Thirty-nine
Liem
Standing outside Natalie’s apartment fills me with as much anxiety as it did the last time I was here.
Wanting to go in and find out things are different while dreading going in to find things are exactly how they’ve been.
The same stoop that felt like the death of my dreams is now the rebirth of my nightmares.
Natalie’s mom lets me in. The worried exhaustion hanging on her face says more than words could. “Thank you for coming. She really needs help.”
My body turns to ice when Natalie comes from the next room in a robe. She doesn’t look like I remember her. The confidence in her posture is gone; the glow she used to let off hides behind a gray shadow. Her hair looks unwashed, her eyes heavy and down. Her mom wasn’t lying.
When she sees me, she stares for a moment, a myriad of emotions crossing her expression until it settles into an angry scowl. “Why are you here?”
“Your mom called.”
She crosses her arms with a huff. “I told her not to.”
“But is it true?”
She swallows, her anger fading. “Yes.”
The word stabs me in the chest as if it’s the first time I heard the news. “Why didn’t you tell me?” My voice is louder than I wanted, but it’s better than crying.
With a look of annoyance, she steps aside, letting me in though she clearly does not want to do so.
Inside, time slows when I see the crib, two tiny feet kicking in my view.
I move closer and find a crown of dark curls, light brown skin, and murky hazel eyes looking up at me.
I stare down at the living version of my baby pictures, a tear streaming down my face, nothing entering or leaving my lungs.
This can’t be real. None of this is fucking real.
“I did call,” Natalie says behind me. “The second I found out. You blocked my number, so I took that to mean you wanted to stay no contact. I respected that.”
“And that was it? No other options crossed your mind?” I seethe. “Natalie, you had a baby—my baby—and you think I didn’t need to know that?”
She wipes away a tear. Natalie rarely shows emotion this candidly. Even after the miscarriage, she waited until she could collect herself, only shedding an empathetic tear when I was a complete mess. I don’t want to hate her, but in this moment, I might.
The baby starts to cry, a high-pitched wail that stands my hair on end. I don’t know what to do. Natalie picks him up and shushes him, bobbing him in her hands. Crying right along with him.
She sits on the edge of the bed. I sit next to her, waiting for her explanation. “There was so much going on between the move, my new job. I was busy, and I found out late. I couldn’t reach you, so I made a decision. I’m sorry if—” She starts sobbing before she can finish.
This isn’t like her at all. Months apart couldn’t have changed her into a completely different person.
I’ve seen this before. Mom stayed in her room hours each day for months after May was born.
She stopped working in the restaurant, could barely carry on a conversation at the dinner table.
Dad didn’t explain anything to me, leaving me to wonder why she felt so tired all the time, only getting up for the occasional meal or sitting up to feed the baby.
It took reading about postpartum depression in a college psychology class to figure out what she had gone through.
“You’re not okay,” I say as gently as I can. It’s not an accusation; it’s an observation.
When she cries harder, she folds over. Instinct kicks in, and I take the tiny human from her hands. I barely know what I’m doing, but in my awkward cradle, the baby settles down. In the absence of his cries, Natalie calms too.
“Your mom was right to call me. I’m not saying there’s something wrong, or that you can’t do this on your own, but you need help. You can’t convince me you don’t.”
With an inhale, she lifts her eyes to the ceiling, fighting to keep her tears from falling. “It’s a rough patch. I’m fine.”
“You are not fine. This”—I gesture to her, the room, the universe—“isn’t fine.”
As she wipes her cheeks with the back of her hand, her gaze is vacant. Frighteningly so. “He came early. The birth was . . . horrible. Then he was in the NICU for weeks,” she explains. “It’s been difficult, but I’ll be fine.”
“You will, but you’re not right now.”
“This was my choice. I’m in the perfect place in my life to care for a child on my own. You have no obligation to be here for me or Vaughn.”
I hadn’t thought to ask his name. I can barely grasp his existence let alone picture him as a person who needs to be called something. “You know I can’t leave now.”
A weak shrug is her only response.
Her mom peeks in through the doorway, raising an eyebrow as if to say, See? She wants to put her in a facility, get her professional treatment to get through this. While I don’t think it’s possible to tell Natalie what she should or shouldn’t do, I agree she needs help neither of us can provide.
“You need help,” I say again. “If you need to take time to see a doctor or talk to someone, I can help. I can take care of him with your mom while you do what you need to feel better.”
She can’t hide the relief on her face. “I love him. I do. And I want to be here.”
“You can’t be here for him if you can’t be here,” I say. “I’m staying. I’ll figure out how. You take care of yourself.”
She stares at me, another tear slipping out of the corner of her eye. “You don’t have to do this. I’m giving you an out. No harm, no foul, no resentment, ever.”
Bri would never forgive me for being anything like her father—if she’ll talk to me again at all.
I’m not sure what this means, going from being on the verge of a new life with Bri to being a parent in less than a day.
The life I wanted was taken from me by an innocent baby who never asked to be here.
I can’t blame him or make him suffer because I would rather have my freedom. But fuck, this hurts.
“I’m staying,” I say.
Natalie places her hand on my shoulder, a look of sheer relief lifting her face. “Thank you.”
I nod, looking back down at Vaughn. My body is here with him, but my heart is thousands of miles away, bleeding regret into Bri’s hands.