24. McKenna
Once we finished Carson’s celebratory dinner, I couldn’t leave with Cadence quickly enough. I needed to get home and feel a sense of normalcy.
Going through Cadence’s bedtime routine always grounds me, giving me a sense of relief when I’m feeling overwhelmed. And nothing has overwhelmed me in the past eighteen months quite like seeing Griffin Turner realize he’s a father.
I’m flooded with guilt when I think of all the ways I could’ve tried harder to get through to him. Instead of forcing him to take responsibility for Cadence by serving him a request for child support, I chose to give up on him, therefore cutting him from her life.
But rather than beating myself up over the past, I choose to focus on the beautiful reality that is my present.
Cadence is filling her bathtime cups with water before splashing it all over. Her giggles echo off the walls of the bathroom, filling my heart with warmth and putting me at ease.
I finish washing her before draining the water and drying her off. After I lotioned her body and added essential oils to her feet, I put a new diaper and footie pajamas on her.
Cadence makes grabby hands toward her bookshelf and I grab two books before we sit on the glider in the corner of her nursery. We read Chicka Chicka Boom Boom every night, though the second book is always different. She gets so excited now when I read the “boom booms” and she recently learned the word, so the highlight of my day is when she joins in.
Once we’ve finished reading, I dim the lights in her room, turn on her noise machine, and begin singing her the same song I’ve sung every night since she first heard it in the hospital after her surgery.
Typically, when I sing this song to her, a string of memories flash through my mind like a movie reel. Memories of Griffin and I. Memories of Cadence’s first year.
Tonight, as I rock my sleepy girl to sleep and sing “You Are My Sunshine,” it is no different; however, I’m brought back in time to one specific memory—the first night she heard this song.
The monitors in the NICU beep quietly as Cadence’s chest steadily rises and falls.
Her heart procedure three days ago was a success. Thankfully, the surgeon said he was hopeful for a full recovery and that Cadence shouldn’t have any long-term adverse effects from the repaired defect.
My phone vibrates on the side table and I reach around the tubes of my breast pump to grab it before it wakes Cadence.
Unfortunately, I’m not quick enough, and she stirs before a high-pitched wail rings through the room.
I quickly remove the breast pump from my nipples, placing the parts on the table, before adjusting my nursing tank and picking up Cadence from her crib.
The day after her procedure, she graduated from the incubator to a crib. I got to hold her for the first time right before they wheeled her to the cath lab. I’ve never cried so many tears of joy and fear at once.
Now, as I try to soothe my upset daughter, tears of anxiety and doubt flood my eyes.
The past two days have been filled with Cadence’s shrieking cries, causing very little sleep on my end. Sheer exhaustion has taken over my body, leaving my mind in a state of absolute chaos.
I’m rocking my hips side to side, trying to soothe her, when a nurse comes into the room.
“Have you tried any music to try to calm her down yet? If not, I can get you a little speaker from our nurse’s station,” she suggests.
“At this point, I’ll accept all the advice you’ve got.”
She returns moments later with the speaker. “Here you go. It has Bluetooth, so you can just connect your phone. There’s a good lullaby playlist on Spotify. I can hold her while you connect your phone if you’d like.”
I carefully place Cadence in the nurse’s arms, then connect my phone to the speaker. I play the lullaby playlist the nurse suggested, then sit in the rocking chair with Cadence.
She’s still fussy as the second song comes to a close. The start of the third lullaby comes on the speaker, and the acoustic guitar opening almost instantly calms Cadence from a shrieking cry to a whimper. As the opening lyrics fill the room, tears flood my eyes.
By the time the chorus of an acoustic version of “You Are My Sunshine” comes through the speakers, Cadence is no longer fussy. Instead, she’s passed out peacefully in my arms.
I place her back in the crib before reattaching the pump parts to my sore nipples, and then I silently sob in the rocking chair while staring at the most beautiful gift in the world.
The next morning is Monday, and Carson comes to check on Cadence bright and early since he doesn’t have classes until later that afternoon.
“Go take a shower and try to get some rest, Mack. I’ve got her. If I need any help, the nurses are just outside in the hallway.”
“I can’t bring myself to leave her side, Carse.”
“Cadey Cat is okay now. You’ve got to accept our help, Mack. You don’t need to do this alone.”
Easy for him to say. He’s not the nineteen-year-old single mother who feels like her every move is being judged. I’m so grateful for the help that my family provides Cadence and me. But I also feel guilty—like I’m failing when I accept their help.
I’m brought back to the present as I finish singing the last lyrics of our song—what was once mine and Griffin’s but is now mine and Cadence’s—to our daughter. I peer at her perfect sleeping form.
I can’t tell you how many nights I’d rocked her to sleep, completely in love with her while completely hating myself for the failure I’d become. I would sit there and let the intrusive thoughts eat me alive.
She’s better off without you.
Another family could give her more love and support.
You’re the reason your family feels like they need to help you nonstop.
You couldn’t even make the one person who said he’d love you forever stay. What makes you think you’re good enough for this perfect little girl?
The postpartum period was a real bitch. But with the help of my therapist, I’ve been able to push those negative thoughts out of my head.
I sit here tonight, in her nursery, and focus on Cadence’s perfect little lips, her dimpled fists, and her soft head of blonde hair. She has Griffin’s coffee-colored eyes and one heart-stopping dimple on her left cheek.
I’m so thankful to be her mama. I’m grateful that Griffin helped make her. I’m sad that he honestly doesn”t remember me telling him she exists. I’m mad that he changed his phone number and gave his old one away during the months I tried to contact him. I’m disappointed that Griffin and Cadence will never get those moments back that he missed out on.
