Page 6 of Such Sharp Teeth

She doesn’t know that’s the wrong question. What would she have done if I had been killed by a monster?

It was a necessary lie. Had I told anyone the truth about what happened in the woods last night, that I was attacked by a massive fanged mystery beast, I’d likely be carted off to a mental institution. No one would believe me. I can’t blame them. I barely believe it myself, and I was there. I know what I saw, and still . . .

It’s a particular form of torture that I wish I were alone in, though I know I’m not. For some reason I can never fully trust my own experience. I’m always treating myself like an unreliable witness. I offer no empathy, only an endless cycle of interrogation.

Did I really see it? Or did I make up a fantastical creature to dissociate from reality? Wouldn’t that make sense?

“Rory,” Scarlett says.

“I was coming home from the bar and I hit something. I worried it was a dog. Some sweet golden retriever wearing a red bandanna and, like, a collar with tags that say, ‘I’m loved.’ I got out to check, and I guess maybe actually I hit the bear, or pissed it off somehow. Here we are.”

“You’ve been back here for two weeks,” she says. “Two weeks.”

“I know,” I say. “It could sense it. Bear was like ‘Sweetie, go back to Manhattan.’ ”

“I’d understand,” she says, tapping her nails on the arm of the chair. “If you want to go back. It’s fine. I’ll be fine.”

“Hey. No,” I say. “I’m not going anywhere. This doesn’t change anything. I’m here.”

“I woke up to the cops at the door. I don’t ever want to wake up to a knock like that again.”

I can’t freak out because she’s freaking out. One of us has to be calm. It’s a rule.

“I’m sorry,” I say. “Honestly, would rather be here. Rather be the one in the hospital bed than sitting beside it.”

She stares at me for what feels like forty-five minutes.

“What?” I ask finally.

“You can’t shrug this off,” she says.

I shrug. It hurts.

“Aurora.”

“Twice in one morning!”

“I’m serious. This is traumatic.”

“You know what’s traumatic? Is there anything worse than the moment before the disinfectant? You know it’s going in. You know it’s going to sting like a motherfucker. The anticipation. The worst.”

“Yeah, well, I’m over here, knowing I’m going to have to give birth, so . . .”

It’s been around five months since she told me, and I still can’t figure out how she’s feeling about it. Scarlett isn’t one for sentiment, so it’s possible she’s concealing her excitement behind her typical nonchalance. On the subject of babies, both of us have always been a lukewarm I-don’t-know-maybe. I wasn’t totally shocked, especially considering how long she and Matty had been together, but it also didn’t feel like good news.

It’s possible his absence was impending, and that’s why Scarlett was never keen to share sonogram pics and shop for onesies. She’ll talk about it when she feels like talking about it, if she ever feels like talking about it.

“My favorite sisters.”

Seth struts into the room in his white coat, clipboard under his arm, pen behind his ear, looking like the epic nerd he’s always been.

“Doc,” Scarlett says.

“Ashley wanted to come by, but she’s stuck at home with the little guy,” he says. “How are you feeling?”

“Amazing,” I say.

“Me, too,” Scarlett says. “Thanks for asking.”