15. Pasha
15
I’ve been in gunfights less intense than this.
At least in those, I knew what to do. Here, I’m fucking clueless.
I didn’t know what the sound was until I walked in the room and saw Daphne and Taty crying hysterically. I froze in the doorway—froze, like a rookie in his first brush with violence. Froze—the one thing that gets you killed.
But what am I supposed to do in this situation? There’s no one to kill. No one to intimidate. There are just two women falling to pieces and they both need me in ways I don’t know how to fulfill.
I have no fucking idea where to even start to help, truthfully. Daphne is sobbing while she holds Tatyanna on her lap, who is screaming her head off and waving her little arms angrily at her mother. It’s complete chaos and no one ever gave me a heads up on how to deal with it.
Improvise. Do something. Anything at all.
“What’s going on?”
Daphne presses her hand to her forehead with a grimace. “I’m trying! I’m trying so hard to be a good mama! I just want to feed my baby, but she hates me! My own baby hates me! And… and… and I don’t blame her!” She hiccups between sobs, doubling over until her tears splash on our daughter’s face. “I’m no good… I’m no good… I can’t… I’m so sorry…”
Fuck.
I spring into action, scooping Tatyanna from Daphne’s arms and settling her into her bassinet. She quiets, watching me as if she’s curious how all this is going to go. So am I, I want to say to her bitterly. So the fuck am I.
Then I sit down next to Daphne and pull her into my lap. She comes easily, almost pitifully, a puddle of limbs and tears. I stroke her hair until her sobs fade to whimpers and her whimpers fade to silence.
I wait for her to talk first.
“I just… I wanted…” Daphne takes another deep breath to steady her words. “I just wanted to feed her. I’ve been feeling better about everything, so I wanted to try the pump again. I don’t want…” Her voice breaks. She swallows it back. “I don’t want to give my baby formula. So I put on the pump, and I tried holding her while I waited so we could bond.”
“Does it hurt?”
Shame floods her expression. She looks away, but nods. “I have to keep trying.”
“No, you don’t.”
“Pasha, I need to?—”
“What you need is to take care of yourself.” I firm up my voice enough to get her to listen to me. “We made a deal, remember? You’d keep doing this so long as it doesn’t hurt you. It’s hurting you, so it needs to stop.”
I find the switch to turn it off and ease the contraption away from her body. Daphne winces, and I’m tempted to punt the damned thing over the rooftop.
“What our daughter needs,” I continue, “is for her mother to stop hurting herself.” I pick Taty up and place her back in Daphne’s arms.
For the love of fucking God, let this work, I pray silently.
I hold my breath—and so does Daphne—but as one second passes and then another without Taty dissolving into tears, the knot of tension in my chest dissipates.
“See?” I lean back and regard the two of them carefully. “You grew her inside of you for almost a year. She can feel you. She knows when you’re in pain. She’s not scared of you, moya plamya; she’s scared for you.”
Daphne strokes Taty’s chubby cheeks with her thumbs. Slow, soft caresses that make our baby’s eyes gradually blink slower and slower.
“No matter what you do, you’re an amazing mother.” I touch the curve of her neck and breathe her in. “Don’t ever tell yourself otherwise. You are the best partner I could ever ask for. That I could ever dream of, honestly, and I wasn’t even looking.”
“Why?”
This is not supposed to be about me. But it feels like a good time to give her a little show of trust in the same way I’m asking her to trust me.
“Because I didn’t think I deserved someone like you. I still don’t.”
Daphne tries to conceal her eye roll, but I still see it. “That’s ridiculous.”
“Yeah? So is you thinking you’re a terrible mother. It couldn’t be further from the truth.”
She sits, silent for a moment while she coaxes our baby to sleep, then lets out another heavy sigh. “I’m sorry I’m such a mess. They make it look so easy in the movies and the books, and I just… I’ve been nothing but a roller coaster of hormones, and I’m crying all the time, and you’ve got better things to do?—”
I cut her off with a kiss. I meant it to be quick, chaste, and silencing, but that changes the moment I taste her lips. It feels like forever since I’ve last held her in my arms and kissed her like this.
