What Follows into February

Reader discretion advised. This story contains implications of sexual assault and attempted suicide.

As thick fluffy flakes of snow come down from the clouds in an erratic dance, Greta watches a couple’s approach, pulling a wooden sled on which their two small children are immobilized to the absurd in their brightly coloured snowsuits. They are a pleasant contrast against the grey of the day, the bare trees along the median wrapped with pale blue string lights having lost their novelty about a month earlier. The lights are simply part of the landscape now, and would likely remain that way until the end of March. And by then, she’ll be meeting her daughter.

Greta startles when she notices the family has paused right outside her house and the father is pointing straight at her. It doesn’t take more than a few seconds for her to remember that every window in the house is covered in privacy film, but she still needs to take a few deep breaths, her hand coming up to rub her belly as the baby shifts from her elevated heart rate. No one can see inside during the day, and the curtains are closed by the time it’s dark enough to even get a glimpse anyway.

The father is pointing at the wire lawn ornaments she and Aiden had put out the second week of December when they’d fully moved in; a bear, a penguin, a fox, and a rabbit.

“He’ll be fine.”

Greta glances over at Seraphina standing in the doorway, her expression teasing. She can see every one of Aiden’s features uniquely reflected in his little sister’s face. What they might lack in direct likeness is evident in their similar smiles and mannerisms, which she’d noticed right away when they first met at their parents’ home on American Thanksgiving. They hadn’t seen much of each other since the Holidays, and not wanting her to be alone in the house while Aiden was away on a business trip, Seraphina offered to stay with Greta for both company and safety.

“I’m not worried,” Greta replies nonchalantly, turning from the window. As she joins Seraphina in the hall, she tries not to waddle, a new development in her pregnancy that has been the source of considerable amusement.

“Maybe not worried, but certainly eager,” Seraphina says, rocking onto her toes excitedly. She looks back at the hall. “Do you think he’ll like it?”

Seraphina had taken full advantage of their time together, modestly decorating the house for the quadruple-purpose party they would be hosting on the weekend. The baby shower and housewarming party account for two, and though Greta still believes hers and Aiden’s eight-days-apart birthdays ought to count for only one more, Seraphina was adamant that they be acknowledged individually.

“He’ll like it,” Greta says sincerely, satisfied with what Seraphina had come up with to complement the established decor, of which some serves to camouflage their interior security camera system. “Especially the guest book,” she adds.

There are three tables set up with a calmly coloured banner strung up over each; HAPPY 27th BIRTHDAY!, WELCOME HOME, and BABY COMING SOON! A large print of one of Greta’s most recent ultrasounds is framed on the table next to the guest book under the last banner, with “leave a note for Edith and her parents” painted on the glass in white script.

“I did a really nice job,” says Seraphina, putting her hands on her hips as she looks around. Greta laughs, loving the blunt way the younger woman speaks.

“You really did, it’s lovely.”

The reality of how much has changed over the last two years has overwhelmed Greta every so often since they moved into the house, manifesting in an amalgamation of pride, grief and bewilderment. And fear. Always fear. It has followed her in various forms for so long that she’s used to it, but as her priorities have changed, her fears have morphed to mirror them. She is not the girl who spent her twenty-fifth birthday hospitalized after taking a box-cutter to her wrists, driven by guilt and disgust, believing herself responsible for how she had been violated, her own body rendered utterly unrecognizable to her.

She’s turning twenty-seven in three days, she’s going to be a mother soon, she has a beautiful, safe home with the love of her life who had his own demons before meeting her, and now shares in hers. This future they’re crafting could have been over before it even began, and though it isn’t certain, fear nestles itself behind Greta’s ribs; she knows in her gut that Aiden almost died for the same reason they have such an extensive security system, and why being at the house alone for an extended period of time was out of the question.

-

The doorbell chimes and the security system chirps as the front door opens, bringing with it a gust of cold air, and a snow-covered, shaggy-haired man.

“Look at you!” Seraphina exclaims, bouncing over to take Aiden’s suitcase so he can close the door behind him. He laughs.

“Hey, sweet cheeks,” he says, laying eyes on Greta as he shakes some snow off his collar. She grins back at him, feeling the baby kick upon hearing his voice.

“Oh, I guess I’m chopped liver!” Seraphina pouts, and Aiden laughs even louder, scooping his sister up in a hug.

She screams and wriggles. “I take it back! I’m happy to be chopped liver!”

He lets Seraphina go and she hops well back, swiping snow off her sweater. Greta laughs at them as Aiden takes off his jacket and boots and steps right over to her.

He cradles her face and kisses her, making Greta squeak.

“Your hands and nose are cold!” Greta complains, giggling.

“And you’re so warm,” he whines, playfully trying to slip a hand under her shirt to caress her belly. She yelps at his icy touch and smacks his arm.

The doorbell chimes.

“Thank god!” Seraphina exclaims, moving to answer the door.

Aiden leans his forehead against Greta’s. “God, I missed you.”

“I missed you too,” she replies, brushing melting snow from his hair.

“Come upstairs? I wanna say hi to Birdie,” he says softly, using the nickname they’d grown fond of since she started kicking.

