Chapter 7
In hindsight, I’m not surprised.
Deep down, I’ve always known Ash would have children. He hated them too fiercely for it to not turn into the complementary feeling.
I remember the first time Ash’s school friends Sydney and Darshi discussed having children.
They were twenty-three and Darshi’s parents were pushing for an arranged wedding.
Coming from an extremely conservative family, Darshi’s family had been insisting on an arranged marriage with a young man from Jaipur ever since she turned twenty.
Ash had listened to her night after night as she thought of every way she could fuck up her parents’ plan.
In turn, I had listened to Ash refer it all back to me.
In Darshi’s words, she had only two options: move back to India, get the fantastic wedding to the stranger and forget about happiness forever; or pick one of her straight friends and get pregnant.
Naturally, her choice had fallen on her oldest crush, Sydney.
They had spent months circling each other, dating without dating, having sex without ever labelling it. Until one night, Sydney had given Darshi an ultimatum: he had always loved her, did she want to be with him?
Yes, she did, of course she did. Only, how did Sydney feel about marriage and children?
I remember how disgusted Ash had looked as he narrated the story later, “and Sydney answered, ‘I want everything with you.’ Can you believe that simp? So straight.” Ash had dragged the so for some uncomfortable seconds as I stared at him.
“You don’t want children?” I had asked him then.
“Children? So what, they can grow up as fucked up as I am?” Ash had changed topic then, but I remember clearly how his jaw had tightened; the flash of sadness in his eyes; the longing.
And when Sydney and Darshi gave birth to a wrinkly baby boy with a thick head of black hair, angry fists and unstoppable lungs, Ash had gone above and beyond to make sure he was the favourite gay uncle (or ‘guncle’ as I preferred to call it, which always made Ash worry for the future of the English language).
He had gone from “get that whiny demon away from me” to “I can babysit on Saturday night.”
As I stare at the white ceiling of the empty hospital room, the banging of my heart louder than the one at my temples, I’m not surprised Ash has kids. I’m not even surprised Ash and I have kids.
My head is killing me. I didn’t even have time to digest one big revelation. Fuck, why couldn’t I remember the last two years of my life as well as I remember these random bits of the past?
Time goes by slowly without Ash by my side.
Doctor Parker and his magic team come and go with words of praise for my quick progress standing, peeing and wearing pants.
I’m promised a transition to a brace that will allow limited or gradual movement as healing progresses and I’m dying at the thought of finally being able to scratch my skin.
“Please keep engaging the fingers and the right wrist,” Doctor Taylor recommends, ever-worried about strengthening and straining and muscle atrophy and all of that.
“Of course,” is my dutiful reply.
“How’s the memories?” It’s the very last question at the end of the visit. Doctor Carter the Neurologist is not as impressed as the other two doctors.
I press my lips together so I don’t have to tell the neurologist how shit all of this is.
How totally crap it is that my body is doing great, but my brain forgot not only an entire year of my life but an entire relationship with my childhood friend.
And not just that. I zip my mouth so I don’t have to admit I have no idea how I ended up with a child, a whole person whose existence I don’t remember.
My personal team of doctors offer me three matching smiles and leave with the same stupid recommendation: “Take it easy.”
I spend that slow time trying to remember, trying to grasp the unthinkable.
I want to convince myself that Ash and I don’t make sense; that the concept of Ash and I having children together is crazy; that waking up to an entire family with him is the last thing I had expected.
I think of all the times we have complained about children crying in public, and how often we have shared a disgusted look when a baby drools and spits and cries.
No matter how hard I try, the shock doesn’t come. With stretched legs, I wiggle my feet and point the toes to the ceiling. I have a boyfriend. I have a child. Deep inhale. Deep exhale. Count to ten. Count to a hundred. What does come, though, is a question: why has my brain brought me back to 2022?
Ash doesn’t return.
I fall into a troubled sleep until around midnight, when I call for some painkillers. I hope it will help me forget, or help me remember. It does none of those.
It’s early when I wake up again, and the hospital is quieter than ever. There’s this weird feeling deep inside of me. As if I’ve woken up in the wrong body, the wrong place, the wrong century.
I ponder rolling on the side to give my aching spine a break, but I have never done it without support, so I stay still and breathe through the pain. And then, I hear it. My eyes are still closed, and who knows, maybe I’m still sleeping.
“Dad’s right there,” Ash whispers, and his voice is far away.
“Oke?” A smaller, softer reply. It makes my heart explode in my chest and at the same time, sink down to my guts. I stand perfectly still, eyes shut.
“He’ll be just fine. Don’t worry about him.”
“Miss’m.”
“I know, Angel, and I’m sure he misses you just as much. Come on, let’s go get croissants.”
Their voices grow more distant and I want to reach out, to ask them to stay, to come in. Instead, I don’t move. I breathe in and breathe out until I fall back asleep. Maybe 2024 is just a dream.
???
About three days after telling me we have a child then leaving me alone, Ash is back pacing in my hospital room. He’d walked in with a short, “hello” and a cloud of cigarette smell, shot an apologetic smile in my direction, and said nothing ever since.
With this, I’m quite familiar. He’s always acted guilty whenever he’d been caught smoking.
