Jackson
A month out of the hospital and there’s still no escaping the pain—not in sleep, not with warm showers or gentle head massages, not with dark rooms and plenty of water.
The prescribed drugs knock it down, but those same medications make my brain feel soupy.
I fall asleep hard and fast, then wake up groggy and scared.
I don’t sleep well. And when I sleep with a drug-addled brain, I don’t dream.
And I want to dream. Because my dreams feel like memories. Whether they’re true memories or stories pieced together from the things people have told me, I’m unsure. It doesn’t matter, though. They feel real enough to me, and they’re the only thing I have.
So despite Blair’s willingness to give me a different prescription to try, I’ve taken to primarily using over-the-counter medication, which turns the scorching halo into a slow smolder.
I can deal with the throb of a regular headache.
After so long, it’s a lot like being permanently submerged in cold water. You get used to the pain. Acclimated.
Kate forces me to take the heavier drugs when my poker face falls through, and she can tell how badly I’m hurting. She forces me to do all kinds of things she swears are good for my health, and I put up with it because she’s trying so damn hard to love me even though I’m broken.
Even though I don’t love her back.
Not for lack of wanting. I want to love her.
I want to be the husband she had before, because everyone tells me stories about how fucking great he was, and now she’s stuck with me.
A guy who can barely get out of bed most days.
Who winces like a fucking vampire when he steps into a brightly lit room—and God knows my skin’s starting to resemble that of a vampire from the lack of sun.
And it’s not just Kate. It’s the kids.
They’re always screaming, shrieking, running, and stomping.
From the moment they wake up until the moment they go to bed, it’s constant noise.
Yesterday, in a bout of overstimulation because my head was throbbing, Rhett and Odessa were bickering, and the microwave kept beeping, I yelled at my family.
I cursed and slammed my hand against the top of the dining table, which made pain ring through my skull like I’d whacked my head rather than my fist. Rhett cried.
Odessa stared at me like I’d grown a second head.
I don’t think Old Jackson ever raised his voice around them, judging by their reactions.
I hate that New Jackson does.
So even though today’s Odessa’s birthday, I’m hiding out in bed with the curtains drawn, because my family deserves so much more than the shell of a human I’ve devolved into.
And I pray to fall asleep and find the safe, unaching peace that comes only in my dreams, when I’m breathing in the sweetness of Kate’s shampoo and we’re sitting on the porch watching our children play together on the lawn.
Sometimes the rest of the family’s there, too.
And sometimes the kids aren’t around, and Kate’s on my lap like she was when she trimmed my beard.
My eyes squeeze tighter, as if that’ll help sleep come.
There’s a series of knocks on the door. Gentle at first, but quickly growing louder.
“Yeah?” My voice is muffled by the thick white duvet.
“Daddy?”
I’m not sure I’ll ever get used to being called that.
The door creaks open, then shuts softly.
“Are you coming to the party?” Odessa nervously asks.
Fuck. The decision to stay in bed was so much easier before I heard her tear-filled voice wavering through the dark room.
“My head really hurts right now,” I grit out. I shift and the pillow crunches under my head, loud and jagged as gravel.
“But…” The weight of her small body dips the mattress right next to where I’m lying. “But it’s my birthday and…and I-I want you there.”
“Odess—”
“You have to come.” She gets more whiny with each word and slams an indignant fist into the mattress next to my leg. “It’s my birthday. You. Have. To. Come.”
Gripping my skull in a vise-like hold, I accidentally say, “I don’t give a shit about going to a party right now.”
Silence should be blissful, but in the aftermath of my admittedly harsh words, it’s fettered with heartache.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean…”
“Please.” The word sounds wet, and she sniffles loudly. “I made an early birthday wish that you wouldn’t have to miss my birthday ’cause of the hospital….”
The tears welling along my lash line burn. Clenching my jaw in preparation for excruciating pain, I slowly wiggle my hands along the mattress and push myself up to sit.
In a poofy purple princess dress, Odessa sits on the bed, fighting with a loose sequin. Her tiara’s a little lopsided, the French braid in her hair coming undone in a few spots, and the tears seem to have streaked the bright purple makeup around her eyes.
“Please don’t cry.” Not sure who that’s for—her or me.
“I promise the party is gonna be fun. We have a purple cake…and Mommy got me this dress.” She smooths her hands down the front of it.
“It’s a pretty dress.”