“Assistance required, love birds!” Seraphina says, kicking the door shut while balancing several packages in her arms.

“Gimme the light ones,” Greta says.

“You sure?” Aiden asks.

“She’s fiiiine,” Seraphina says, “Go shower, you smell like gas station coffee!”

Greta takes a few padded envelopes from Seraphina.

“I’ll be up soon,” Greta says, and Aiden kisses her cheek, grabbing his suitcase.

“The decorations look phenomenal, Fee!” he calls when he’s halfway up the stairs.

Seraphina laughs. “I know!”

They bring the packages to the kitchen, putting them down on the counter. One of them is wrapped in plain brown paper and has a dark wet stain on the bottom.

“He’s happier than I’ve ever seen him since he met you,” Seraphina says.

“You think so?” Greta asks.

Seraphina grins. “Yeah, it’s sappy but he’s more alive now.”

“I feel the same way.”

“Hope so.” Seraphina wipes her hands on a nearby towel, looking over the packages. “You mind if I open these?”

“No, go ahead. I’m going upstairs, Aiden wants to talk to Birdie.”

“Who knew such sappiness could be contained in a six-foot-three man built like a refrigerator,” says Seraphina with a laugh.

Greta snorts with laughter. “Have you ever said that in front of him?”

“Should I?”

“Absolutely.” She nudges Seraphina affectionately before heading out of the kitchen.

-

Greta slips into the master bedroom, shutting the door behind her. She can hear the shower running through the partially open en-suite bathroom door.

“Babe?” Aiden calls. The water shuts off.

“That’s me,” she replies, sighing as she eases herself onto the bed.

A moment later, he comes out barefoot, wearing black sweatpants and towel-drying his hair. Her gaze moves over his bare upper body, over the scars he’d accumulated over the years. The most recent is seven months old, on his lower stomach, still red but fading well. Much like her, he’d spent the early months of his twenty-fifth year recovering from wounds of his own doing, and he’d admitted to her that two months before they met, he’d grown restless again and walked himself into a fight intending to lose. Fate had thrown him off a bridge into waters that had chilled him to the bone and shook him so profoundly that he’d been carried into July on that rush alone. And then he’d met her and a knife and realized her laughter was far more compelling than death.

“Comfy?” he asks.

“Quite.”

Aiden joins her on the bed, taking her hand and bringing it to his lips, kissing her palm and then the pale scar that runs down her wrist. She gives him an easy smile, and he scoots down, pushing her shirt aside to caress her bump.

“Hey baby Birdie,” he says softly, placing a light kiss just above Greta’s navel. The baby moves, and Greta giggles, feeling Aiden’s smile against her skin. She brings her hand up to his damp hair, stroking her fingers through it lazily.

“I missed you so much,” he murmurs, “Were you nice to your Mama while I was gone?”

She hums affirmatively. “Only got her foot stuck in my ribs once.”

He chuckles. “You didn’t do it on purpose though, you barely have any room left in there.”

Greta closes her eyes, smiling at Aiden’s comments and enjoying the feeling of Birdie reacting to his touch and voice. He scoots back up after a few minutes, cuddling up to her with his face in the crook of her neck.

“I never wanna be away from you that long again,” he says thoughtfully. “If I have to arrange another conference it’s gonna be virtual.”

“Y’don’t say…”

“I’d rather not be stuck in a keynote presentation with a bunch of middle-aged business execs who don’t even like their wives. It’s unbearable.”

“So glad to hear you like me,” Greta replies with a chuckle.

Aiden laughs, pressing a kiss to her neck. “That’s what I told them, ‘I like my girlfriend so much I’m making her my wife’. They thought I was nuts.”

Seraphina screams downstairs.

Aiden sits up fast. He’s off the bed, shrugging on a t-shirt and heading to the hall much faster than Greta can even get to her feet again.

“Seraphina!?” Aiden calls, already bounding down the stairs.

“I’m fine— I’m fine—” she doesn’t sound fine.

Greta can hear the siblings’ urgent, hushed voices as she makes her own descent.

“The delivery guy didn’t hand it to you?”

“No, it was already on the stoop.”

“How soon did the bell ring after I got in?”

“Not even five minutes.”

“I need to check the cameras…”

Their exchange cuts off as soon as Greta walks into the kitchen. Seraphina looks a little grey and Aiden’s hardened expression puts her ill at ease.

They’re standing over a plain, thin box, the brown paper it was wrapped in crumpled on the counter. Greta can only just make out something bright red and wet splattered on the floor.

Aiden holds out a hand in warning. “You don’t need to see this.”

“What’s the matter?” She ignores his protest, pushing past him and stepping closer to Seraphina who clutches her arm nervously as Greta takes in the mess. When she realizes what it is, she staggers back into Aiden, who immediately holds her steady.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY BABY GIRL is drawn haphazardly in pink on the top of a chocolate cake as if the sender couldn’t decide what event to commemorate. It’s falling apart, shifting unnaturally, oozing thick, deep red fruit filling onto the kitchen floor.

It’s full of worms.

This confirms everything she already knew.

Despite all their precautions, he’s still watching.

He wants her to know he’s been watching the whole time.

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— Rooney