"Hales?"
Worn-out and not feeling too well, it takes a lot for Haley to turn her head. It takes even more to call out, "Come in."
"Hey," Peyton smiles, only her head visible. "Everything okay in here?"
"Yeah. I'm just resting. Is everyone gone?"
She steps in, a ceramic bowl in her hands. "Brooke's gone to town but she said she'll call, Lucas and your parents headed to Karen's for dinner, and I'm here bringing you some soup."
The smell of chicken and spice carries under Haley's nose, suddenly making her a little nauseous. "I'm not hungry."
Peyton places the bowl on the nightstand. "Hales, you skipped lunch, after having only half a slice of toast and tea for breakfast. I will force-feed you if I have to because you gotta eat. You have to keep your strength up."
Haley smiles slightly at her friend, appreciating that she's treating her like normal. She wants normal so badly but the raging reminder of Nathan's absence means that normal has taken up residence elsewhere.
"I'm glad we understand each other. Now, eat up."
Peyton lifts the bowl from the table and pushes it towards Haley. Pieces of chopped chicken with bits of peas, parsley, diced carrots and celery sit in the broth. Clamping a hand over her mouth, Haley rolls off the bed and runs madly towards the bathroom, slamming the door closed behind her.
The heaving leaves her eyes wet and her throat aching, and a while later, she feels better. Wiping her rinsed mouth with the back of her hand, she returns to the bedroom. She falls on the bed with a groan and curls up into a ball. "I hate this."
Peyton is frowning, looking closely at the soup. "Is something wrong with it? You've always liked my chicken soup."
"No, it's not that."
"I can make you a sandwich or something."
"I'm sure the soup is fine. I just can't seem to keep anything down."
That piece of toast she nibbled on early this morning found itself being flushed down the toilet. She wonders if her heartache is manifesting itself physically. It wouldn't surprise her when she's so off balance and tense from the misery attacking her at every second.
Peyton raises her head slowly from peering into the bowl to stare down at Haley. "How long has this been going on?"
"A while. A lot more in the last week."
"Before that?"
"Sometimes. I told you about the stomach bug, remember? What? You freak me out when you get that look," Haley says, turning over onto her back. She draws in long breaths through her nose and exhales through her mouth. It makes her feel better.
"Hales, Hales, Hales," Peyton says urgently, tapping Haley's arm repeatedly.
Eyes still closed, Haley rests her palm on her clammy forehead. "Hm?"
"Have you had your period?"
Her eyes fire open, and she drops her hand to really look at Peyton. "Have I what?"
"When was—"
In a flash, Haley's running into the bathroom and dry retching again over the porcelain. She does a quick job of brushing her teeth, the toothbrush flying furiously in the tight grip of her hand. Adrenaline has given her too many heartbeats as she considers her situation. When the heck was her last period!?
She splashes water on her face. Panic is giving way to fear. She turns off the tap and grips the edges of the sink tightly, her hair forming a curtain around her face as she begins to hyperventilate. With the stress that came with organizing the wedding, keeping up with school and making it to work, she hadn't paid attention to her calendar. Hers have always been irregular, and being late was really not something to cause alarm. Until now.
In her tear-fuddled quick calculations, the last time would be close to two months. She curses. Two months. The most notable thing from two months ago was the hours they spent on a wet quilt in the middle of an empty football field. She was on antibiotics for tonsillitis, and even though Nathan had protection and she was still faithfully taking her birth control pills, something must have happened. She can understand the antibiotics weakening the effectiveness of the pills, but both the contraceptives?
Her mind is reeling. She's seventeen-going-on-eighteen, and last they talked about it, they were not ready for a baby. When it was the two of them. How will she do it alone if she is pregnant? Why did he have to be gone before getting a chance to know? Why did he have to be gone at all?
"Do you think that you could be pregnant?" Peyton asks softly from the doorway.
Shaking her head, Haley turns the tap back on, splattering unsteady handful after unsteady handful of water on her face. After that Birth Control Fight, they would sometimes joke about baby names, but when it came to actually allowing it to happen, they didn't. They were always careful.