“I know you don’t remember me. And I know your head hurts all the time. Mommy told me not to come in here and bother you, but I miss you.” Doe eyes rimmed with long, dark lashes stare up at me. “Please. All I wanted for my birthday was for you to be okay.”
I fidget with the pink beads around my wrist for a moment, trying not to let the pain in my head influence any more of my words.
“Okay, birthday girl. You’re a tiny bully—like a miniature version of Kate. Let’s go,” I say, because how can I possibly say anything else?
Looking incredibly similar to her mother, Odessa sits on the edge of the bed with an expression of mingled worry and care, waiting as I run a comb through my hair and brush my teeth.
For the first time, I put on a pair of jeans that require a lot of trust in a belt to hold them up.
Evidently I don’t only seem sickly because I’m pale, I’ve also lost a shocking amount of weight… assuming these pants fit Old Jackson.
“Ready?” She starts toward the door. “I saved you a pretty tiara to wear. It’s outside next to the chair Mommy set up in the shade for you.”
With a deep breath, I nod. Grabbing my darkest sunglasses from the top of my dresser, I follow closely behind her, and seconds later we’re stepping outside. Fuzzy white spots flicker across my vision, and I blink rapidly to clear them and refocus.
The massive lawn space in front of the house is littered with people—children running amok and parents circled up in collapsible lawn chairs.
Two white tent-like structures sit amid the chaos with an intense roof glare from the late April sun.
The air’s a lot less brisk than it was the last time I was outside… . When was that? A week ago? Two?
Odessa’s small hand slips into mine and she leads the way. Careful not to walk too fast. Periodically looking over her shoulder at me with a wide grin.
A few strangers say hi, pat me on the back, tell me how great I look, ask how I’m doing.
Not a single introduction, and I can’t be bothered to double back and ask for names, because there’s a princess yammering away next to me.
She’s talking about princess cowboys and Denny having fairy wings and other nonsense.
Except it’s either not nonsense or my migraine is making me hallucinate, because my younger brother is donning a blue knee-length dress and a pair of wings are slung over his shoulders.
It’s hard to tell from this distance, but the sun reflecting off his skin makes it seem like he has glitter on his face.
Confusion twists my entire face, and when I see Austin dressed somewhat similarly, I cut Odessa off mid-conversation. “Are they dressed like princesses?”
Her eyes grow twice their normal size, and she nods her head eagerly. “Yes. All the boys dressed up like princesses and fairies because they said they wanted to make my birthday extra special. Uncle Denny, Uncle Austin, Uncle Red…a bunch of the ranch hands, too.”
I look around at the sea of people and discover she’s right. There are a lot of men in ill-fitting dresses and bedazzled crowns.
Kate’s honeyed tone floods my senses, and seconds later her arm is looping around mine.
Her brown hair falls around her shoulders, and she’s wearing a dainty gold crown that emphasizes the caramel highlights woven between darker strands.
She’s so beautiful, her complexion infused with a golden hue from the sun.
Her smile makes my heart beat a little faster. Damn. I have a crush on my wife.
“You made it. And in jeans, too.” She gives me an impressed look. “How are you feeling?”
“Okay. I might’ve been coerced by a princess.”
“You and everyone else here,” Kate says out of the corner of her mouth.
Odessa chimes in, “I told him we had a special chair for him.”
“We do.” Kate’s hand slides down the length of my forearm, and her fingers hook around mine in a way that feels so comfortable and natural, I have to assume this is the way we’ve held hands for the last sixteen years.
Her own burnt-orange dress swishes around her thighs with every step, rustling up the scent of her coconut body wash. I’ve never seen her in anything but my jeans, and it’s hard to catch my breath when she looks this good.
“Can’t wait to see this chair,” I say, entirely genuinely. Then to Kate, “You look…wow.”
Actually, wow doesn’t cut it. Words escape me, and I chalk it up to my brain not running on all cylinders.
The simple compliment seems to do the trick, though, because a light pink hue brushes across her cheeks. I should compliment her more. Maybe one day I’ll be able to form the words to hit her with something better than wow.
“Better in a dress than your brothers?” She swishes the material around her knees.
“That’s an understatement.”
“You look pretty handsome yourself.” Her grip tightens around my hand. “Come on, your chair’s right over here. Front row for the show.”
“For the show?” I thought this was a kids’ birthday party.