The second appointment looms. I keep checking my secret pregnancy book, just to make sure that I'm displaying all the right symptoms, terrified of being wrong about this. Demyx introduces me to his new boyfriend, an older ex-hobo called Xigbar who has long hair and one eye and an annoying habit of saying "Dude" at least once per minute. I wonder what he's got going for him over me, but that question is speedily answered by the readiness with which Demyx moves in with him. He still comes to visit me every few days, determined to make our break up a friendly one. I don't mind his disappearance from the soup kitchen so much: I get his bedroom all to myself now.
Demyx leaves a few boxes of stuff, but I pile them all up in one corner and clear everything up so I can lay Larxene's play mat out again and she can crawl anywhere she likes without me worrying that she'll eat one of Demyx's guitar picks.
I keep trying to tell Aqua about the pregnancy, but I don't ever manage to find a chance to explain everything from start to finish without choking up inside and running away to complete some fantasy errand instead. Eventually, the week of my appointment dawns. I know I'm getting more skittish, but I can't help it. I've started bleeding on and off, and the best advice my book (and the others I trawl in the library one lunch break) can offer is that I should see a doctor, never mind the fact that it's taking all the energy I have just to convince myself that I can go to the hospital. Everything else in my life is just flowing over me like a flood. Demyx arriving one morning with a satisfied grin on his face and a dreamy, love-struck aura I could never elicit in him doesn't leave me feeling angry, just tired and inadequate. When Larxene throws a hissy fit because I'm trying to feed her strawberries, I simply leave her with a friendly customer and lie down. Aqua doesn't get through to me again, even though she tries. I've clammed up too much.
The morning sickness fades a little, but instead I end up with a crippling stomach ache and spots of red blood on my pants. I pretend that I have a fever to get one of the soup kitchen's other residents to make me a hot water bottle, and spend the day alternating between bed and the toilet. I probably take enough painkillers to kill my unborn baby several times over, but they don't help much. The pain doesn't get worse, but it hangs around in my womb and my shoulders and my knees. Towards the end of the day Demyx pops in to play with Larxene and says "Hey, Mar, you've got your monthly sickness again." I groan at him, which makes him look at me with greater concern. "You really don't look so good."
What is wrong with me? Was this whole thing a false alarm, and this just another late period? I was so sure that I was pregnant again. I need to check my book to see if this is normal or genuinely serious, but Demyx is singing songs about fairies and dragons to Larxene, so I have to wait it out, my mind concocting terrible scenarios in which my stomach explodes or the baby has to come out through my penis.
"Xigbar's here," Demyx says when he's finished the song. "But I figured you might not want to talk to him, so I left him downstairs."
"No, it's fine, you go fetch him," I say generously, spying an opportunity to check my book. Demyx disappears with Larxene on his hip, and as soon as the door closes behind him I tumble gracelessly out of bed and pull it out of the drawer. It says, alarmingly, that I am in danger of miscarriage and should seek medical attention immediately. This knowledge makes my knees feel weak and my hands shake, but I force myself back into the warm, sweaty enclave that my bed has become just in time for Demyx and his new boyfriend to return.
"Hey, dude," Xigbar says, grinning at me with his single remaining yellow eye. "You look like a heroin addict going cold turkey there." Xigbar says things like this a lot. I doubt that his internal systems have functioned without drugs for years; although his wits seem sharp an aura of weed hangs around him, and he has the yellow fingers and dry cough of any smoker.
I let the pair of them play with Larxene until nature calls again and I have to stagger off to the bathroom again, the duvet still wrapped around me. Although I've been wearing pads for a few days for some reason it is beyond human capability to design them to work in a horizontal position, and I actually feel the blood running down my leg as I wobble awkwardly down the corridor. A lot of blood leaves me in the five long minutes I spend on the toilet. When I stand up and peer into the bowl, I'm half expecting to see a tiny human being drowned in the water, but all I can make out are shapeless lumps of flesh in the blood. I stare at it for a long time, and when I flush it all away, I feel strange. What if my baby really was in there, and I just flushed it away like a dead goldfish?
