July, two months ago

A D D I E

The salon was overpowered with the scent of lacquer, sanitiser and harsh remover. The hum and spark of UV lights could be heard under the low hum of Kpop music in the overhead speakers and the bubble of foot spas was a soothing rhythmic pattern despite the arrangement of other noises.

"What colour?" Margo mumbled, staring at the wall of nail polishes, arranged in an intricate rainbow. There were hundreds of colours. Dozens of shades in each colour. I'd been about to pluck a canary yellow down when she reached out for a pale pink. "This one."

"That's cute. I think I'll go for yellow."

"What?" She looked at me, palming the bottle in her hand. "We have to get the same shade. Toes, fingers, lips."

"I'm not putting nail polish on my lips."

"No," she laughed and linked her arm through mine, pulling us toward the table that was arranged with manicure instruments. "I have a shade like this at home. It compliments our olive skin. Trust me on this one."

It didn't bother me enough to argue. If she wanted us to wear matching pink nail polish, so be it. This entire afternoon was her idea anyway. A girls date, followed with a night out to celebrate the fact that I had been implanted with her baby this morning. It wasn't a guarantee that it had taken, it never was with IVF. But Margo refused to believe that in two weeks time, the test would be anything but positive.

So, we were celebrating a new beginning. It was her treat.

Two women were smiling, waiting for us to situate our hands on the rolled white towels in the middle of the table top.

"How are you today?" One with her hair in a tight ballet bun asked, dropping a few drips of oil on to my fingertips before massaging it into the cuticle area. I was feeling more relaxed already.

"Good thanks," I answered. "You?"

She just nodded and kept her focus on the job at hand. It appeared that there wouldn't be much chatting going on between us and that was fine with me. I preferred less conversation from hair dressers, beauticians and anyone else that was in close proximity to my personal space.

There's something obligatory about salon etiquette and having to uphold a chat, a pressure that the stylist feels to keep the client feeling as though she or he is being paid attention to. I don't like my stylist to feel that way. There's no pressure from me. As long as my hair is done or my legs are waxed or my nails are painted, I'm happy.

Of course, Margo and the other nail technician with a fishtail plait slung over one shoulder were murmuring away as if they were old friends. They could have been. Margo got her nails done far more often than I did. It's a business expense. She has to upkeep her appearance for events whereas, I sit behind a computer or paperwork 90 percent of the job.

"Yep," Margo beamed and I tuned in at the end of her conversation. "She's pregnant with my baby."

Her technician looked at me with total delight illuminating her almond shaped gaze. Mine looked confused for a moment until she nodded between us.

"Congratulations happy couple."

Margo's technician furrowed her brows at mine and gave a slight disapproving head shake for not understanding the context of the situation.

Margo grinned. "Thank you."

The conversation became quiet again for a moment, simply the filing of nails could be heard between our tables until Margo leaned toward me a little and said, "I think that we should move."

"Move?" My head whipped toward her.

Even though she'd suggested nothing more than the fact that she wanted to move, my imagination ran away and I thought about all of the beautiful cities that we could explore in search of the right place to settle down. Somewhere with green rolling meadows and trees taller than the dull buildings that I see day in and day out. There was so much potential.

"Yeah," she confirmed. "Into a bigger condo or apartment. I think we could use a bigger space to raise the baby in."

I swallowed down bitter disappointment and tried not to wince. "We?" I chuckled, hoping to hide the tightness in my voice. "What's this we? You're raising the baby. Not me."

Her brows pulled and she wore a small scowl that she was attempting to hide with confusion. "We live together. You're going to be the aunt. We are more or less doing this together."

"Less. This isn't my baby to raise. I'll be there, of course, everyday but it's not mine. You're the mother. You do the raising."

She exhaled, her shoulders fell and she watched her hands instead of me. "Ever heard the saying 'it takes a village to raise a baby.' You don't have to be a parent to raise a child. It's whoever is there and spends the time contributing to their happiness that aides in raising the baby. You're making this a way bigger thing than it has to be."

"I mean, I get what you're saying," I mumbled, feeling silly for flipping out. "I'm just. . . I'm not carrying this baby so that I can be a parent. Not at all. That's not why I offered. Just so we're clear. I'll be the fun aunt. I might even help with diapers once in a while. But, it's yours."

It was quiet between us for such a long stretch that I looked over and saw Margo watching me with her parental concern. It reminded me that she was right. She wasn't my mom, but she did raise me. She did step up when I had no one else.

"Is this about baby Bianchi?"

"What?"

"You're so convinced that giving your baby up for adoption meant never being a mother again, which is stupid but whatever. But if you're afraid to 'raise' a baby with me because you think it's too close to a second chance, that's ridiculous."

