20. Ryan #4
“Nothing,” Mom says. “Tonight, you do nothing.” She takes Ally’s hand. “Come on.”
We walk farther down the hall. Mom passes the next door.
Then stops. Opens it. The room between Tobias’s and mine.
The light comes on. It’s almost empty. No guest bed.
No dresser. Paint samples lean against one wall.
A measuring tape sits on the windowsill.
Catalogs are stacked on the floor. Ally stares. Cribs. Dressers. Rocking chairs.
Her hand finds mine. “What is this?” Mom walks inside. Ally doesn’t. Not yet. “Cassandra.”
Mom turns around. “This will be the nursery.”
Ally goes completely still. Her fingers tighten around mine. “What?”
“The nursery.”
Ally looks at the catalogs. Then the paint samples. Then toward Tobias’s room behind us. “You did this too?”
“Yes.”
“Before today. Before you knew if I was getting out. Before you knew if Tobias could come.” Mom answers each one. “And before you knew if the baby…” Her voice breaks.
Mom’s face crumples. “Yes.”
Ally covers her mouth. “You didn’t know if we’d ever live here. You didn’t know if we’d need any of this. Then why?”
Mom takes both of Ally’s hands. “Because I wasn’t going to make you ask.
” Ally stops breathing. Mom’s eyes fill.
“I wasn’t going to make you get out of that house and ask whether Tobias could have a bedroom.
I wasn’t going to make you ask if you could stay with Ryan.
” A tear slips down Ally’s cheek. Mom’s voice breaks.
“And I was never going to make you stand in my house carrying my grandbaby and ask me whether there was room for them too.” Ally folds.
Mom catches her. “There was always room.”
Ally sobs into her shoulder. “You made rooms for all of us. You didn’t even know if we’d come. What if we didn’t?”
Mom holds the back of her head. “Then they would have waited.”
Ally cries harder. “I don’t have a mom anymore.”
Mom closes her eyes. Dad looks down. I can’t move. “No, sweetheart,” Mom whispers.
“I need her. I need my mom. I don’t know how to do this without her.”
Mom pulls her closer. “No one will ever replace your mother.”
Ally’s fingers knot in her shirt. “I don’t want anyone to.”
“You don’t have to. You don’t ever have to make Jane smaller to make room for somebody else who loves you.” Ally sobs. “I couldn’t replace her if I tried.”
Mom’s tears disappear into Ally’s hair. “But I will be here. When you need somebody to take care of you. When you need someone to tell you to eat or sleep or sit your stubborn ass down. When you don’t know what you’re doing with that baby.
When Tobias needs something and you don’t know how to give it to him.
” Her voice cracks. “When you need to fall apart, you can do it here. You don’t owe me anything for it.
You don’t have to call me anything different.
You don’t have to ask permission to need me.
” Mom’s face breaks completely. “You just let me love you.”
Ally falls into her again. Mom holds her for another minute.
Then Dad steps forward. “Bed.”
Ally nods against Mom. No argument left.
Darla kisses the side of Ally’s head. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Ally reaches for her, and Darla hugs her carefully. “Sleep.”
Dad hugs her again. Then Mom. Then finally she’s mine.
I get her the last few feet down the hall.
Past the empty nursery. Into my room. Our room.
I help her into bed. She curls onto her side immediately, and I get in beside her, and she comes straight to me — her face against my chest, my arm around her, my other hand settling over her stomach.
I don’t know if I’m imagining the tiny curve beneath my palm anymore. I don’t care. She’s here. They’re here.
Ally cries quietly against me. I don’t tell her to stop. I don’t tell her tomorrow will be better. I don’t promise anything I can’t control. I just hold her, my hand over our baby.
Two doors down, Tobias is asleep in a room my parents made for him before they knew if he’d ever get out, Danny on the floor beside him holding his hand. Between us is an empty room waiting for our child. All three of them under the same roof. Safe.
Mom’s words won’t leave my head. I was never going to make you stand in my house carrying my grandbaby and ask me whether there was room for them too. There was room. There had always been room.
Ally’s fingers twist into my shirt. “I want her.”
I close my eyes. “I know.”
“She should be here.”
“I know.”
“She would’ve loved Tobias’s room.”
My throat closes. “Yeah.”
“And the nursery.”
“Yeah.”
A sob catches against my chest. “She should’ve gotten to see us here.”
I press my mouth to her hair. “I know, baby. I love you. I’ve got you.”
Her hand finds mine over her stomach and holds on. “I love you too.”
My hand spreads a little wider over our baby.
Down the hall, Tobias is safe. Ally is in my arms. Our baby still has a heartbeat. Jane got all three of them out. She just didn’t get to come with them. And there isn’t a fucking thing I can do to fix that.
So I do the one thing Darla told me I could.
I stay.