40. Hunter
Chapter forty
Hunter
It should be illegal to send people home with a two-day-old and a polite wave.
I mean, what do any of us really know about babies?
Sure, we went to birthing classes and read articles and watched YouTube videos and podcasts, but those things can only prepare you so much for holding a real live baby in your hands.
Someone that’s smaller than any human should be cleared for public release.
The times I’ve held Audrey, it’s like there’s an alarm going off in the back of my mind that she’s insanely fragile.
DO NOT DROP. DO NOT DROP. DO NOT DROP. The alarm blares over and over again.
So when I pull my truck up to the front of the hospital and find Ellie and Audrey waiting in a wheelchair, I have to swallow down so many fears.
I put the truck in park and jog over to where Ellie is, and gingerly take Audrey out of her arms. I touch her little button nose with mine and whisper, “Ready to go home, princess?”
“She’s ready, and so am I.” I turn and find Ellie’s eyes on us as she stands from the wheelchair.
It’s time to take my girls home.
I watch as a single snowflake passes by Ellie’s face and look around to find flurries filling the air.
“I love snow.” Ellie smiles up at the sky. “And what a magical way to ride home.”
As long as it stays snow, I think as I offer the snowflakes a murderous glare. The forecast didn’t mention ice, but you never know. I take a deep breath. At least we brought the truck.
The nurse pushing Ellie’s wheelchair doesn’t even stick around to see if we put Audrey in the car seat correctly.
Ellie’s mom already left and said she’d meet us at the house, but I’m regretting letting her leave.
I settle Audrey in the car seat, trying to maneuver the straps over her tiny arms, holding my breath the whole time.
Her little frog legs are all scrunched up and I have to push them—gently, everything gently—this way and that so I can get the straps buckled.
I’m fairly certain my heart rate was lower the first time someone handed me live explosives.
Finally, Audrey’s strapped in. I’ve checked three times to make sure the straps are tight enough, but not so tight that she can’t breathe easily. I help Ellie into the back seat to stay beside Audrey for the ride.
Driving home, I’m sweating. And I’ve driven through hostile territory rife with land mines. My brain is racing over every single thing that could go wrong on the road, and inside the truck.
Is the heat high enough? I turn the temperature up, and the hot air makes me sweat even more.
No, it can’t be too hot, I realize. Little Audrey will overheat. I turn the air back down and glance at Ellie in the rearview. She looks peaceful. Completely at ease, watching Audrey sleep. They’re fine. I’m fine. We’re going to make it home.
On the road ahead of us, an eighteen-wheeler merges into my lane and I have to step on the brakes a little harder than I’d like with the most fragile cargo known to man in my back seat. My peace didn’t last terribly long.
Why do we even drive anymore? This feels like a system we all agreed to before we had something to lose. I'm considering the merits of going back to horse and buggy when Audrey starts crying in the back seat.
I glance in the rearview mirror, where Audrey’s tiny reflection comes back at me from the car seat mirror we set up back there. Her little face is all scrunched up before her mouth opens in a wide “O” and she lets out a wail that defies her small size.
“Oh, baby girl,” Ellie coos. Then she starts to sing.
Her off-key lilt echoes through the car, somehow soothing not only Audrey, but me as well.
At first, I don’t recognize the song, until Ellie starts singing about how Audrey’s in the middle of the ride and things just take time. Everything will be alright.
I can’t help but smile when I realize she’s singing Jimmy Eat World’s The Middle. Not exactly a lullaby, but somehow … perfect. It brings me back to our neighborhood babysitter, Lily, who was obsessed with this song and would play it all the time when she watched us.
A memory comes to mind of all of us—all the Dawsons’ kids and Ellie—dancing to this song in the kitchen while Lily made us lunch.
Lily used the grape cutter as a microphone and then handed us all various kitchen utensils to use as our own microphones.
I glance back at Audrey in the car seat mirror and wonder if one day she’ll want to dance with me in the kitchen with a whisk as a mic.
I hope so.
By the time we pull up to the house the flurries have turned into moderate snow. Audrey’s fallen asleep and Ellie has a contented smile on her face. I open the truck door, hustling around to Audrey’s side, more than ready—and wildly unqualified—to start the rest of our lives.
The next few days meld into a blur of new baby life.
Since Ellie’s mom is staying with us, Ellie and I are now officially sharing a bed full-time.
At first, we’d discussed the necessity of it in order to keep up the image of a “real” married couple.
But now that we’re here, this feels as real as it can get.
We take shifts with Audrey in the night, with Ellie feeding her and me burping her and rocking her back to sleep. I’d always heard about the “new car scent” but no one tells you about new baby smell. It’s intoxicating. I rock her with my nose buried in the top of her head, soaking it all in.
Some nights are easier than others. The second night home from the hospital, Audrey decided crying was preferable to sleep—and it went on so long that Ellie’s mom woke up and came into the room.
“I’ll take her for a shift,” she said over the baby’s cries. She disappeared into the darkened living room, shuffling around the house as she sang to Audrey.
On the fourth night home, Audrey slept for five hours straight—and Ellie and I woke up in a panic at six a.m., thinking something had happened to her. But there she was, nestled in her bassinet, sleeping happily.
“Maybe she’ll start sleeping for longer stretches,” Ellie said hopefully.
“Oh yeah, definitely.”
Spoiler alert: she absolutely did not.
But sleep deprivation did little to dampen Ellie’s spirits. Or mine. Ellie settled into motherhood like she’d been rehearsing for this all her life. And I loved watching it happen.
Me? I was still reading the instructions.
But every time Audrey fell asleep on my chest, or Ellie looked over at me like we were in this together … it felt a little less like I was winging it and a little more like maybe I wasn’t going to mess this up after all.
Somehow, New Year's Eve came and went with no fanfare. I guess that’s life with a newborn—though I wish we’d been awake at midnight so I would’ve had an excuse to kiss Ellie. Unfortunately, Audrey’s sleep schedule didn’t align with my plans—which may be a sign of things to come.
A little over a week after Audrey’s birth, I decide to check in on Asher. His camper’s parked outside my parents’ house, but he’s been staying in the house since he finished his inpatient rehab. I find him in a recliner, playing video games.
“How you doing?” I ask.
He offers me a quick glare before returning to his game. “I’m not an invalid, y’all don’t have to keep checking on me every five seconds.” Normally, Asher is a very carefree guy, but since his accident, there’s been a sullenness about him that’s unsettling.
“You need something to keep you busy.” Asher’s never been the type to sit in one place for very long—hence the rock-climbing gig. But with doctor’s orders to avoid any extreme sports for the next few months, Asher’s restlessness is going to hit a critical point.
“Celeste could use some help with Milky Way,” my mom calls from the kitchen. She comes into the living room, carrying a tray of sandwiches and cut-up fruit and vegetables.
“I see why you moved in from the camper,” I say as he picks up a sandwich. He puts the sandwich in his mouth, biting down to hold it in place, and then grabs a baby carrot, throwing it at me while still playing his video game with his other hand.
I laugh as the carrot pegs me in the shoulder. Asher really needs to get out of here. I grab his sandwich plate and then unplug the PlayStation.
“Hey!”
“Let’s go visit Celeste and see what she needs help with,” I say, walking out the door with his lunch.
Asher follows behind me, grumbling the whole way—but I can’t help but smile.