She has been blindsided by this. The terror she's had of living without Nathan magnifies at the thought of raising a child, their child, alone.
"Okay, now you're just trying to drown yourself," Peyton says, shutting off the tap.
Using the small, pale-green towel hanging on the rail, she pats her friend's face dry. She pulls her gently by the hand, leading a dazed Haley out of the bathroom. "Come on."
Haley wants to sink to her knees where she is. She's usually stronger than this, able to do things by herself, but since Nathan died, she's been reduced to a total mess, someone who needs to be held up and dragged from room to room. A helpless infant.
"I'm…" she rasps, trying not to cry again.
"We need to be sure," Peyton jumps in as she pats the pockets of her jeans, looking for her car keys. "I'll go to the store. You stay put, alright? Hales. Haley. Can you hear me? I'm going to the store to buy you a test."
"Th-there's money in my wallet," Haley squeaks, panicking and horror-stricken.
"I'll be back as fast as I can," Peyton says, giving her a hug and a peck on the cheek, and then hurries out of the room.
"Be careful," Haley whispers to an empty room.
When Peyton revs up the engine, Haley is beside herself. After she hears the car disappear into the evening, she grabs her duffle bag, shoving everything she owns carelessly into it. Slipping her feet into shoes, she snatches up her purse, already in a frenzy sprinting down the stairs. She's breathing hard and working up a cold sweat. Her body is suddenly energetic and humming, and for some reason, she feels like she has no other choice but to run. She doesn't know where she's going or why she's leaving but she just needs to go.
The four-floor apartment complex is the same as it was all those days ago when the limo picked them up to take them to the church. Tightening her grip around the strap of the duffle bag like it will break loose, she looks both ways before crossing the street. Her flip-flops crunch on the gravel parking lot as she glances around the place that was home since they got married in junior year.
The sprinkler is on like it often is this time of evening, watering the small lawn just behind the perimeter fence. Their little car is still where it was a week and a half ago, sitting at the far end of the car park. Nathan and Keith had fixed it up at the garage with intent to sell, but seeing how the newlyweds needed a car of their own, Keith had given it to them as a gift.
As usual, it creeps her out just how dark it can be on the cobblestone walkway leading up to the brick building. It's not once or twice that the tenants have asked the sluggish building manager to put up a lamp.
Coming around the corner at the top of the first staircase, she bumps into someone, very nearly losing her balance and crashing down the flight of steps. "Oh! Sorry!"
The figure comes into view. It's none other than the woman who has always seemed peeved at having such young neighbours.
"Mrs. Rosen. Hi."
"Haley."
"I'm sorry. I didn't see you."
"You already apologized."
Haley stands there awkwardly for a moment under Mrs. Rosen's scrutiny. "I should get going."
As she starts for the next floor, Mrs. Rosen reaches out to grab her wrist. Surprised at the contact, Haley looks from where the older woman's plump fingers are gripping her wrist to her face.
"I'm sorry about your husband," Mrs. Rosen says, pity in her eyes.
That lump stuck in her throat starts to pulsate. She nods, and it takes a tremendous effort to prevent crying. It's an odd gesture from her aloof neighbour and Haley appreciates it. "Thank you."
Mrs. Rosen loosens her hand, clearing her throat and straightening her perfectly ironed sweater set.
"Be careful," she says in her customary brusque voice, starting down the stairs. "You could really hurt someone."
Just like that, she's back to her usual self, nose turned up in the air haughtily.
Up the stairs and down the corridor Haley walks, finally stopping at the last door near the end of the second floor. Apartment eleven, their home. Even though Nathan had given it up after she'd left for the tour, they were able to move back in. The new tenant was moving out just after their reconciliation, some sort of sign that they really were meant to be together.
There's a piece of paper sticking out of the bottom of the door, like the edge of an envelope. The mail.
