30. Gigi
CHAPTER 30
Gigi
A FEW WEEKS LATER
The sound of one of them wailing is penetrating the walls. I grab my phone to check the time—two in the morning. I got an hour and a half of sleep. Luke stirs beside me, and without me facing him, I already know. His eyes are on me. Always on me . Watching me like a hawk. Judging me. Suffocating me .
I feel him move as the mattress dips. “I’ll check out what those little punks want,” he mumbles. “Probably a dirty diaper or something.”
I turn around and take him in. He rubs his eyes before running his hand through his disheveled hair. Luke is only wearing sweatpants. Ravensfield is still freezing in March, but Luke insisted on cranking up the heat ever since he walked in on me with my teeth chattering. So much so that Luke and Kai have resorted to dressing up like it’s summer when they’re in the apartment. I kept on telling them that this is not the right temperature for newborn babies. He didn’t listen.
Looking like that, he’d have no problem replacing me if it came to it. I’ve become someone I don’t recognize. My boobs are always engorged, I have stretch marks everywhere, my hair is a tangled mess, and I have a pooch. Not to mention the long scar that runs just below my bikini line.
At least I have Ethan and Gwen.
“Go back to sleep,” I say in a soft voice, stopping him from opening the door. “You have to work on your thesis.”
Honey eyes stare back at me, unsure. This is my standard answer every time he tries to take care of them at night. School is important to Luke, the thing that makes him happy, and I don’t intend on withholding that from him. Besides, what am I good for if not to be there for the twins? I took a break from my classes to do this. I don’t waitress anymore because of this. My body changed exactly for this. If I’m not with them, I have no purpose.
“Gi.” He pins me down with his stare. “Get some sleep. Seriously.”
“What if they're hungry?”
“Then I’ll grab one of the breastmilk bags from the freezer.”
It’s always better straight from the source, right? Those are just for emergencies.
“Go back to sleep, Luke,” I repeat myself, pulling the blanket off and standing up.
Not waiting for his answer, I head toward the nursery. Whoever was crying woke up the other one. Both of my babies need attention now. I look at them, desperate to give both Ethan and Gwen my affection, but unsure which one I should pick up first. A silent sob escapes me, one that I try to stifle, because otherwise, Luke will pop up. He always does.
Gwen’s cries start piercing my ears, overpowering Ethan’s and breaking me out of my own thoughts. “Hey, baby,” I coo, my arms grabbing her. I take Ethan next and settle on the rocking chair we got off Craigslist, both kids rested on the breastfeeding pillow.
Pulling my sweater up, I offer them my chapped nipples, hissing when the sting of them latching goes above my pain tolerance. The lactation consultant told me the pain would go away after some time. Mommy and babies need to adjust , she said.
I smile when I see them suckling, their eyes turning into slits the drunker they get on milk. At least I’m doing this one thing right , I think to myself as I brush Ethan’s dark hair before doing the same to Gwen’s dirty blonde ones. I’m feeding my babies. In a world where I fuck everything up and my husband deserves better than me, at least I can give Ethan and Gwen everything good I have left.
As I hum an Italian lullaby Mom used to sing to me when I was a kid, I feel the tears trickling down my cheeks. And once my eyes are closed and I start rocking back and forth, I feel it. Luke is watching me from the slight opening of the door. He’s always watching. Always judging.
“You can resume having intercourse.” I wince at Dr. Patel’s words. Luke, as I predicted, is also not too excited, although he’s doing a good job hiding his emotions. He wears a straight face, but I see his jaw flexing.
We both knew that we’d get the go ahead to have sex again during my six-week checkup. It’s probably what every new parent waits for. Not us, though. Not the Palmers. We’re barely even touching. I don’t blame Luke for being disgusted with me. I’ve seen myself in the mirror. No wonder he spent every waking moment wanting to get out of the house and work when I was pregnant.
Dr. Patel lists other things that are going right with my postpartum recovery as she bounces Gwen on her lap while Ethan is strapped to my chest. Scar, vagina, and breasts are all okay. I stop tuning the conversation out when Luke opens his mouth.
“Can you tell us more about postpartum depression?”
I jerk my head, looking at him in equal disbelief and anger. “Are you fucking serious?” Luke ignores me, choosing to wait for Dr. Patel’s answer instead, so I face her and say, “I’m not depressed.”
Dr. Patel stops bouncing Gwen. She clicks her pen and looks at me, and then at Luke. “Is there a reason why you’re asking, Lucas?”
I scoff. Why is she not addressing me first?
“Gigi’s mood has been down ever since the birth,” Luke answers, as if I’m not here. “I’m worried that it goes beyond baby blues. She hasn’t been sleeping. She’s been crying. She’s not talking to any of her friends…She doesn’t even want to leave the house unless it’s for doctor’s visits.”
I scoff again, but nobody pays me any mind.
“Is that true, Gigi? You said before everything was okay at home.” Great, now Dr. Patel thinks I’m a liar.
“It is,” I grit out. “Luke is just overreacting.”
“Gi, please be honest.” His words are soft, but his gaze is determined.
“He missed the birth of Ethan and Gwen,” I tell Dr. Patel. “If my mood has been down, it’s because of that.” I turn my head to Luke once I’m done speaking, driving my point across.
Luke looks guilty and Dr. Patel just looks sorry. Maybe sorry for me for not having my husband during the birth. Maybe sorry for Luke for having a bitter wife. Or sorry for the twins for having parents who don’t get along. Maybe sorry for all of us.
“Giuliana, if you are not feeling well, you need to be up-front with us. Postpartum depression is a very serious issue. But luckily, we are better equipped to deal with it now than twenty years ago.” Dr. Patel starts listing all the symptoms associated with the condition and I tune her out again, choosing to concentrate on holding back my tears instead. I feel fucking humiliated. Once I’m sure I’m not going to cry, I listen to her again. As always, honey eyes are watching me. “There are medications you could take, support groups you could attend, I can recommend a?—”
“I’m not depressed,” I cut her off.
Gwen couldn’t pick a better time to start crying. I take her from Dr. Patel’s arm and march us with Ethan still strapped to my chest toward the door. “Excuse me, I have to change her diaper,” I say, not really sure if that’s what she needs, but knowing I need some fucking distance from the two of them.
I don’t stop once I reach the corner where the bathroom is, instead, I head straight for the elevator and press G . Once I’m past the front desk, I order us an Uber.