tonight. Melissa parks the car and cuts the engine. Before going inside, she sits for a moment, gathering her strength as she stares out at the three tiny houses huddled together, caravan-style. Closest to the street is her cottage, which consists of nothing more than a ten-by-ten living room with a kitchenette along one wall, a bedroom barely big enough for her single bed, and a minuscule bathroom with a mildew-stained shower stall instead of a tub. To the left, and slightly back from her cottage, is the Erwinsâ place, large enough for a real kitchen with a table and
By the time she reaches the stop sign on the corner, her skin, which was merely hot before, is on fire. She finds it difficult to breathe. Melissa turns off the heat and rolls down the window, letting more cold air fill the car. A rope of snot is coming from her nose, and she mops it up with her sleeve. If someone were to ask before tonight, she would have said that it wasnât possible for her to miss Ronnie any more than she already does. But as she picks up speed again and the bare trees and dark houses flash by outside her window, Melissa is overcome with a new kind of sorrow and loneliness, worse than anything she has ever felt.
I am all alone in this, she thinks, or maybe says, out loud.
Thatâs when the kicking starts, harder than she has experienced before. She imagines the babyâs feet pushing and poking against her womb, fighting to be let loose into the world.
âNot yet,â she says, pressing her palm flat against her stomach as her face crumples in tears. âNot yet. Not yet. Not yet.â
At the intersection of Matson Ford and King of Prussia Road, Melissa turns right, then makes a quick left onto Blatts Farm Hill. She is taking the long way home on purpose, driving faster now, doing forty-five in a thirty-five zone, then fifty. As she zips over the hill and snakes around the third sharp curve, she glances in the direction of the stump on the side of the road. Melissa has seen it there hundreds, maybe thousands, of times, but she stretches her neck in hope of catching another glimpse. The sky is so starless and black, though, that itâs impossible to see it there in the shadows, skinned of so much bark that someone might mistake it for a boulder rather than the remains of an old tree.
The memory sweeps over Melissa anyway.
She and Ronnie are sticking their heads through the sunroof of the limousine, their mouths open wide, shrieking, howling into the night as they whip around turns and sail over the hills. Melissaâs stomach drops, then drops again, as though she is riding the most thrilling and terrifying roller coaster of her life. Down below, Chaz and Stacy are tickling their legs. One of themâmost likely Chazâpinches her ass.
âCut it out!â Melissa screams, but her voice is sucked into the night.
Ronnie leans his head down and shouts at them to knock it off. When he looks up again, Melissa tells him that she thinks she swallowed a bug. He asks her how it tasted, and this makes her laugh. Ronnie licks his lips and leans forward for a kiss, but the limo winds around another turn and they lose their balance. Melissaâs hair comes completely undone and goes wild around them, thrashing and snapping at their faces. When they steady themselves, Ronnie gathers it behind her head and kisses her, slipping his tongue quickly in and out of her mouth. When he pulls away, he tells her, âYou know I love you. Even if tonight didnât go as planned, I love you no matter what.â
âI know,â she tells him. âI love you too.â
By the time Melissa comes to a stop in front of 32 Monkâs Hill Road, most of the snow has blown off the hood, roof, and trunk of her Corolla. Her driveway, which is nothing more than a patch of dirt beside the road, has been cleared of snow too. Mr. Erwin must have shoveled it while she was in Philadelphia seeing Chantrel earlier tonight. Melissa parks the car and cuts the engine. Before going inside, she sits for a moment, gathering her strength as she stares out at the three tiny houses huddled together, caravan-style. Closest to the street is her cottage, which consists of nothing more than a ten-by-ten living room with a kitchenette along one wall, a bedroom barely big enough for her single bed, and a minuscule bathroom with a mildew-stained shower stall instead of a tub. To the left, and slightly back from her cottage, is the Erwinsâ place, large enough for a real kitchen with a table and
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