Heart thudding madly similar to one who has just completed a marathon, Haley tells herself to relax, that it's not a big deal being here at home. But it is a big deal when beyond that door, there's nothing left but those memories and dreams she's been losing herself in.
Her hand is tense as she places it on the cool door handle after turning the key, and she takes one more breath before opening the door. It's stuffy, dark and silent. She grabs the bundle of letters from the floor, dumps them into her purse and shuts the door. She stumbles through the semidarkness towards the windows across the room to air out the apartment. Her small toe strikes against a hard object, the pain so jarring that she sucks in a breath and drops her bags. Losing the flip-flops, she hops about, fighting not to scream and cuss loudly.
"Sh—Ow! Ow!"
Whatever that was wasn't there the last time she was. Limping slightly, she draws back the curtains and opens the windows, a breeze starting to drift in. She hobbles around more carefully to get to the light switch. Hopefully, that hasn't moved, too. It takes her a moment to adjust to the brightness.
"What the…"
Her mouth parts in amazement as she looks around at the apartment. Did she stumble into the wrong one?
She sees the large framed picture of the two of them from their first wedding down at the beach. She's definitely in the right flat, but everything is different. Instead of the regular tans and browns that filled the apartment, there's more colour; bright purples and dark reds are mixed with soft oranges, pale yellows and stark whites.
A bowl of big and small seashells rests in the centre of the coffee table. Cushy throw pillows of various shapes and colours rest on a new, cosy, russet couch and its two matching single chairs. Night lamps are on the small tables beside the sofa and in the far corner of the apartment. All those colours and trinkets work together wonderfully.
Their TV is gone and in its place is a wide flat-screen that is supported at least a foot off the ground on a hefty, glossy stand. Below it is a plush, circular wine-red carpet that aches to have toes dug into its fibres. The walls have been painted fresh, a dusty blue that compliments the dark grey industrial carpeting. The highlight of the room is a gigantic poster of the London Bridge, running at least the entire length of the wall across from her. Whoever took it timed it perfectly, that time of day that's between late evening and early night. Lights from buildings dot the scenery overlooking the bridge, cars move across the bridge as if they were captured while they wheezed past, and the sky is overcast by darkening clouds. She finds it beautiful and completely breathtaking.
She's blinking back tears as she shuffles towards the kitchen, and reaches for the light switch. The kitchen has also been freshly painted, a sweet yellow that is the colour of sunflowers and will make the room brighter during the day. There's a small square table just beyond the breakfast nook, four high-backed padded chairs surrounding it.
He did all this, and he kept it all a secret.
His behaviour makes a lot of sense now. All that jumpiness whenever his phone rang and the guilty expression on his face like he'd been caught with his hand in the cookie jar add up. She always asked but he refused to tell her what he was up to. It drove her crazy, wondering the worst like whether he was having an affair or having second thoughts about their second wedding.
"You'll see. Now stop being so curious. It's nothing bad, I promise."
When she left the apartment for their wedding, none of these things was here. Whoever brought all this stuff must have set it up in the last week with previous knowledge that the owners were out of town; out of town in rainy London, enjoying every minute of it, and probably never leaving their hotel room.
Like in a daze, she walks down the short hallway, stopping first at the small spare room to her right. It's still sparsely furnished, with just her guitar, keyboard, a moon chair and Nathan's weights. The walls are now the same yellow as the kitchen's, though, making it look homier than the blank white walls they were before.
Finally, she gets to their bedroom at the end of the hallway. Turning on the light, she surveys the room under the soft glow. Sheer, pure white curtains at the big window behind the king-size bed underlay red drapes. A thick, cream-coloured down comforter covers the bed, decorative pillows of different colours piled on it. The bed rests on a frilly peach rug and a flat-screen TV is mounted opposite the bed. A black recliner and dark red loveseat sit on separate corners of the room, and there are two beanbags at the foot of the bed. It's magnificent.
Her knees back up against the bed and slowly, she lowers herself until she's sitting on the floor. A fresh burst of tears forms in her eyes and she starts to shake. Bringing her knees to her chest, she crosses her arms over them and drops her head. The quiet whimpers turn into loud sobs that penetrate through the quiet apartment.
