Ihung up and dropped my phone on the bed, before setting out to eat mybreakfast. I didn’t taste the pancakes, as I chewed and swallowed mindlessly,and after only eating for a few minutes, I realized I wasn’t hungry. Without aword, I stood up in a hurry, to head into the kitchen to collect my pumpingsupplies. It wasn’t until I had assembled the bottles and pump, that I realizedI was missing one of the flanges.
“Dammit,”I exclaimed, standing up in a hurry, and completely disregarding my bloodpressure and how it still made me dizzy if I moved too quickly. I lost mybalance and fell into the wall, banging my hip and catching myself with the armof the chair. Gritting my teeth, I pinched my eyes shut and muttered, “Fuckinghell.”
“Kenny,what can I do?”
“Nothing,”I replied brashly, righting myself and walking quickly into the kitchen. “Ineed to take my damn pills and pump. Then, Ihave toget some work done, because I need to have another book out in a couple ofmonths, or else I’m not going to—”
“Kendall.”
Inbetween grabbing the pill bottles off the counter and the missing flange, Iturned around to face him with exasperation. “What?” I shouted, just asmy bottom lip began to quiver. And damn it all to hell, I didn’t want to cry.Not now, not again. I was so sick of crying. I was so sick of feeling helplessand afraid and alone. But fighting it only made it harder, and tears began tostream down my face before I had the chance to stop them.
“Comehere,” he said, walking toward me and pulling me into his arms.
Ididn’t hug him back. Still as stone, I just stood there, holding my pillbottles and breast pump parts, while I cried against his chest. He smoothed hishands over my hair, kissing my head, until I found the strength to take a stepback and collect my bearings.
“Sorry,”I said, wiping beneath my nose with the back of my hand.
“Don’tapologize to me.”
Ishook my head and walked to the fridge to grab a bottle of water. “This isn’thow you wanted to spend your morning.”
“Sure,it is. I’m spending it with you.”
“Yeah,”I snickered. “And what great company I am right now.”
“Whatdid they say on the phone?”
Ipopped three blood pressure pills into my mouth, along with a prenatal vitamin,and swallowed them all with a swig of water. As I plunked the bottle back ontothe counter, I said, “He’s back on the CPAP.”
Goosenodded morosely. “Okay. But didn’t you tell me just a couple weeks ago thatsometimes that can happen? You can take two steps forward, then one step back?”
“Yes,but—”
“Iget you’re disappointed, but you and I both know that getting better isn’talways a straight path to recovery.”
Angererased my sadness and disappointment, and as much as I hated to be mad at him,the day after we’d had such a perfect, romantic night, the control I had overmy emotions was slipping. I slammed the pump parts onto the counter, and whileMrs. Potter scurried out of the room, Goose didn’t even flinch.
“Youcannot tell me how to feel, Eric. Do not evenpretendto know what thisis like for me.”
“I’mnot. I wouldn’t. And you can be as pissed off as you want to be. Hell, I don’tgive a shit if youwannasmack me around, just totake it out on someone. But you cannot lose sight of what is important here,Kenny. Okay? You can’t let that happen.”
Withmy eyes on the bottle parts, I sniffled, as the anger dissipated as quickly asit came. “Sometimes I don’t even know what’s important anymore,” I confessedmeekly, spinning the bottle on the counter. “I feel like I’m torn into athousand pieces every second of every single day.”
“Thegood shit is what’s important,” he replied, leaning down against thecounterand finding my eyes, that were once again full oftears. “Alex, the fact that you’re both alive, and this really great thing wegotgoin’ on. Those are your silver linings, Kenny.Don’t lose sight of them, even when everything else getsreallydarkand ugly. That’s what’s important, and as long as you rememberthat,you’regonnabe okay.”
Chapter Thirty-Two
Asdesperately in love with Goose as I was, and as much as I knew I could tell himanything, there was so much I felt I couldn’t say. On top of that, myrelationship with my parents seemed to be stifled, as our phone calls becameless frequent and I became more consumed by everything I needed to do formyself and Alex. And that type of isolation was, in a way, more suffocatingthan my grief and anger.
Butat least I had the NICU.
Mydays spent there with my son and his nurses felt sacred and like we allbelonged to a club that only we knew the password to. They understood thethings I was going through, the things I saw and felt, and I knew I could behonest with them without facing the typical words of encouragement I receivedfrom my parents. And it’s not that their sentiments weren’t appreciated; theywere just simply unwanted.
Onenight, after Alex had finally been successfully transitioned to being onoxygen, I got to hold him as he slept. I stroked his soft hair and hummed anendless number of lullabies. He had a pacifier that dwarfed his small head andhe sucked earnestly in his sleep, the way you would expect any other baby todo. Then, seemingly out of nowhere, his monitors began to beep rapidly. Ellerushed over and took him from me without warning, rubbing his back and pattinghim repeatedly, until the monitors slowed in their alarming chorus.
WhenI looked to her with panic, she smiled and said, “He’s okay. I just had tobring him back.”
“Whatdoes that mean?”