I change my pad and go back to Demyx and Xigbar. Have I been crying? I don't even know any more. I manage to climb into bed, and then I just want to sleep. Demyx fusses over me a bit, but I shake him off, telling him that Larxene would enjoy the attention more than me. Eventually he pulls out his spare guitar and starts doing duets with Xigbar. "Sing a lullaby," I croak. Demyx picks one out, his melodious voice striking a contrast against Xigbar's throaty growl. Amazingly, in spite of the pain in my crotch, this sends me to sleep. I wake up late the next morning to find Larxene tucked up against my chest, and a little note from Demyx saying "Couldn't wake you up. You were sleeping like a baby!" This makes me smile, because he knows just how badly babies sleep from months of experience.
I spend the rest of the day in bed, Aqua bringing soup up to me occasionally, but I feel better. Half of this, I suspect, is from assuming that I'm probably not pregnant any more. I check the book again, reading it with a clearer head, and I'm sure that I'm having a miscarriage. But on the other hand, that means my baby is dead. I don't know how to feel; so I try to push it all away and move on.
Aqua and Terra look after me until I feel good enough to go back to work. I don't make my appointment in the end. What's the point? They'd just think I was a moron freaked out by a food baby. My periods return after a lengthy pause, ruining my plans here and there. Demyx and I have an argument about drugs, but I think he realises it's only because I still care about him. Larxene starts toddling about by herself, so I fork out for a pair of shoes for her. She falls in love with them so much that if I try to take them off, she cries (I even use up one of my photos to take a picture of her showing them off). Without Demyx to distract me, I get really good at making soup. Life goes on. I push my baby that never was into the pile of things in my past that I'd rather live without.
Eventually, I decide that I have leached off Aqua for too long and it's time to move into my own place. I have enough money in the bank to make an advance payment, which means I can get a nicer room. This time I even have my own bathroom, and a window which seals up nicely to keep the draft out.
"Look at this, Larxene," I say cheerfully the afternoon I move in, "We're going up in the world." Terra helps me unload my things again; I'm not really seeing Demyx so much these days. He's happy with Xigbar, and I try to be happy for him. Last time I saw him, I asked if he wanted to take away the rest of his boxes, which he did after some deliberation. But he left his old guitar, the one that was difficult to tune. For some reason, I couldn't throw it away, so instead I prop it up in the corner of my new room for decoration. Then I half unpack everything else, leaving in the boxes the things I might not need for a while, like Larxene's old baby things.
I've been dreaming about my dead child lately. I bled for a week or so like I was having a normal period, and that was it. All that really became of all that pain was that I felt a little grouchy and light headed for a few weeks. I keep thinking about how I could be heavily pregnant by now, planning for a new life in the world. But on the other hand, I'm still free, still in Hollow Bastion and just about emotionally stable enough not to freak out and break down in public.
I make spaghetti bolognaise for dinner, which we eat on the bed. Larxene's teeth are coming through, which really just makes her want to chew everything and anything in sight even more. I spoon feed her bits of chopped spaghetti and mince, which mostly dribbles onto her bib. "Come on, Larxene, show some decorum," I chide her, wiping her face with a bit of tissue. But she still just babbles at me, more interested in expressing her opinions than eating. Then, suddenly, out of the nonsense comes the word "mama". We look at each other, her weepy eyes suddenly very wide and clear.
"Mama." I say. She parrots me. My heart suddenly gives out a little flutter. I forget about supper, trying to extract more sense out of Larxene's meaningless sounds. It doesn't occur to me until later that she's calling me her mother, and even then I can't bring myself to care. My hard work talking to Larxene all the time is paying off; soon she'll be saying more real words and one day even whole sentences. The future suddenly opens up in front of me, all of this progress I can look forward to, and also opens my eyes to how far we've come already. We cuddle up together, chatting nonsense until Larxene ruins the moment by peeing and needing a new nappy. It's nice to be alone again, just the two of us, no hubbub from the soup kitchen downstairs or disturbing my neighbours. I wonder who's taking my old room. Probably one of the four girls who were sharing a double bed at the back of the house.
A week or two later, while I'm playing with my chatty baby at home, Demyx drops in with a handful of papers and a huge grin on his face. We've bumped into each other in the soup kitchen or generally out and about a few times, because Hollow Bastion is a small place for people like us, but we haven't really had time to talk: so this intrusion is sudden and unexpected and, somehow, rather nice.
