Chapter 52 - Liam
fifty-two
Liam
Seven Months Later
Quinn spits her pacifier out again.
I hook it back in place with one hand while shaking her bottle with the other. Sloane sleeps in her bassinet, one tiny fist up near her cheek. She always looks peaceful. Quinn is ready to fight.
Fraternal twins. Same birthday. Different rules entirely.
My spine aches from standing. My eyes burn with a rawness no amount of sleep fixes. I smell old coffee on my shirt and something vaguely sour I’m pretty sure is puke.
Avonna hovers nearby in a pair of sweats she hasn’t changed in a few days, hair piled on her head. She scans both girls like she’s running surveillance. She taps the baby monitor screen with tense fingers, even though she can see Sloane is breathing fine with her own eyes.
Her doctor calls it postpartum anxiety. She rarely sleeps for more than an hour at a time. Her mind treats everything as a danger she has to ward off before it gets near our babies. We’re working out the med levels to get her over the hump. So far, we haven’t found the right balance.
“Sloane’s color looks off,” she mumbles under her breath.
I glance at my sleeping angel. “She’s pink and perfect.”
“Too pink.”
“She’s grand, love.”
I see her swallow down a wave of fear. She’s a fortress. A tired, overworked fortress with a dented gate and no drawbridge.
“Why hasn’t Linus called?” Avonna chews on her thumbnail.
“He texted.” I show her my phone. “Things are runnin’ late.”
He’s with Peach Harvest in Zurich. One of his longtime clients hit the top of the charts all over the world this year. The show is a big deal and a huge opportunity for Isis. Not to mention a massive paycheck.
Avonna and I are on full-time parent duty with infants, which means Fireball isn’t touring and neither of us has steady income anymore. Linus has to keep us afloat, even if work takes him farther away from us.
He’s making a monumental sacrifice, missing these first months with our daughters. Avonna and I should be writing, it was the plan up until the reality of having two babies knocked us over the head with a two-by-four.
Fireball is on shaky ground. Padraig is off galivanting with Mara somewhere.
He’s been distant since the girls were born and I don’t blame him.
The band was finally gaining traction and now we’ve been out of the game for nearly a year.
He suggested we take an official break and reconvene in a few months to decide if we want to go on.
I refused. I can’t let him quit. As far as I’m concerned, the situation is temporary and the band will figure out a long-term solution soon.
A soft knock lands on the door.
Avonna lifts her chin on high alert. “Check first before you open the door.”
I peek through the window. It’s my parents.
“They’re here.” I glance back at her.
“Oh, good.” Avonna nods. “Remember they need to sanitize before touching anything.”
She’s calm but rigidly diligent. I love the hell out of her but the hypervigilance is tough to deal with. It’s like her easygoing personality has been replaced with a mini-dictator germaphobe.
I open the door. Ma has two giant bags of diapers. Da’s carrying enough food to feed a rugby team.
“We brought dinner. They’ll be plenty left for tomorrow.” Ma cups my cheek on her way in.
Da shakes his head at me. “Yer eyes are half-closed, lad. Yer wrecked.”
“Aye. You’re right.” I’m too tired to pretend.
Ma and Da wash their hands and coat them in sanitizer without a reminder.
Ma heads straight for Sloane and peers down at her. “There she is. Our little sleepin’ angel.”
“I’ll take Quinn.” Da sets a hand on my shoulder. “Sit for a minute.”
Quinn’s tiny fingers grip my shirt like she’ll never let me go. I pry them loose and hand her over. Da takes her like he’s done it a thousand times, which he probably has at this point. She relaxes into him and her body softens instead of stiffens. A tiny sigh escapes her tiny lips.
I swear to fuck, something hot pricks behind my eyes. Fatherhood has made me emotional. Nostalgic. Mostly, the scene triggers a memory of when I was little.
Da taught all of us construction from a young age.
One day, Da was showing Padraig and me how to hammer nails into a practice board.
As usual, I started smashing away and crushed my thumb and bawled my fucking eyes out.
He swept me and my twin up and carried us inside.
Set Padraig down at the kitchen table and held my hand under cold water.
I distinctly remember how he kissed my thumb to make it better. When I stopped crying, he promised I’d be alright and gave us both ice cream.
So many memories like this have come back since the girls were born. Things I’d shoved down so deep I thought they were gone. Before Da’s accident and the worst of the drinking. When rage came in waves I never understood.
I didn’t always hate him. I loved him. He adored me. It ended abruptly and his downfall affected me in horrific ways. I’d buried all the good stuff. Until recently, I didn’t know how to access anything but the trauma.
In therapy, many of the techniques were similar to those Avonna used. Even though I’ve stopped going regularly, she’s helped me immensely, reminding me how the body stores pain like a knot you didn’t know you’d tied and healing isn’t about rewinding, it’s about reclaiming.
When I breathe with her and live in truth. I feel it. The missing piece. Safety I never had. It was all right in front of me and I teetered on self-destruction for years. I refused to allow myself any happiness. Punished myself for no reason.
“Liam?
I snap back to focus.
“Where’s Linus today?” Da cups Quinn’s head and sways back and forth.
“Switzerland.” I lean back on the sofa. “He’ll be home Tuesday.”
Da nods. His voice lowers. “How you holdin’ up?”
“Depends on the day.” My laugh is short and broken. “Lately, I’ve wondered how the fuck I ended up jugglin’ burp cloths and bottles instead of gear and busses.”