She knew me too well. I hadn't realised that was how I felt when I adamantly denied partaking in her baby's upbringing just now. But it's true. Whenever a small part of me craved the chance to be a mother again, I remembered the absolute desolating agony that tore through my entire body when my baby was taken, her cries fading and the sight of her pink fingertips disappearing as she was carried from the room.

I've never known pain like that before and since then, nothing has ever seemed as bad.

After our mani-pedis, Margo and I went home, changed into our cutest outfits, glammed up and slipped into a cab at seven. Margo was claiming tonight as her last night of wild life.

"You don't have to settle down," I said from beside her, tugging up my strapless dress. I so did not have the boobs for this outfit. But I loved how it hugged my hips. "You're allowed to go and dance as a mom too."

She swiped gloss on and rolled her eyes. "I'm too old to hit the town for a dance. I mean, I love it. But I look ridiculous."

"You do not!" I argued. "You're a total babe for forty. Besides, there's no rule saying that you have to stop dancing at a certain age. Just have fun. Do you. I hate going out so I'm never going to hesitate to baby sit."

She laughed and slipped her gloss into her clutch. "Well, I'm glad you're out with me tonight."

"It's a special occasion."

"It's a miracle!"

I smiled, glad that she appreciated my company so much. Most of the time, she went out dancing with Irie or Lo. But tonight was sister night and an exception to my otherwise home bound life.

"Besides, the baby won't be here for quite a while. There's tons of time to get your dancing in."

She slipped her arm through mine and rested her head on my shoulder. "Nope. I'm committing to being part of this pregnancy as much as I can. You can't eat something, I won't eat it. No drinking. No wild late nights. We're in this together. Your suffering, is my suffering."

"Wow. Suffering. And here I thought this was a beautiful time in our weird lives."

She leaned back and looked at me. "It is beautiful. I won't ever be able to stop saying thank you."

I gave her a pat on the head. Being pregnant was so different this time, Margo wasn't crying herself to sleep every night, worried about my future. She wasn't in a subtle but definitive state of sadness over the choice that I made to give my baby up for adoption. She wasn't moving around me, careful and concise as to not make me feel hated but definitely let me know that she was disappointed. She wasn't threatening to find the 'no good little shit' who did this to me and ring his neck.

The entire atmosphere was different and it excited me. It excited me for her.

It seemed like as good a time as any to have a discussion with her. "I've been thinking that now might be a good time to start this horticulture course that I've been looking at online."

Margo looked at me, brows pinched and a burnt orange glow illuminating her confusion each time a headlight passed us.

"The one that I talked about a while back?" I reminded her. "It seems like a good time. I'll still be doing the office work until the baby is born but I can start looking into this course. I could qualify and work with plants. Which can be done from home too. And I'd learn so much—"

"Addie?"

"What?"

She leaned back in the seat and exhaled a quiet breath. "I need you committed to the business, now more than ever."

"Well, I am. But we could find a replacement?"

"A replacement? For May We? That's our name. Our brand."

"Well, sort of. I mean, we changed our name. But that's not the point. The point is, I want to do horticulture. I think I'm just past the event planning. It's great and I'll still be involved but I want to do horticulture."

"It's not a good time," she said, staring straight out ahead at the dark road and bright city lights. "With the baby coming I'm going to need a lot more help. Am I supposed to look after the business and the baby alone?"

I scowled. "That's not what I said. I said that I'd still help as often as I can. But I want to do horticulture."

"I need you right now, Addie. The business does. You can't just up and walk from it when we're about to bring a baby into the mix."

"Like I said, hire someone to take my place."

She bunched her hair in her hands and released a frustrated breath. "It's our business, Addie. Ours. I can't just hire someone to take the place of a May sister. I can't believe you'd pick now to do this."

"Seriously?" I leaned as close to the door as possible so that there was as much space between her and I as could get. "Carrying your baby isn't good enough? I have to give up the only thing I'm interested in too?"

She whipped her head toward me, fast. "You pushed for that. Are you kidding me? You pushed so fucking hard for this surrogacy thing. I knew there was a reason we shouldn't have gone through with it. I knew something like this was bound to happen."

"Ugh. Whatever. No. I don't regret it. I'm glad you're getting the baby that you've always wanted. And I'm one hundred percent happy to do it. It'd just be nice if I could do what I want to do. And that's learn more about the things that I'm interested in. Plants and trees. That sort of thing."

"You know what," she snapped. "Do whatever you want. You were right, this is my baby so I'm the one that has to worry about these things. I'll manage the baby and the business alone."

I felt hot all over as I leaned forward to the front seat. "Please turn the cab around and go back to where we started," I looked at Margo again. "You know what, you're the one who told me I was making a bigger deal out of raising the baby than I needed to. And now who's making a big fucking deal out of nothing. And being super dramatic."

"Dramatic?!"

"Yes! Dramatic. I want to study horticulture, something that I'm interested in and you're acting like I'm about to abandon you! I can still be at home and I can still be hands on and helping while I do what I want to do."

