Chapter 14 Emma #2
The school bell rings, signaling the end of our meeting, and everyone swiftly exits.
“Benny said Lola could watch Josie this afternoon if you need,” Ellie says as I gently place her back into the stroller. Moving as slowly and as carefully as possible, I click the brake off and begin wheeling her down the hall once it’s clear.
Kate follows, carrying my binders and the diaper bag.
“She’d have the best time with her,” she says, like she’s trying to convince me.
I trust Lola—I really do—but the reality hits me anyway.
Josie is tiny, and Lola, as spritely as she is, is still a double-knee-replacement grandma. That more than speaks for itself.
After some time of group intervention by half of my faculty—half pushing me to accept help, half reminding me of my endless to-do list I’m supposed to finish this week, all while keeping my anxiety at a manageable level—I’m now unloading Josie and what feels like her entire nursery into Lola’s living room, despite every bone in my body resisting.
“She will need to eat in an hour. But at this point, she might get too tired, so you’ll need to keep her awake,” I rattle off as I scramble to set up the Pack ‘N’ Play, sound machine, the camera, and sleep sack. Josie’s naptime routine is a ritual I can do in my sleep at this point.
Lola eyes me like I’m a madwoman.
“You have my number,” I tell her, and she nods reassuringly, rocking Josie in her squeaky leather recliner. “I will be back at 4:00 to get her, but please call me if you need me sooner.”
“Yes, yes, I know. Now go, you’re going to be late!” She waves me out the door, but her eyes are fixed on Josie’s sleepy face.
“Are you—” I grimace as Lola’s eyes snap to me. “She’ll need to eat,” I whisper, wincing as Josie threatens to fall asleep at any moment.
Lola purses her lips and flares her nostrils. It’s her rehearsed tactic, but still, it works. “I raised two babies and two grandbabies, you know,” she retorts.
I surrender and back toward the door but don’t leave completely. Some invisible weight settles in my bones as I see Josie’s sleepy arms outstretched toward me.
“She’ll be fine. I’ve got this,” Lola reassures, her voice gentler now, like she can see what leaving my baby is really doing to me.
“I know, I know.” I exhale, forcing a smile and waving at Josie as Lola scoops her up and takes her to the infamous cuckoo clock as a distraction. The yellow bird pops out and begins her song just as I step out of the door. Josie is oblivious to me leaving, transfixed on the spinning bird.
My wave goodbye is missed by both of them as I slowly make my way to the car. That unwelcome, creeping sensation of guilt settles in my limbs at the fact that I’m leaving Josie again. I’m leaving my baby with someone who isn’t me—again.
Getting into the car feels like a marathon, my arms and legs weighing a thousand pounds, my chest constricting, followed by that familiar low, painful hum in my ribs. It’s not just about leaving Josie. It’s not even about Lola watching her. It’s me.
“Chill out, Emma,” I chide myself, slamming a physical fist against the hood of my car and a metaphorical one at the anxiety trying to take root.
It’s been showing up more lately—in places that don’t even make sense. At night. Taking out the trash. In the middle of a staff meeting. Sitting at the kitchen table. All places that bring structure and routine, moments that shouldn’t consume and disarm me, but they have been.
I used to be able to explain my anxiety, catch the triggers, prepare for the inevitable. Lately, though, it seems to have grown into a beast that feeds off of any emotion I show. Happy, sad, mad, all of them aggravating the monster.
A sob chokes at me as the feelings start to swell, the monster making itself known. I unbutton my blouse to get some air. On instinct, I reach for my phone, for anything to keep me tethered to reality.
As if she has a sixth sense, Ellie’s text comes through.
Ellie: Don’t worry about Josie, Lola will do great! YOU’RE A WONDERFUL MOM!
Me: ARE YOU SURE?
Feeling completely pathetic, I wipe the snot from my nose and pull out of Lola’s driveway. Once I hit the dirt road, I glance back. Lola is on the porch holding Josie and it’s as if my heart is beating outside of my chest on that stoop as I pull away.
The urge to call Steven comes like a wave. But after this morning, I’m not sure if I should. You’re weak. Needing him makes you weak. So I text him instead.
Me: Dropped Josie off, I’ll pick her up and meet you at the boys’ jiu jitsu.
Me: I love you
Saying those three words lately has started to feel hollow. Like the true meaning and its magnitude has started to fade, slowly being replaced with obligation instead of true devotion.
A few miles from Lola’s house, everything starts to build, my breathing uneven and shallow, stars dotting my vision. My fingers feel hot against the steering wheel. I try to ignore it, telling myself to get back to the school and finish the day.
But I can’t. The monster is now threatening to suffocate me as I screech to a halt under the shade of a crooked old tree in someone’s front yard. I close my eyes, willing myself to stay in control.
Last night’s therapy session with Steven starts to replay in my head.
The tension, the frustration, the silence that only comes when I feel like there’s no other option.
There’s some foreign barrier between us, like we’re speaking two different languages, and I can’t find the energy or will to relearn everything with him right now.
My breath hitches at the thought of being so far from him, ragged and teetering on hyperventilation.
I clutch the steering wheel, my skin sticky against the leather. I try my breathing cycle. My senses exercises. Nothing works.
I relent, accepting Steven is my answer. Even when he’s not here, he’s still fixing me. Fixing us. Even in this foreign state of our relationship, I know he can help me gain some sense of control.
“I’ll just leave a voicemail,” I sniffle, dialing him.
A woman answers after the first ring. “Emma?”
“Um…hello?” My body jolts upright, the sound of another woman on the other end only worsens my panic. “Who is this?”
“Emma, this is Jessee, one of Steven’s coworkers—”
“Why do you have my husband’s phone?”
Her voice wavers. “It’s Steven… There’s been an accident.” Her words are swallowed by the sound of my heartbeat roaring in my ears.
“Emma?” Jessee says. “Can you get here?”
“I’m on my way.”