12. Knox
S oft humming fills the room. It’s calm now—quiet, a stark contrast to the last half hour.
To anyone looking in on the scene before them, they would think it’s peaceful.
But inside my head? It’s loud. The quiet surrounding us leaves me with no choice but to let thoughts in that I’ve tried so hard to keep out for the last five days.
I don’t know how to do this. How does anyone do this?
A few months ago, I was just getting used to the idea of doing this at all.
Now, I’m coming to grips with the fact I’ll be doing it alone.
I’m angry, maybe even a little scared. Neither feeling is one I’m familiar with.
I’ve always been able to face any situation head-on, with a calm mind.
It’s how I was raised. It’s ingrained in me to find a way forward, to push myself.
I’ve made sure that everything I have done thus far in my life has been given my all. I’m responsible according to anyone’s standards. Which makes finding out you’re having a child, with a woman you had no contact with for six months, that much more shocking.
The situation I currently find myself in may be glaringly different from any other I’ve been in before, but I’m the same, aren't I? I guess I’ll add that to the list of things I need to figure out.
I’m learning so many new things these days.
The last few months have reduced any time I spent studying for the bar, any court case I’ve spent hours dissecting, to a mere blip.
I won’t fail at this. I won’t let myself—neither will my family. Thank God for them.
I realize, after having this thought, that I’m not really alone. I’m a little overwhelmed at the idea of not having a partner in this, and it kills me that this tiny angel won’t ever know her mother.
There’s been a flurry of activity at my parents’ ranch today.
Food and diapers were dropped off. A community that’s ready to stand in the gaps that I will inevitably leave.
As much as I try to be, and as much as I try to pretend, I’m not perfect.
No, Hazel won’t have a perfect father, but she will never wonder if she’s loved. That’s something I can promise.
She stirs, the motion is small, but I catch it, looking down at her perfect sleeping face.
Dark curls are already starting to form around her tiny ears.
She was born with so much hair. I didn’t know babies could be born with so much hair.
My baby sister, Florence, was practically bald when Mom and Dad brought her home from the hospital.
I guess there are advantages to being almost fifteen years older than your youngest sibling.
For one, I already knew how to change a diaper.
I can swaddle, I can soothe, I can hum, and I can cook.
Tom and Mary Holloway didn’t raise incapable men.
Because of my upbringing, there are a lot of things I’m prepared for.
A lot of things I can adapt to. But as I look down again at this perfect little angel, so peaceful and safe in my arms, I’m struck by how unprepared I was to love someone so much.