Afterchecking in and washing my hands, I approached Alex’s side to find he had beenmoved from hisisoletteto an open crib. His big,brown eyes looked up at me and a flicker of recognition passed over his face ashe stared, forcing my lips to spread in a tearful smile.
“Hey,baby boy,” I whispered, scooping him up out of his crib, without any assistancefrom the nurses. “How are—”
“HappyMother’s Day, Mama!” Elle exclaimed, rushing over to wrap her arm around me ina hug. She outstretched her arm to a painting hanging above Alex’s station, of aflower and a sun, with two little footprints shaped in a heart. “Did you seewhat he made for you, to commemorate the day and his brand-new digs?”
“Oh,my God!” I smiled, tearing up just a little more. “You guys did arts andcrafts!”
“Wesure did,” she replied, cupping Alex’s little head. “You were a good boy,right? You had fun?” Alex only blinked at her and she laughed and said, “He’sthe strong, silent type, but trust me, we had a blast.”
Shesat down at one of the computers, as I sat with my baby, and we chatted aboutthe weekend and the beautiful weather. She told me about her recent stint withretail therapy and how she was getting fed up with her husband’s online gaming.
“Like,the guy is forty-five, you know?” She laughed, shaking her head. “Although, Imean, I guess there are worse things. One of my good friends is married to aguy who is a recovering cocaine addict. They got into drugs together, and … Ijust can’t imagine.”
Then,before I could stop myself, I blurted out, “Goose is a recovering alcoholic.”
Sheturned to faceme,surprise written on her features.“Really?”
Itwas almost comical to me, that someone in the medical field could be sosurprised by such a common condition.
Inodded. “Yeah. He hasn’t had a drink in something like, Idunno,thirteen years.”
“Wow,that’s amazing. Good for him.” Then, she asked, “I mean, it’s none of mybusiness, but did he tell you why?”
“Hewas in the Army,” I told her. “It was a coping mechanism after he got out.”
Slowly,she nodded, a look of understanding crossing her features. “I think that’sprobably a really good thing for you, then. If he has a history of PTSD, thenhe’ll understand what you’re going through.”
Ismiled, staring down at the sleepy face of my little boy. “He’s ridiculouslysupportive.”
“That’sgreat, for both of you. How are things going with you guys, otherwise? Thingsstill going well?”
“Yeah,”I said, unable to contain my smile. “I think I keep waiting for something toscrew it up, since my last relationship was so crappy, but Goose is just such agood guy.”
“Notevery relationship needs drama,” Elle pointed out.
“Well,I mean, yougottaunderstand, that’s what I do. Iwrite about relationships thatneeddrama, becausethat’s what’sgonnakeep the reader interested.”
“Wait,”she rolled her chair around to face me, “what?”
Ifelt my cheeks flush as I replied, “I, uh … I write romance novels.”
“Get.Out.” Her mouth fell open in shock, and then she said, “I am totally lookingyou up. Do you have a pen name?”
“It’sKenny Wright,” I laughed, blushing as she hurried to grab her phone and type itin.
“Oh,my gosh,” she gushed, staring at the screen with an excited grin. “There youare. You have like, eleven books published!” She looked up at me, her eyes wideand her head shaking. “Girl! You were holding out on me!”
Then,she put her phone down and cleared her throat, before saying, “I’m totallybuying those later and having you sign them. But anyway, fictionalrelationships might need drama sometimes to keep things interesting, but youknow what? Life itself is full of enough drama. And you deserve something thatmakes you happy. Something that doesn’t require work to make it happen. I thinkthat’s how you know it’s right, and you guys really need that. Both you andAlexander the Great.”
Thosewords hit hard and left me quiet for a few minutes, as I stared at Alex and hisperfect little face. Iactually wasn’tsure what weneeded, or what was best for us, and what kind of mother did that make me, tonot know what was right for my son? It sat like a fifty-pound brick in mystomach, as I thought about leaving the city and moving back home. It seemedlike it should be obvious and like the right answer should’ve come with anundoubtable sense of assurance. But when I weighed out the pros and cons, I realizedthere was no obvious choice. Both felt right, while also feeling wrong, and Iwished someone could’ve just made the decision for me.
Fromthe corner of my eye, I watched as a doctor approached me. I wasn’t sure yet ifhe was there for me or one of the other babies, until he stopped at my side andsmiled kindly.
“Hello,Ms. Wright,” he greeted with a thick accent.
“Hi,”I replied, as cheerfully as I could muster, while the anxiety of not knowingwhy he was there settled in, deep and uncomfortable.
“So,I don’t know if any of the other doctors have talked to you, but the baby has ahernia. We want to go in and operate soon, okay?”
