20
JESSA
Two days since the farmer’s market. But it feels more like a week. A month. A century. My life has turned stagnant. I move around the suite, a ghost searching for a purpose.
Anton is gone for hours at a time. I know he’s planning something with Lev and Yulian. I know it has to do with Rodion’s nephew, Marina’s cousin. I don’t know any details, and frankly, I don’t really want to.
I just want all this to be over so that I can enjoy my pregnancy and sleep without nightmares.
The medical staff disappeared right after clearing me. Now, a butler comes up twice a day to check if I need anything, and a maid comes in the mornings to clean. Four armed guards stand outside the suite at all hours. I can’t tell them apart to save my life, so either Anton has an army of clones or this lifestyle just shapes men to look a certain way. Hard in the eyes, scarred, tattooed, with a merciless clench to the jaw.
It’s supposed to keep me safe. But it just makes me feel isolated. The only times my loneliness ever recedes is when Anton walks through the door.
I try cooking, but for the first time in my life, it fails to ease my mind. Maybe that’s why, in the thick of desperation, I decide to call my mother.
She answers but doesn't say anything right away. I swallow and break the silence. "Mom?"
“Jessa?” She actually says my name like a legitimate question. Like it could be someone else calling. Because there are so many people out there who refer to her as “Mom.”
“Hi, Mom. It’s been a while.”
“Yes, I suppose it has.” Her voice is clipped.
“How are you?”
“Fine, dear.”
“And Dad?”
“He’s fine, too.”
It seems we’ve already reached the end of the conversation, but I’m so desperate that I refuse to take the hint.
“You want to ask me how I am?” I ask.
“I assumed you were about to tell me.”
I bite back my annoyance, reminding myself that this conversation is not meant to be confrontational. It was supposed to be an olive branch. A détente.
“Okay, I, uh, I guess I’ll tell you then. Um… is Dad there?”
“He’s outside doing some gardening.”
“Do you think you could get him on with you?”
There’s a moment’s pause. “I suppose.”
I hear her set down the phone, then the muffled sound of her calling his name. She picks the phone up again and her breathing seems a little heavier.
“Should we be worried?” she asks.
Probably, I think.Out loud, I say, “No, this is good news. But it might come as somewhat of a shock.”
“Oh, dear. I’ll get him on the extension.”
Her tone is both tired and exasperated, and I immediately wonder if I’ve made a mistake calling to tell them about my pregnancy. But Dr. Mathers told me I’m three months along. I’ll start showing soon.
And they are still my parents. Even if sometimes it feels like they belong to a totally different species.