"Hey, Marly," he says, laughing when I roll my eyes. "I got my final exam results, look." He flops down on my bed, handing me the papers. I glance over them: a D, a few E's, an A and a U.
"What happened to politics?" I ask disparagingly. Demyx groans at me. "I was probably high during the exam," he says languidly. "Give me a break. I think I made a pretty good case against capitalism, personally. But look at music! A!"
"Very impressive," I say dutifully. I don't really know what it takes to get an A in school: I left too young, and was destined to whether or not Larxene was to come in to my life. I'm about to add something sycophantic about how good Demyx is at music, but he's already distracted, spying his guitar in the corner of the room.
"Hey, you kept it!" He reaches over and picks it up, murmuring "Hello baby," as he twists the tuning machines to make it perfectly pitched again. This makes Larxene perk up from her position on the floor. "I also got a job," Demyx says, twanging out a simple melody. "In a club in the next town over. I'm saving up to go to the Pridelands Festival next year. Maybe I'll meet some big names there."
I remember Demyx's dream to be in a band and earn back everything he owes Aqua. "Congratulations," I say, but Demyx isn't really listening. He slides off the bed to play tunes to Larxene. "So how are you?" he asks after a very musical rendition of Old MacDonald Had A Farm. I shrug. I'm about to say "Same old," but then Demyx sets the guitar aside and picks up Larxene, cooing about how she's grown and what a big girl she is, so I ask if he wants a cup of tea instead. "Oh, yeah, thanks. Hey, you sit down. I'll help myself." And Demyx acquaints himself with my kettle and dripping tap.
"How are you getting on with Xigbar?" I ask, taking Larxene back. She tries to chew on my chin, and I can feel one of her front teeth almost pulling through.
"We're doing great," Demyx says, "Yeah, we're really good. You'd think we'd just be bumming around, but he was the one who kicked me up the arse to get a job." Then he seems to catch himself, looking at me sadly. "Sorry, Mar, I shouldn't go on."
I shake my head. I probably could have found another boyfriend by now, but actually I kind of like being alone in this way. My secrets lie safe and deep as long as I keep everyone at arm's distance, just how I like them best. "It's okay," I joke, "I don't want to subject anyone else to me anyway."
This makes Demyx laugh at me. "You were nice when you were there. You just had a bit of a problem being in the right place at the right time." I can't argue with that, so I just smile, adjusting Larxene's t shirt. Most of her clothes are things Demyx bought her for her birthday, so instead of being cute girly things she mostly has whatever he thought was cool, which mostly comprises of Super Mario merchandise and shorts with guitar motifs on them. If it weren't for her long hair, people might think she was a boy. She is so going to grow up with gender issues. Like father, like daughter.
Demyx doesn't talk again until he's finished prodding the life out of he teabag, at which point he says; "So have you met the neighbours yet? Because I got the wrong number at first and the guy next door to you is super cute. I'm eighty six percent sure he's day, too."
"I'm not looking for a boyfriend right now," I promise him, but I file that information away for later, just in case I feel the need for a boyfriend. All I have to do to introduce myself is "accidentally" make too much supper one night and offer it to him. I've seen it happen a hundred times in Demyx's old videos.
"Girlfriend?"
"Nah," I say, gesturing to Larxene. "I've learned my lesson in that department." I'm pretty sure that's not how sexuality works, because the horror that was Axel certainly didn't succeed in putting me off men, but Demyx seems to buy it. He stays for most of the afternoon, spoiling Larxene rotten with his music and cheerful chatter, until he checks his watch and realises that he's got to be somewhere for a date with Xigbar "and, unlike some people, I actually turn up to my dates."
"What do you two do together?" I ask. Demyx and Xigbar are so different that I can hardly imagine them having anything in common.
"Oh, you know, we talk. And we make music together. He writes songs and I sing them. We're going to see a film tonight. I guess it's just the usual couple stuff. I'd invite you too, but you know."
"That's fine, I don't want to be in a cinema with you giving each other goochy eyes the entire time," I joke. Demyx giggles, saying "True, true. Being a third wheel is never pleasant for anybody. I meant Larxene, though."