There is no one to hear or console her. There is no one to thank, either.
The door is knocked loudly and unexpectedly. Her head is heavy and buzzing, her face and eyes feel swelled up, and the dried tear tracks are like fissures forming on her cheeks. The visitor doesn't wait for a response, throwing open the door and rushing into the apartment.
"Haley!"
From where she is on the floor, down the hallway directly across the front door, her eyes come into contact with Luke's.
He seems to deflate with relief. "Are you okay!?"
"Yeah. I—"
"Is she here!?" Peyton asks breathlessly as she barges into the apartment. "Leave a note next time, will you?"
"Sorry," she says, aiming for a smile. Did they think that she'd gone to jump off a bridge?
"Do you listen to yourself before you speak?" Lucas asks from beside her.
She must have said it out loud. His mouth may be tipped sideways in a small smile, but there's a suspicion to the truth behind her statement.
"Hales, what happened when I left?" Peyton asks with concern, sitting on the other side of her. She crosses her legs and places a white plastic bag before Haley's feet.
She doesn't answer, and with a sniffle, she reaches for the paper bag. She glances over at Lucas before tilting her head to the side in question at Peyton.
"I found him waiting at the house. I had to tell him," Peyton explains.
Haley nods, stretching out her legs and glancing around the bedroom. "Did you know about all this?"
They turn away, a sheepish look on both their faces.
"It's a wonderful surprise. I just wish that Nathan—"
Lucas puts his arm over her shoulders and gives her a squeeze.
"When…when did he get the time to buy all this?"
"Remember him telling you often that we were meeting at the River Court?"
"Yeah?"
"We were meeting at the River Court but not for basketball."
"He sometimes acts like an expert on sales and bargain buys these days," Peyton says flatly.
"All that walking I did is not going down the drain. You like it?"
"I love it. Especially the London Bridge." She looks over at Peyton. "You?"
"He was a pain in the ass about me getting the perfect picture."
Haley chuckles softly, imagining Nathan hounding Peyton about it, her yelling at him to get off her case. The paper bag rustles as she rifles through it, her hands pulling out four different kits.
"Why so many?"
"I thought it would be good to get more than two but I didn't want three so I just got four."
Peyton has an odd fixation with avoiding odd numbers. She sets her alarm clock on even numbers, her TV and iPod volume is always on even numbers, and she'll adjust a recipe to suit her preference of even numbers.
The sight of the boxes makes Lucas blush and it doesn't go unnoticed by Haley. She wiggles one of the boxes in front of her brother-in-law's face. "Do you think I should start with this one?"
He looks away, his cheeks now a hot pink like that on the box.
Haley is laughing as she stashes the boxes back into the paper bag. She seems to sober up, her face turning serious. Silence falls in the room.
Looking at Peyton, she says softly almost to herself, "When you left the house, I just felt numb. I was panicking about being pregnant and why Nathan wasn't going to…"
The emptiness, darkness and hopelessness constrained her to the point where she literally ran out of Peyton's house.
"I'm so lost without him. I didn't want to do this without him. I had to find him where I remember him most. Here at home. I can feel him here."
In the brief pause, she looks up at the framed pictures on their bedroom walls. The grief and loneliness are harrowing, and breathing is a painful effort that jolts her tattered soul. Every minute, her mind just goes, "It can't be. It can't be true. It can't be real."
"It's not that I haven't thought about jumping off a bridge or in front of a car," she reveals with a quick glance at Lucas, her voice gruff with emotion. "Something inside me died that day when he was taken from me and I just want to die. I have thought about it every minute I'm awake, and I carry it with me in sleep."
Luke and Peyton share a look over Haley's head. It hurts them to listen to her talk of her loss and despair.
"I didn't think that we'd be together for such a short time. He wasn't supposed to be shot in the chest at point blank range during an armed robbery and die on the scene."
