Dirtyclothes were picked up off the floor, and the rug had been vacuumed. Thescattered pile of work papers and reference books had been shuffled into a neatstack beside my computer, and the coffee table was now barren of dirty mugs.Goose’s daughter was by the TV with a dust rag in hand, and when she spotted mestaring, she pointed toward the kitchen.
“Hemade us do it,” she muttered begrudgingly.
Knowingall too well whohemust’ve been, I offered an apologetic smile andwalked to the small galley kitchen, to find Goose, his ex-wife, and his fathercrammed between the countertops.
“Youhad your daughter clean my apartment?” I accused abruptly, alerting the threeof them to my presence.
“Weall did our part,” he corrected me, lifting the corners of his mouth in a smileI couldn’t help but return.
“Youreallydidn’t have to do that.”
Krystalgrinned and came to me with arms extended, like we were best friends and hadknown each other forever. “We wanted to,” she insisted, wrapping an arm aroundmy shoulders. “Taking a shower is the best thing ever when you’re so busy witha baby, right?”
Inodded gratefully. “It seriously is.” Then, I looked up into her eyes and said,“And thank you. Seriously. You don’t even know me. You didn’t have—”
“Stop,”she scolded gently. “Goose told us all about you and what you’re going through.We’re more than happy to help in any way that we can.”
“Food’sgonnabe ready in a few minutes,” Goose announced,before throwing some instructions at his father to set the table and pour thesoda.
Krystaltook the moment to pull me into the living room and sat me down beside herdaughter, who was busy making friends with my cat.
“So,I hope you don’t mind, but Goose mentioned that you were having a tough timewith the whole, you know, breast milk thing,” Krystal said quietly.
Ifelt my cheeks burn with embarrassment and shame at the mention, but I shook myhead. “No, it’s okay.”
“Listen.I tried for weeks with Hannah, and it just would not work for me. She wouldn’tlatch, I wasn’t making enough, my boobs hurt like hell, I developed a killercase of mastitis …” She rolled her eyes and waved a hand flippantly in the air.“I felt so crappy and I spent too much time crying and making myself feel likea failure because this thing that’s supposed to be so beautiful and naturaljust wasn’t happening for me.”
“Itmakes me feel like it’s just one more thing out of my hands,” I confessed,shaking my head. “Like, everything about this entire situation has beencompletely beyond my control, and I hate it all so much. So, when the nursesfirst mentioned breastfeeding in the hospital, I thought, well, I have controlover my own boobs and at least that’s something I can do for my son. But as itturns out, I don’t even have control over that. I feel like, like nothing aboutmy body is good enough for my baby, and nothing feels more unnatural than thatto me.”
Itried so hard not to let the tears come, but I lost the battle and looked away,struggling to swallow them down and wish them away.
“Ican’t pretend to know what you’re going through,” Krystal replied gently. “ButI can tell you that you are more than good enough for your baby. I mean, sowhat if you can’t make enough? You got help when you felt something was wrong.You got him exactly where he needed to be. He doesn’t need breast milk whenthey make formula that’ll dojust fine. What he reallyneeds is you to be happy and sane, and if that means you give this up, then sobe it. Sometimes, the absolute best thing you can do, is give up. And if youdon’t want to give up yet, then whatever you are able to do is better thannothing at all.”
Iallowed her words in and let them settle against my heart, as Goose told us thatthe food was ready to eat. I didn’t have enough chairs at my table, so weinstead sat around the living room, on the couch and the floor, with loadedplates and full glasses of soda. The time spent eating was filled withcomfortable company, and I had the best afternoon I could remember having in along time. I hadn’t realized how much I’d missed talking and laughing withpeople, even if we’d only just met—except for Goose, of course, who sat closebeside me, with his thigh pressed to mine.
Ifound that I loved the way he felt there, searing his warmth intomeand penetrating the chill that had invaded my heart theday I almost died with my baby. I knew that, as the minutes went by, I wasmoving closer, leaning in further, and occasionally touching my head to hisshoulder. I knew that he had to notice, but not once did he make a movehimself. And I guess he didn’t really have to, when things were just sort ofhappening on their own, the way it does sometimes. Where there are noboyfriends or girlfriends, no formal declaration of what we were. It justsortof came to be, through some unspoken agreement, and Ithink that’s exactly what happened between Goose and me, on Saint Patrick’s Dayin my tiny apartment, where we were surrounded by the people that he loved andI had only just met.
Allbecause he knew I needed help but would never ask.
AndI couldn’t have imagined us happening in a better way.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
“Hey,Mama!”
Ientered the NICU a little over a month after Alexander was born. I neverthought it couldhappen, butcoming to the hospitalevery day was becoming more and more of a regular part of my life, almost tothe point where I was beginning to wonder if I’d ever adjust to not cominghere. Or if I could ever adjust to caring for a baby on my own.
“Hey,Debbie,” I said, grabbing a chair and dragging it over to Alexander’sisolette.
“Noticeanything different about your little man?”
“Huh?”
Sheshot me a smug smirk from the station she was working at and said, “Take alook.”
Peeringinto Alexander’s bed, it was hard to miss. Where there was once a thick tubeobscuring a lot of his face, there was now only lips, with a thin tube hangingfrom the center of his little mouth. A different tube was now over his nose,secured by tape on his cheeks, and a band wrapped around his little head,holding it all in place.
“Nomore ventilator!” I exclaimed happily, unable to control my already achinggrin.