I know I can’t live in the past and stew on regrets. So, I give myself a few moments to reflect on how things could’ve been different before closing that chapter. I’m ready to turn the page and see where this new chapter takes me and Cadence.
The next morning, I woke Cadence up early, hoping maybe she would go down for her morning nap. Lately, it’s hit or miss whether or not she will take two naps. On the days when she does take two, she’s often in a better mood. I’m hoping, for Griffin’s sake, that if she takes two naps, their meeting today will go smoother.
Thankfully, Cadence fell asleep about fifteen minutes ago for her first nap, and I’ve just finished changing into a pair of gray leggings and a cropped white T-shirt when the doorbell rings.
Not really thinking it’s going to be Griffin at the door, I swing it open and am surprised to find him there. Griff is wearing jeans and an olive green hoodie that compliments his skin tone and brown eyes. His dark hair is longer, something I didn’t pay much attention to last night. It curls at his neck, flaring out from under his backward baseball hat. I’m a sucker for a guy in a backward hat.
“Sorry, I know we said I’d come over at eleven-thirty, but I just couldn’t wait around any longer.”
“That’s okay. Cadence just went down for her first nap. You can come in, though, and we can talk while she naps.”
“Thanks, that’d be great.”
“No problem. A word of advice?”
“I’ll take all the advice you’ve got for me.” He looks genuinely curious for any tips.
“Don’t ever ring the doorbell to a house where there could be a sleeping baby. Like, ever. Just don’t do it.”
He chuckles. “Noted. I will never ring the doorbell again. Is it safe to text?”
“Depends. If I were still rocking her to sleep, definitely not.”
“We’ll just communicate telepathically.”
“Deal.” I deadpan, keeping a straight face for a moment before my cheeks turn up in a smile.
Griffin’s responding chuckle sends goosebumps down my arms.
It’s so strange to be here with him, smiling and laughing as if there hadn’t been two years where we didn’t speak to one another. Resentment stings my throat when I think of all the time that was wasted because of miscommunication and misunderstanding.
I clear my throat. “Do you mind if we talk in the kitchen? I was just about to start prepping lunch.”
“Yeah, that’s fine with me. This is a nice place. How long have you lived here?”
“Carson closed on it this summer. It’s only been about two months now.”
“Woah, he must’ve got a hell of a signing bonus.”
“I guess. He said between that and the trust we got access to when we turned twenty-one, he had more money than he knew what to do with. I think he felt obligated to get something bigger than he needed so Cadence and I would move in with him. He knew it was hard for me to live with my parents.”
“That sounds like Carson. How are Liz and Teddy doing?”
“They’re doing really well. Dad is getting ready to retire in the next year, hopefully. Mom is absolutely obsessed with Cadence. I always thought they’d become snowbirds once my dad finally retired, but Mom refuses to live away from Cadence for the entire winter.’’
“Your dad didn’t look too pleased to see me at the game.”
“The circumstances could’ve been better.”
I start taking ingredients out of the fridge for a Greek salad and grilled chicken I had planned to make for lunch.
As I grab a knife and cutting board, Griff asks, “Are you bringing Cadence trick-or-treating?”
“Yeah, Carson and I brought her trick-or-treating around my parent’s neighborhood last year.”
“What did you dress her up as?”
Shaking my head, I laugh at the memories from last year. “You know how Carson gets with Halloween—always so over the top. He got her a little shark costume, then I was the lifeguard, and he was a shark attack victim.”
“Oh my god. Are you serious?”
I nod and grab some cherry tomatoes to cut for the salad. “I am. It was either that or he wanted me and him to dress up as bags of ice so we could be ‘ice, ice, baby.’”
He shakes with laughter. “Do you have any pictures?”
“Yeah, would you mind grabbing my phone over there?”
He looks down at my phone, shaking his head before passing it to me. “Sorry. It looks like you’ve got a text. I didn’t mean to look.”
“Oh, that’s okay. It’s probably just Dakota. She’s Cadence’s nanny.”
“It wasn’t. Looks like Ian wants to know if you want to grab drinks later, Kenz.”
Ugh. Kill me. Just literally dig my grave and bury me right now.
Out of anyone who could’ve texted me right now, why did it have to be Ian? And Griffin, of all people, knows that I hate being called “Kenz.”
“Did you let Carson choose her costume for this year?” Griffin asks, brushing aside the fact that I was just asked out by another man. He seems completely unphased. I guess he should be. We’re not together. We’re not even friends. I’m just his . . . baby mama. God, I hate the way that sounds.
I nod my head while I finish cutting up the cucumbers for the salad. “Yes,” I sigh. “He wanted to do DC superheroes. Cadence is Wonder Woman, Carse is going to be the Joker, and I got stuck with Catwoman.”
“Do you still need a Batman?”
“Halloween is on Tuesday. That isn’t for another two days, Griff. Don’t you fly out to Detroit tonight for your game tomorrow?”
“I asked my coach for a leave of absence. He said I could have a two-game leave, so I don’t need to be back in Colorado until Thursday evening for our game day skate on Friday morning.”
I place the knife down on the cutting board and look over at him. “Why would you do that?”
“McKenna, how can you ask that? I just found out I have a daughter who is eighteen months old. I missed the first year and a half of her life. Her birth. Her first Halloween, Christmas, and birthday. I missed her first words, her first tooth, her first steps. I couldn’t get on a plane with my team and play as if my whole world didn’t get turned upside down.”
“You haven’t missed her first steps,” I inform him, wanting to reassure him that he hadn’t missed everything. At least, not yet, anyway.
I take him through the years he missed while Cadence naps and I make lunch. The walk down memory lane has me nostalgic. A sense of melancholy spreads over me as I think of all the moments Griff has missed out on.