I stare at Ash a little longer, searching my brain for a flashback, any image of him after 2022.
There’s nothing except an overwhelming sense of warmth and affection in my chest, right by my heart. Perhaps that’s always been there.
When I finally decide to speak, my voice is steadier than expected. “Where is…” I stop myself before I can make the child a reality.
“You’d be amazed how mellow people become around a little doll,” Ash replies easily.
Me included, I think but I don’t say it.
“Me included,” Ash says and in the chaos of it all, I forgot that Ash and I have always been on the same wavelength. He’s wearing a light blue shirt today, a perfect match to the colour of his eyes. He smells like shampoo and something sweeter that I cannot identify. “Who is taking care of her?”
“Martin and Edwin are in town for the weekend.”
“The twins?” It’s weird, feeling worried and possessive of something I have never wanted, never met.
“Don’t look at me like that.” Ash drops onto a chair and crosses his legs, his white crocs peppered with charms hanging from the feet.
He points his finger at me. “You were the one who forced me to reconcile with my brothers and made them your daughter’s official baby sitters.”
“My daughter?”
Ash shrugs, meeting my eyes briefly. The silence is charged. Bubbly, confident Ashley is gone again, leaving space for a fidgeting and slightly terrified version of him.
The silence is interrupted by a new nurse who grins at Ash first; at me second.
“I just wanted to let you know that the X-Ray is looking good. Your elbow is well on its way to recovery, there is no sign of displacement. We will transition to a semi-rigid brace early this upcoming week. In the meantime, keep it up with moving the hand and fingers. And, please, take it easy.” Is the final recommendation and I’m not quite sure who the nurse is talking to.
“Thanks.” Ash nods and once the nurse is gone, silence is back.
I have no idea how long we sit avoiding each other’s stares, before I finally decide to speak.
“So… We really have a child.” The words roll out of my mouth and they sound unreal.
“Yep. Just adopted.”
I suck a breath in. “What’s her name?”
“Ashwin.”
And I can’t help but bark out a laugh at the name. Ash gazes at me in reprimand and the tips of my ears burn. It’s the look of a protective father and I’m not sure what to do with it.
In such a short time Ash has gone from being my childhood best friend to being my boyfriend and the fucking father of our shared child. How does one go about accepting that?
On top of that, how does one named Ashley, together with someone named Ashford decide to name a child Ashwin? I’m starting to think this truly is a prank.
The look on Ash’s face tells me this is anything but a prank. “Sorry. Tell me about her.”
“Winnie is almost two years old.” A smile appears on Ash’s lips, a happiness unlike anything I have ever seen on my friend’s face.
I have no idea what’s the best thing to say, so I settle on “We adopted her?”
Ash shrugs, covering his eyes with a hand.
“They’d told us it could take months. These processes are never quick and we had just gotten approval in February this year.
When we got the call that there was this child that would match our circumstances, I didn’t want to.
I thought it was too early, I wasn’t ready.
But you were my rock the entire time—through the trainings, the inspections, the assessments.
You convinced me. Or maybe I was very persuadable.
Her mother was beautiful. She spoke little English, mostly French.
” Ash chuckles. “Sometimes you still pronounce her name with a French accent.”
“Her mother…”
“She passed earlier this year. Winnie asks about her sometimes, and you tell her stories. Mostly while you braid her hair.”
“I braid?”
Ash shrugs. “You’re a pretty great girl dad.”
This time, the word shoots me in the chest and unexpected tears form at the corner of my eyes. “Whose idea was…?” I don’t need to finish the sentence before Ash stands back up again.
“Ours.”
Ours. As if we’re a team. Ford and Ash. Ashford and Ashley, best friends… no, partners. Parents. What else? I have no idea. I have forgotten it all in an accident I can’t remember.
???
At first, it’s the heart. It’s beating faster than usual but maybe it’s just the fact that I have just discovered I’m a boyfriend, and I’m a father.
Then, it’s the breathing. I part my lips to let air in, and when it’s not enough I start alternating short inhales to long exhales. Then, I get it all mixed up and respiration becomes an impossible task.
Winnie. It feels like a joke. It must be. Surely there was no accident. Surely, I’m being pranked. I knew Ash was into drama but faking being my partner—faking a child. That torment, that sadness… talented!
I clutch my fist, squeezing my eyes tightly until those white spots disappear. I’m sure, so sure this is 2022.
“You’ve got to… gotta go,” I manage to say between gritted teeth.
It’s coming, I know. There’s not enough air in the room, and I can feel Ash coming closer; can almost see his arm stretched out to comfort.
“Ash, go.”
But the arm doesn’t move. Instead, a cold and sweaty hand brushes mine, startling me.
“I’m not leaving. I’m right here.”
Suddenly I’m not here anymore, in a hospital bed. I’m somewhere far away and as the nausea hits me, an image fills my mind.
A cold hand around my wrist. Icy blue eyes searching dark ones, a shiver down my spine. “Don’t leave me.”
The memory goes as quickly as it comes, leaving me gasping for air.
“I… I just…”
“Fuck, Ford. We have a family. You are my family. Even if I wanted to leave…” Ash sighs, dropping his head. “I’m never leaving you.”