She rests a fist over her chest, eyes shut tight, face contorted in pain. "His face is the first thing I see when I wake up and the last thing I see before I sleep. My h-heart is broken and bleeding. I loved him with every beat and every breath, and I don't know what to do with that now. I love him so much and I can't believe that he's g-gone."
Her words rush up to her ears, and she wants to scream. Pain radiates her body. Her chest is tightening and she thinks she's going to suffocate. She exhales, her eyes glossy with dampness when she opens them.
"He…he's never going to walk through that door again. He's never going to sleep beside me again. He's never going to hug me or kiss me again. His presence will never surround me again. Warmth and peace don't exist anymore. It will never be the same without him, and it breaks my heart to think that he died without knowing that I might be pregnant. I feel like I…I've lost everything."
Her composure is slipping, her heart shattering again. "I-I sh-shouldn't l-live…I c-can't g-go on without him. I can't—"
There's no way to stop the rivulets of tears that bathe her face. Her agony would touch the most hardened heart. She hugs her legs, arms hooked around them, head bowed, forehead resting on her knees, shoulders quaking. She will never heal from this.
Her two best friends can't conceal their grief either. On each side of her, their arms around her trembling body, they let their tears fall as they cry with her. Neither of them knows what to say to her as they huddle together, rocking her, trying to soothe her of a truly broken heart.
Gradually, their tears subside. Her breathing slows, until she has no tears left to cry. They still hold each other as they raise their tear-stained faces, unashamed of their sorrow.
"I'm here for you," Lucas says tenderly. "It's completely understandable under the circumstances that you're having thoughts of ending the pain by hurting yourself."
He swallows hard, inching closer to her. "I know that this is very painful for you, but you don't have to suffer alone. We are going to take care of you."
With a shaky smile, he reaches up to brush a strand of hair away from her forehead. "Whatever you need, all you have to do is ask. We love you, we are here for you, and we will help you."
Peyton hugs her tight, sniffling. "You can't give up. You must go on, Hales. For this baby."
She may be nodding, but she's not quite listening. How can she possibly live without him? She doesn't have a reserve of strength to go on. She doesn't have the energy to take care of herself, let alone a baby. This wasn't a life she wanted, one without Nathan, one as a widowed teenage mother.
"Thank you," she says, heavy emotion in her voice. She means it; they have cared for her in ways she's never seen during this terrible time, and she's unlikely to forget it.
After they wipe their faces, Haley gets to her feet with the plastic bag. "Can you keep the time?"
Lucas looks like he has no clue where to get started. Peyton whips out her cell phone. "I'm on it. The packages say three minutes, but let's make it four."
Haley stops by the small table where the sound system is, starting up whatever CD that's in there. She shuts the bathroom door just as one of Nathan's hip-hop tracks comes on over the speakers.
"This one's for you and me, baby, living out our dreams in this cheapo apartment," he teased her the last time he played the song.
This is how it's going to be from now on, thinking of how much Nathan liked something or hated something every time she comes across it. If she really is pregnant, she has to find a way to survive. She has to find strength and courage to raise this baby. This is Nathan's child, too, and she can't let him down.
"Time's up!" Peyton calls out through the door.
Dropping her thumbnail from between her teeth where she's been gnawing at it for the last four minutes, Haley yells back with, "Okay."
She rubs her hands down her jeans and glances at the sticks sitting parallel on the bathroom counter. Her knee bops nervously to the music behind the door. Taking a deep breath, she stands from the edge of the bathtub to look down. She's pregnant.
She can't say that she's extremely surprised, but she's not elated, either. Maybe there's something wrong with her. Maybe that thing that died in her when Nathan died prevents her from reacting with some kind of overjoyed emotion to the news from all four sticks.
She wraps up the sticks in tissue, throws them in the bin and washes her hands. Sighing, she rubs at her temples with the heels of her hands before opening the door. This is a completely unexpected and tricky situation.
Peyton and Luke are standing in the middle of the room, anxious expressions on their faces.
"Well?" Lucas prompts.
"I guess you're going to be an uncle."