Ma overhears and smiles. “Some dreams change shape, love.”
“Rory.” Avonna pops up. “Watch Quinn’s head. Support her neck.”
Da’s already doing it but he makes a show of appeasing her. “Aye, thanks for the reminder, love,” he trills in his Belfast lilt.
Sloane stirs so I pick her up and settle back onto the couch, arms full of tiny weight and huge responsibility. I swear, every moment feels like a new universe I’m terrified to fuck up.
“Padraig’s pissed.” I nuzzle Sloane’s hair. “He’s used to me drivin’ relentlessly and I can’t even fathom it. We’ve got to get an album out, though, and we haven’t written a song in months. The studio date on the calendar is getting closer and I won’t be ready.”
Truth be told, we could’ve stayed in LA.
In many ways, it would have been easier.
Linus’s business is mostly there and he’d be with us a lot more often.
During therapy, the three of us decided healing the relationship with my own family was a priority.
With the babies on the way, the three of us decided as a family it was important to face my past head on.
Be around my brothers. Spend time with Ma.
Sit across from my Da and say words I never thought would come out of my mouth. I love you. I want to try.
So we made Seattle home. Temporarily. For our girls and our long-term future.
Padraig and I haven’t talked much since the girls were born. Every time I try to explain why I’m here, he changes the subject. Says I’m wasting time trying to fix things that can’t be fixed. He doesn’t understand. I’m learning what it means to stay and do the important work.
Da lowers himself beside me. “So push it back. Pick it up when you can.”
“What if we never get there again?” I lean back on the couch, still amazed I’m able to have a heart-to-heart with the father I avoided for nearly twenty years.
“Fireball’s makin’ some money. Not enough to support five of us.
Forget songwritin’, I haven’t picked up my guitar in weeks.
Linus has put everythin’ he has into Isis and we’re relyin’ on him to pay the bills.
If we didn’t have this townhouse, my family would be in real trouble.
It’s tough right now. He’s missin’ out on so much.
Avonna’s anxiety is through the roof. I don’t have the bandwidth to do anythin’ but get through the day. ”
Da studies me thoughtfully. “Welcome to fatherhood.”
“It’s fuckin’ panic,” I admit. “Every second of every day.”
He watches Quinn nestle into his chest. “Aye. And you wouldn’t change a thing. The love you have for them is indescribable.”
“Yeah.”
“You’d burn the world for them.” He kisses her head. “Even if it means you lose parts of yourself along the way.”
“Yeah.”
He shifts Quinn slightly as she squirms. “Try not to stress. You won’t lose the music, Liam. Or Padraig.”
Sloane lets out a tiny coo. She looks and acts so much like Linus. Calm. Content. Quinn looks and acts like me. Wide eyes. Fierce lungs. A tiny warrior already fighting the world for space.
Fraternal. Different. Ours. It doesn’t matter Quinn’s my biological daughter and Sloane shares Linus’s DNA. Not to me. Or them. They’re pieces of the three of us. I’ll protect Sloane’s soft peace and Quinn’s wild fire until the day I die.
Avonna touches my shoulder and holds up the ear thermometer. “Should we double-check Sloane’s temperature?”
“You can, love, but she’s warm from sleep.” I take her hand and squeeze. “It might read high.”
She hands it to me. “I’d like to check.”
“Okay.” I do as she asks and show her the result when it beeps. “Normal.”
Avonna exhales with relief. Scans Quinn again. She’s not checking for errors. She’s checking for safety. Her mind plays out every possible threat she survived growing up. Every danger she learned to expect. Every harm that could potentially happen.
“It’s terrifying how much I love them.” She drapes her arm around my neck to stroke her daughter’s head. “Thank you for not making me feel crazy. I know I’m a pain in the ass.”
“You’re not, baby.” I thread my fingers through hers.
“I didn’t think love could feel this big.” She looks at my da. “Like my heart is glass.”
“Yer a good mother.” He smiles.
Avonna’s eyes shine with tears. She looks away fast, embarrassed by emotion she can’t cage.
“Let us watch them while the two of you take a break and eat.” Ma sets two plates on the counter. “Both of you sit.”
Avonna and I eat. Across the room, I watch Da coo at the girls and my chest twists.
A year ago my nights were noise and neon, hotel walls shaking, bodies and sweat and adrenaline. Music first. Chaos second. Everything else a far-off third. I lived in my own head and everyone else learned to keep up or fall behind.
Now the loudest thing in my life is a baby’s cry.
Linus, Avonna, and I never planned to be parents, at least this early in our commitment to each other. We’ve spent over a year convinced the only consequence of love was pleasure. Turns out the universe had other ideas and now we’re responsible for tiny humans.
I want this. I do.
Even when the learning curve hits like a brick wall every day. Freedom traded for bottles and burp cloths. Sex turned into schedules and survival. No room for luxuries like sleep or sanity.
My guitar case still sits in the corner, clasped shut like a secret I’m not ready to reopen. Some days I look at it and feel a flicker. The music’s inside me, waiting to break free. Other days, I don’t remember it’s there.
I lift the fork to my mouth and chew. Take in my surroundings. Enjoy a meal I didn’t microwave.
I’m here. I’m breathing. Present in the moment. Being here for my family.
With my family.
For the first time in my adult life, I’m not disappearing.