36. The Bravest Thing
36
The Bravest Thing
Emergency Cocktail
Go to the hospital vending machine. Pay $8 for two Cokes. Each take a chug off the top, then pour in Jack Daniels from Marvin’s flask. Good luck getting your hands to stop shaking.
DANNY
I remembered three things from that night:
Terror that made my heart beat so fast spots flashed across my vision.
Lucie’s glowing face as she did the bravest thing I’d ever seen anyone do.
Our tiny daughter’s fierce squall when the nurse set her on Lucie’s chest.
Everything else was a blur of people in scrubs, machines beeping, and antiseptic smells. I ignored my buzzing phone and focused on Lucie, holding her hand, praising her, and encouraging her—not that she needed it. I’d never remember what I said, but some of it made her snarl at me, and some of it made her smile between contractions. But mostly, she focused on what she was doing like the star she was, and at 4:18 a.m., she gave birth to our healthy baby girl.
After they fixed her up and made her comfortable, after Lucie cuddled our daughter for an hour or so, gazing at her with wonder, I got to hold her at last.
She was the most beautiful human I’d ever seen, even with her red skin and her dark hair sticking up from her scalp.
I handed her off to Marvin and Ellen for a while. After the nurse came to check on Lucie, both Lucie and the baby passed out. Lucie’s parents tiptoed out, promising to come back after a few hours of sleep.
But I was too wired to sleep.
I wheeled the sleeping baby to the nursery in her bassinet to let Lucie rest, knowing it might be her last chance for a while. I walked the hall, then I stared through the glass at the handful of newborns in their plastic bassinets. They were all so little, so helpless. But with love and care, they’d grow up. They’d ride bikes and take spelling tests and make fools of themselves on social media. They’d get minimum-wage jobs and go to prom and fall in love. They might go to college. They’d start careers and bring home paychecks. And someday, one of them might stand at a window like this, looking at their own infant.
I hoped for all of these things for them, especially the one in the pink cap with Baby Girl Knox scrawled on the label at the foot of her bassinet. Lucie had promised I’d be a part of our daughter’s life. But that wasn’t everything I wanted. I wanted to be beside Lucie for all of it, just like I had been tonight. I wanted to be part of her life, not only our daughter’s.
I’d been overjoyed—and shocked—when she and her mom had grabbed me on the way to the hospital. I’d been afraid that her weeks of silence meant she’d take back her offer of letting me participate in the birth. But she hadn’t taken it back. Instead, she’d used my hand as a stress ball and let me ramble at her.
Her body had been pumped full of hormones and painkillers. I shouldn’t read anything into it.
I eyed the hard vinyl couch in the waiting room. I could stretch out for a few hours. But then I wouldn’t be there if Lucie needed something. So, quietly, I let myself back into her room.
Her hair was pulled up into a loose bun on the top of her head, wispy curls popping out around her face. She wore the hospital’s gown, white with a print of ugly flowers on it. She’d wanted to change into her oversized, faded black T-shirt and loose pajama pants, but the nurses had made her try to feed the baby, and it was easier to do it with the hospital gown that tied at the front.
The breastfeeding had sounded frustrating, with lots of discussion about latching on and letting down and a fuck-ton of terms I didn’t understand. Standing outside her room in the hall and listening to her voice getting wearier and more irritated, I’d felt useless. And I hated it.
Now, even as she slept, Lucie’s forehead was furrowed. I wished I could do something to take away her pain.
I also wished I could give her the space she wanted and not watch her sleep like a creeper—she’d really hate it if she knew—but I couldn’t stand the idea of leaving her and our baby here alone.
So I eased myself into the chair by the side of her bed and gazed at her, my gorgeous, exhausted goddess. I wondered if she regretted any of it now: our hookup or deciding to keep the baby. Or when we’d briefly felt like we could be a family.
Probably.
I didn’t regret a thing. Except the part where I’d tried to force her into my vision of what an ideal family looked like. I should’ve known, having grown up in an odd-shaped family myself, that it didn’t matter if the parents lived together or even if there were two parents. As long as there was love, everything would be okay.
And with that hopeful thought, I drifted off to sleep.