She waved her arms in frustration. "You told me to hire someone else to take over your part of the job. You want out. You have for a long time."

"So fucking what? Hire someone else. What's the big deal if the work is still getting done?"

"It won't be a May sister. I'll have to rebrand again."

"Ugh," I almost shouted as the cab pulled up outside of the condo. I handed the driver my card, my leg bounced and my heart was beating while he swiped it. "We're going around in circles here. Your argument makes no fucking sense and I'm sick of it."

Without waiting for her response, I got out of the car and walked through the dark toward the front door. She followed, I could hear the clack of our heels echoing through the quiet streets. Inside still had the lingering scent of our perfume and lipstick after we'd been getting ready not all that long ago. Margo threw her clutch past me and it landed on the sofa.

I spun around and glared. "You missed."

"I wasn't aiming for you!"

We stared at each other, scowling and bitter while we took our shoes off, the heels hitting the hardwood floor. "Stop doing that," I seethed. Her knit brows drew even closer together.

"What?"

I spun around and headed toward the kitchen. "That stupid frown. You look at me like I'm a child. It's the same stupid look you used to give me when I was a teenager. The look I'd get for not only rebelling, but," I raised my voice. "Not being like you."

She followed me. "Not being like me? What does that even mean?!"

"You have never been able to stand the fact that I don't have the same interests as you. Even when I was a kid. You were always carting me around and doing my hair and nails and forcing me to go to the park and the mall and then as I got older, to parties and and social events. Even the career. I don't even remember getting a choice in the event planning. It was just decided for me."

"You're good at it!" She shouted, standing beside the fridge. I started filling up my watering can.

"That is not the point. It doesn't matter if I'm good at it. No, I don't hate it but it's just— not for— I'm not passionate about it. Not like I could be. Besides, there's nothing wrong with changing careers. It's not a bad thing to do something new."

"Ya know, I didn't realise there was something wrong with trying to spend time with my sister and introducing you to my interests," she circled back to that argument, waving her hand with frustration. "But I didn't force you into anything! What teenager doesn't want to go to parties with their big sister?!"

I barked with laughter. "Margo, you're sixteen years older than me! Your parties were wine and nibbles or lame open mic nights with all your desperate married friends who go out and pretend their pathetic husbands aren't sitting at home."

She recoiled with a harsh gasp. "That is so mean!"

"It's not even about the sort of party that it was! I wasn't a party person. I wanted to be at home. I liked being at home. Again, there's nothing wrong with that. But it bothered you that I might be an introvert because you weren't."

"Ya know what, I don't get you. At all. Never have."

"That's what I'm saying!"

"I just wanted you to get out there more. Make friends. Realise that life is fun when you're living it."

"Our ideas of living are not the same. We don't have to be the same. I'm not missing out on anything just because you're telling me that I am. Grow up and realise people have different personalities."

She was sobbing. It happened quite fast. One minute I was screaming at her and then she was wailing.

"Fine," she spluttered, not all that coherent. "I get it. We're not the same. Fine, leave the business. Fine, don't raise the baby with me. Just abandon me and live your boring sheltered life."

"I don't want to abandon you, you idiot! I just want to be me without feeling pressured to choose and behave like someone else to please you."

Margo cried even harder, her make up ran, staining her cheeks. "We s-sound like an old married couple."

"Yeah, good thing there's a baby on the way to mend our broken marriage."

She laughed, sending a shower of saliva and tears out in front of her. So now she was sobbing through her laughter and looked like a real mess, which made me laugh and we were both giggling ourselves stupid within a few moments.

Margo inhaled and then gasped, sharp. She started coughing, her face becoming tight and red. She turned around and began pouring herself some water, I stepped closer, wondering if she needed me to pat her back. But as I stepped closer, she spun around and threw her glass of water at me.

The cold splash made me gasp, freeze and quietly squeal.

"You deserved that."

"Me?!" I squeaked, wiping my face. "You're the one that's been a controlling bitch. And I'm carrying your baby! You deserve the face of water."

"Fine," she snapped and refilled the glass before throwing it at her own face. She gasped and her gaze widened with the shock of cold water. "Better?"

"No, that wasn't even by my hand. I get no satisfaction from that."

She refilled the glass and handed it to me.

So I threw it. "Better." I turned around and left the kitchen.

"You have to clean this up," she shouted, getting louder with each syllable. Finally, she caught up to me, pushed past and stole the bathroom before I could shower. Bitch. If she thought that I was going to occupy my time with mopping while she showered, she was wrong. I stripped off the cold clothes, dabbed my neck and chest dry with the back of my t-shirt and then put on a robe.

It was half n hour later, I was in bed with the television on and the lights out, watching Serendipity for the thousandth time when Margo slipped inside the bedroom in her satin purple night dress. She pouted and sat on the bed, watching me with cautious eyes, just as I was no doubt doing to her.