We look down at her, crawling between us on the bed. She's discovering the art of repetition, so much of what she says is currently the same syllable over and over and over again. Right now, she really likes "ba", which makes her sound a bit like a sheep impersonator. "That too." I say.
"That reminds me," Demyx says suddenly, "There's a new kid swimming pool opened up in Radiant Garden. You know, the ones with flumes and slides and stuff. You should take her there. I heard somewhere that babies can swim instinctively."
"Yeah, maybe," I lie. Fat chance. I hardly ever felt comfortable taking my shirt off in front of Demyx in the privacy of our bedroom, let alone wearing nothing but trunks in a pool full of strangers. And maybe Demyx notices my insincerity because he adds; "Hey, Mar, it's hardly even noticeable. And nobody even cares anyway."
"Radiant Garden is a long way away," I protest. I fool nobody.
"You shouldn't feel self conscious," says Demyx. But he has no idea. "Anyway, I need to head off, or I'll be late. See you soon!" He gives me a hug and off he goes. I finish off his sugary tea. "Come on then, Larxene," I say when I'm done, "Let's go to the park."
We put on our shoes and out we go, shuddering down the rickety old lift to the ground floor. Then we step out into the brilliant sunshine. I breathe in deeply, tasting the dusty Hollow Bastion air. I carry Larxene until she kicks her legs, which means she wants to walk; then I hold her hand and let her step forward uncertainly until she sits down, which means she wants to be carried. She's getting good at communicating, even without words. I know when she wants feeding, or which toys she wants to play with, and a hundred other things. It's only ten minutes to the park (it would be five, but Larxene slows things down considerably), which really just consists of a football field, a duck pond and a few swings. I put Larxene onto a swing first and rock her back and forth, remembering my childhood spent swinging alone while other kids took turns on the slides and roundabouts. I'll make sure that Larxene has friends, I think seriously, carefully ignoring the fact that since Larxene is a member of exactly zero baby groups, I am not doing a very good job. In fact, she has probably never played with someone her own age (I say probably because I'm never one hundred percent sure what goes on while the hobos are taking care of her). But clubs cost money and require socialisation with real mothers, which scares me. So I suppose that for the mean time, Larxene will just have to be a loner like me.
In September, I decide that I need to get into shape, a choice mainly influenced by my ailing self confidence and the accidental discovery that Xigbar, who is in his thirties, has a fucking six pack. I, meanwhile, still haven't really lost the flab from Larxene, and living on my own again has made me double aware of my less-than-healthy diet. "And I have to set a good example for you," I say to Larxene. She is eating a lot more solid food now, like bread and cheese and spoonfuls of soup. So I get an alarm clock and take myself out jogging every morning before work, starting with just a quick run around the block and working up from there. I buy lots of extra vegetables and fruit, knowing that I'm cheap and would rather eat them than left them go off. I construct a silly little routine of sit ups and push ups (or at least, to begin with, one push up), which I perform for Larxene's entertainment most evenings. Under this rigorous routine I begin to feel a lot better, and more peaceful. It's easier not to think about big, scary things when I've tired myself out so much during the day that come evening I just fall asleep as soon as my head hits the pillow. I use my double dinner tactic on the "cute guy" next door, but he turns out to be pretty boring, so the relationship never progresses further than the occasional food swap. That's okay. I get on fairly well with the gardeners at work, who are suitably impressed by my needlessly extensive knowledge of plant species, and I still visit Aqua as often as I can, mostly just to reassure her that I am alive. One day when I drop in to see her she takes me to one side and presses two necklaces into my hand, their pendants shaped like stars.
"I made these for you," she says. "They're good luck charms. I'm sure you've heard the old myth about the star shaped fruits." Of course I have: I've even told it to Larxene a few times. "I trust you to give the second charm to Larxene when she's old enough not to eat it." It takes me a long time to realise this, but she knew that I wasn't going to stay in Hollow Bastion forever. The charms weren't just for good luck: they were something to remember her by.
And sure enough, when I lift the chain of the necklace over the head of my grumpy four year old daughter, it's because we are moving away to start a new life in Radiant Garden. I haven't told Aqua this, or Demyx, but I know they'll put the pieces together. Maybe Aqua, who seems to know people better than even they know themselves, will even understand that I'm moving because my stomach is again displaying a familiar curve, and that means that it's time to run.