So I let myself linger. Savor, really, in a way I’ve badly needed for so long now.
When I finally pull away, we’re both breathless.
I don’t say anything more. Neither does she. I help her set Taty back down on the bed, then pull the covers back and nudge her under them for some much-needed sleep. Daphne doesn’t fight it; I can see her sink into the softness of her pillows and blankets like she’s been needing this all along.
With a kiss to her face, I get up and take Taty with me. She’s fully asleep now and won’t be fussing for at least another hour. If I take her out of the room for a while?—
“No! Don’t!” Daphne sits up, reaching for our baby in a panic. “She can’t leave.”
I sigh. Part of me wants to tell her that everything will be perfectly fine. But the rest of me knows that we’re in a land far beyond logic here. So I change course and sink into bed alongside Daphne, with Taty nestled in my arms.
“We’ll stay right here,” I promise her. “Go to sleep. We need the best of you, Daphne. Both Taty and I do.”
It takes some time, but eventually, Daphne falls asleep.
When I’m sure she’s out, I slip free of the covers and bring Taty with me to my office, leaving the door cracked so I can hear if Daphne stirs.
I have plenty of calls I could make—household staff, the wedding coordinator, various vors and business contacts who need checking-up-on—but something else takes priority. I send Melanie a quick text to let her know I’m sending a helicopter to pick her up. Right now.
Five seconds later, my phone rings.
“You gotta be out of your goddamned mind.” Jameson’s voice growls through the earpiece. “There’s no way Melanie is getting on some random helicopter by herself just because you said so.”
I sigh. I get it; I do. But I don’t have time for this. “Daphne’s not doing well.” I figure cutting to the chase is best here. No preamble, just hard facts. “I’m doing what I can, but it’s getting to a point where she either has what’s left of her family here with her, or we call a psychiatrist.”
Something fumbles with his phone. And then I hear the voice Daphne needs to hear.
“Psychiatrist?” Mel balks. “What’s going on? When do you need me there?”
“Mel!”
“Shut up, Jame. This is my sister we’re talking about. Of course I’m going.”
Silence.
Then: “I’ll grab your overnight bag,” Jameson mutters from an increasing distance.
“This means a lot to me,” I say. It’s an awkward phrase coming out of my mouth, probably because I’ve never said it in my whole fucking life.
But it’s true, I realize as the words leave my lips. I’ve never relied on anyone before. Now, it feels as natural as breathing to ask for help.
Who the hell am I becoming?
… And why don’t I hate it?
“Also,” I add, clearing my throat, “we’ll need you here for the wedding. You, too, Jameson.”
More silence. This one is very audibly filled with shock.
“‘The wedding’?!” Melanie’s voice squeaks with excitement. “Oh my God! We can clear our schedule for that. You guys are getting married?”
“And Tatyanna’s getting baptized two weeks after that. I’ll send you all the scheduling details and have Daphne fill you in on the rest when you get here.” I pause. I’m used to giving orders and expecting people to just do them. I’m not so used to having to ask, or show gratitude for it. “Thanks, Mel. I appreciate your help. I… I appreciate you both.”
“We’ll always be here, Pasha. For Daph and Taty and now you. You’re family. This is what we do for family.”
I was not expecting this.
This feeling.
This… warmth.
Goddammit, Chekhov. Pull yourself together.
“Yeah, well… thank you.” I clear my throat.
“I see the way you treat my sister. It’s all I’ve ever wanted for her. She might be a stubborn mule and completely blind to how much you love her at times, but she’s never been truly loved before. She doesn’t know what that’s like. Well, besides me.”
Somewhere in the background, Jameson returns with her bag and asks a few questions.
“I’ll let you go,” I rumble. “I sent a text to my pilot already. He should be there soon.”
“Got it.” Melanie’s voice brightens. “I like you, Chekhov. My sister could do far worse. Don’t give her reason to, and we won’t have any problems. Give her the world, and I’ll be the best sister-in-law you could ever ask for.”