20. Orion
— ? —
Orion
Three and a half months on Gianna’s couch.
Three and a half months of washing bottles, learning to change diapers in the dark, keeping my mouth shut when I wanted to fix things. Watching my wife get stronger every single day while I tried to figure out how to be useful without being in the way.
She didn’t need me anymore. That was the thing I couldn’t stop thinking about.
Four nights ago, she’d fallen asleep on my shoulder during a movie. I’d sat frozen for two hours, barely breathing, afraid to break whatever spell had let her relax against me. When she woke, she’d pulled away fast, mumbled something about being tired, and closed the bedroom door between us.
Since then, she’d taken every feed herself.
Both of them, every night. I’d hear Alex start up at two and be on my feet before the second cry, and she’d already be in the hallway with him, one hand raised. I’ve got him. Go back to sleep.
By the fourth night, I stopped pretending I could.
So at 2:14 a.m., when he started crying, I was already in the kitchen with the bottle warming.
She came out of the bedroom with him on her shoulder, hair everywhere, wearing one of my old Cliff T-shirts she’d never given back. She saw me and stopped in the doorway.
“I’ve got him.”
“I know. Bottle’s ready.” I held it up. “Trade you.”
“Orion. Go to sleep.”
“Haven’t slept more than forty minutes all week, and it wasn’t from feeding him.” I tested the milk on my wrist. “Sit down. Let me do this one.”
She didn’t sit. She swayed with Alex instead, that gentle rhythm she used when she wanted a conversation to end.
He quieted against her neck immediately.
Her eyes drifted past me to the couch, to the blanket folded over the arm, corners squared, crisp and neat, the way she’d started arranging it every morning.
Like housekeeping at a hotel that wanted you gone by checkout.
“You’re pulling back,” I said quietly. “Four days ago you fell asleep on me. Since then you’ve handled every feed, every diaper, every bath. When I tried to take him for a walk yesterday, you’d already put him in the carrier before I found my shoes.”
Her jaw tightened. “I’m his mother. I’m supposed to handle things.”
“I’m not saying you can’t. I’m asking if I’m being phased out.”
Silence stretched between us. Alex made a soft sound against her shoulder.
“I heard you on the phone Tuesday,” I said. “On the porch. The window was open.” I swallowed. “You were talking to Monica about a parenting plan.”
The swaying stopped.
“That’s all I heard. But I’ve been carrying it for three days.” I set the bottle down. “If you’re drawing up a custody schedule, I’d rather know now than keep waiting.”
For a moment she looked like she might deny it. Then Alex fussed, and she shifted him, and something in her shoulders gave way.
“I asked what one would look like,” she admitted. “In case.”
“In case of what?”
“In case you leave again.” She finally met my eyes.
“Go back to Cliff. Back to Singapore. Back to whatever version of yourself decides a deal matters more than being here.” Her voice was steady, but I could see what it cost her.
“Last time I had no plan, Orion. Eighteen missed calls and an emergency surgery and no plan. I won’t do that twice.
I can’t keep you here forever, Orion. Eventually I’ll have to let you go back to your company. ”
The kitchen felt very small.
“Then draw it up,” I said.
She blinked. “What?”
“Give it to Monica. Have it notarized. Put my name on every line and I’ll sign whatever protects him.” I moved around the counter slowly, stopping close enough to reach them without touching. “But the plan doesn’t need a leaving clause. I’m not going anywhere.”
“You can’t know that.”
“I know I’m his father. You can decide you don’t need me for the rest of your life. I’ll still show up. But please. Don’t ask me to leave him.” My voice cracked.
She was crying. Silently, the way she did everything now, just her chin trembling against Alex’s head.
“I wasn’t going to ask that,” she whispered.
“Then let me take this feed.”
A long breath. Then she stepped forward and placed him in my arms, heavy and furious about the delay, and handed me the bottle.
I sat on the too-short couch. Alex latched on like the past three days had been a personal insult. Gianna stood over us for a moment, then lowered herself onto the cushion beside me. Close enough that her knee touched mine.
She didn’t move it.
“I keep folding that blanket with the corners square,” she said after a while, “because if I leave it messy, it looks like you live here.”
“I do live here.”
She wiped her face with her sleeve. “That’s the problem. If I get used to it and you leave, it’ll be worse than the first time. So I keep the corners sharp. Keep some distance.”
“Keep them sharp if you need to. I’ll unfold it every night anyway.”
A wet laugh escaped her. She watched Alex’s tiny hand open and close against my thumb.
“Your mother called today. About the gala.”
“She wants you there.”
“On your arm, specifically.” Gianna pulled the T-shirt sleeve over her hand. “I told her I’d think about it. I’ve been thinking for nine hours.”
“And?”
“Everyone in that room knows about you and me now. Nasty rumors spread like wildfire after all.” She turned and looked at me. “If I walk in beside you, they’ll be watching. Waiting to see how long before you disappear again.”
Alex finished the bottle with a sigh.
“So I need to know,” she continued. “If I put my hand on your arm in front of all those people, will you still be there at the end of the night?”
I lifted Alex to my shoulder and rubbed his back until he burped, holding her gaze the whole time.
“Tell her yes,” I said. “I’ll be there at the end of the night. The end of every night.” I kept my voice steady. “The only way I’m walking out of that ballroom is with you.”
She studied my face for a long moment. I couldn’t tell if she believed me.
Then she reached for her phone.