"Shower thoughts," she mused, not looking at me. "Seeking counsel from the shower head. Not relief, those are two very different shower heads."

"'Wow."

"Yeah so anyway, I came to a sort of understanding. Or an understanding to not understand, but that's okay. If that makes sense? We are not the same and I might not get the sort of person you are, but I can still support that person. And love that person and encourage that person. So you should do the horticulture course. I'm sure you'll be incredible at it within the first two hours."

My chest felt as if it were expanding. This was what I had been waiting for and it was a quick moment, a brief chat about the change in attitude that she was having, but it felt monumental, like the weight had been lifted from me and I could stop dicking around and make some changes and choices. I had a fleeting thought that stopped me in my tracks. Had I, on some subconscious level, used carrying her baby as a bargaining tool.

I gasped, slapping a palm across my mouth.

"What?" Margo looked concerned and I tried to hide a guilt ridden grin before I dropped my hand.

"Nothing." I didn't want to tell her what I thought. The thought that perhaps we'd used a baby to save our relationship. No, that was ridiculous. Those were not the motivations behind the offer. But still, it fit so well with the situation. I had to laugh.

She climbed into the bed, lifted the comforter and snuggled in beside me, resting her head on my shoulder. "I love this movie."

"Me too," I agreed.

"Sure. You don't even like romance. I don't know why you watch all of these movies."

"For the same reason that I read all of the books."

She peered up at me. "And what's that?"

"Living vicariously through fictional characters who get a happy ending."

She was silent for so long that I would have thought she was asleep apart from the fact that she was tense, leg shaking.

"Say it," I sighed.

"You don't need to live vicariously through fictional people. You could have your own love life."

"Well not anymore now that I'm carrying your baby."

She gasped and gave me a slap in the arm, we both laughed. "Don't start with me," she warned.

"Na," I shrugged. "Happy endings don't happen in real life. Just stories. So I'm safe there. I don't really see the appeal in going through a total heart break when I don't have to and I can still get my fix of romance."

"This is going to turn into another argument. I do not understand, but I do accept that is how you feel."

"Okay robot," I laughed, not convinced at all but this was as good as it was going to get and it was better than ongoing arguments or just total submission to what she wanted. Balance.

"Can you imagine," I said, gesturing at the movie.  "Meeting someone in your twenties, not seeing them for ten years but searching for them on a whim and finding clues that lead to disappointment, never meeting the man you supposedly love after one night ten years ago and still not going through with your wedding because you're convinced you're meant to be with this, well, essential stranger? Doesn't that just sound like it's going to be an awful marriage in twelve months when they finally know each other?"

"You are such a pessimist. This movie is gorgeous. It's true love. They last. It shows us at the end. It's just proving that a connection can last when it's strong. It can last time and space. If it's real, true love."

"That. Does. Not. Exist," I deadpanned. "They don't love each other because they couldn't love each other without knowing a damn thing about each other. Loving someone is more than a feeling. It's a choice. It's a choice to love even their flaws. To an extent. Ya know, beatings and cheating aren't flaws."

"Mhmm I just think there are occasions, rare perhaps, but real of two people connecting on a wavelength that's unique between them. It surpasses the need to know more in order to feel love. It's just there and can only get better."

"Can not relate. That sounds wack and I've never known a person to experience that sort of relationship."

She shrugged and we fell quiet again, watching the movie, getting up just once for a glass of water and a bag of chips.

"That kitchen floor is still wet," I told Margo as I slipped back in beside her and opened the bag of salt n vinegar. I couldn't stand the smell of these things but the taste was delicious.

"I'll clean it up after the movie."

"Will not. You'll fall asleep."

"Fine I'll do it in the morning."

I grinned. "How about the first person to wake up cleans it up?"

"Sounds fair."

In the morning, I woke up in an empty bed. I'd been having a beautiful dream about who knows what. The memories were distorted but whatever it was left a good tingle up my spine and an overall warmth.

When I got to the kitchen that warmth evaporated. The world evaporated, fell out of focus and all I saw was Margo, face down, a pool of blood around her head, her eyes open and unfocused.

I'd held her, screamed for her to wake up, felt the chokehold of desperation threatening to suffocate me and take me with her. She'd slipped on the puddle of water that we were arguing over who had to clean up. Slipped and hit the temple of her head on the corner of the bench top.

That was it. That was all it took to lose the one person that I needed in my life more than anything else. One moment we'd been having a girls night, something we did all the time, so normal and the most unexpected circumstances pulled the rug from under us.

It can't be exaggerated that the speed at which my entire life fell apart was so fast that it didn't feel real. It wasn't until Margo was being lowered into the ground that I felt the full impact of her departure. I would never see her again, hear her voice, feel her hug. It was incomprehensible.