Chapter 16
Chapter sixteen
“Sissy?” I say.
Ivy looks haggard in a way I haven’t seen her since we lost Dad. Just tired and drawn, eyes swollen and nose red from crying.
My stomach cramps as my mind immediately assumes the worst. “What’s wrong? Are Nia and Amani okay?”
“They’re okay,” she rasps, her voice raw. Then, fresh tears start rolling down her face. “Amani’s still not stable enough to go home. She’s getting better, but she just can’t regulate her temperature. I don’t know how much more of this I can take,” she whispers.
All the research I did before seems to vanish and a hundred questions fly through my mind.
Is it normal for babies to take this long to regulate their body temperature?
What exactly are they doing to help Amani?
Does this mean Nia is in the clear? Do I need to step in and talk to the nurses? The hospital director?
But going off my sister’s vibe, now isn’t the time to pepper her with questions. She needs encouragement.
I square my shoulders and inject as much confidence into my voice as I can.
“Amani is strong. She’s got Matthews’ blood flowing through her.
She’ll be released and y’all will be home for Christmas.
You’ll see.” And because what I really want is to see her in person, I add, “You know, I can come up there and help. The nursery is finished, and I’m almost done going through our old things.
Just say the word and I’ll be by your side in an instant. ”
Grant would probably insist on coming with me. I don’t know what I’d love to see more; my nieces and Ivy, or the look on Ivy’s face if Grant and I showed up together and quite a bit more friendly than what she’s used to.
“No,” she says, jolting me with her voice gone flat and distant. “I don’t… I just don’t need you here right now.”
“You don’t need me?” I ask slowly for confirmation that she just said what I think she just said.
She sighs. “Look, I have to go. I’ll talk to you later.”
She ends the call before I can get another word in, and I’m left staring at a black screen.
What just happened? Is she mad at me? Did I say the wrong thing? And what was that about her not needing me there?
“You okay?” Grant’s voice is soft but I jump anyway.
I didn’t know he was behind me and don’t know how much he heard.
“I’m okay,” I lie. “Ivy though, I’m not sure what’s up with her…” I stare at the phone in my hand, ready to call her back up. If there’s something wrong, I need to fix it.
“She seemed pretty upset.”
“You can say that again.”
Her words still echo. I just don’t need you here.
I shove my phone in my pocket and sigh. “You know what? It’s fine. She’s fine. She’s worried about Amani, but she’ll feel better when everyone’s home.” I don’t know if I’m trying to convince Grant or myself.
“Right,” Grant says after a beat too long. But the way he says it, hesitant and unsure, makes my hackles rise.
“What’s with that tone?”
He shakes his head and avoids my gaze.
“You’ve never been afraid to speak your mind around me. Don’t be shy now,” I urge. Maybe my tone is a little confrontational, but I’m still reeling from my disastrous talk with Ivy. I don’t know what I did wrong, and now Grant wants to act funny.
He lifts one shoulder. “Maybe Ivy was looking for you to just listen. With everything going on, she probably wanted to vent. Not have you offer solutions or platitudes, or act like everything will magically be okay because ‘Christmas’.”
“Because Christmas,” I repeat, unbelieving.
It’s not what he says, but what I know he means. That all the energy I’ve poured into making this holiday perfect means nothing. That Ivy doesn’t need the Christmas tree, the lights, or the cookies. Or, for that matter, me.
A hot, sharp fire flares in my chest.
“First of all,” I say tightly, “don’t act like you know what my sister needs better than me.”
“I’m not—”
“Yes. You are,” I grate out. “And what? You think it’s fine if she’s not home for Christmas? If her and the babies have to spend their first holiday together in a hospital?”
He lifts his hands in surrender. “Whoa. This isn’t court and I’m not trying to argue with you.
What I’m saying is it’s okay if things don’t turn out how you want them to.
That’s it, and that’s all. It doesn’t mean the world is ending.
” His voice softens and he takes a step toward me.
“But if it feels that way to you, that’s okay too.
I’m sorry if my words suggested otherwise. ”
His apology, surely meant to calm me, only grates against my skin.
“You don’t get it,” I snap, my voice rising. I’m not trying to yell at him, but I need to drown out the terror clawing at my throat. “I need to believe they’ll be home and everything will be alright. I need you to believe it too. If you don’t…” My throat closes around a knot of emotion.
My dreams of a family. Dad. Now Christmas. What’s next?
“Eve—”
I hold up a hand to keep him from touching me.
“I’m tired, Grant. I’m tired of loving things that get taken away,” I whisper. And I am tired. Down to my bones weary from loss after loss.
And if it’s inevitably going to happen again, maybe it’s better to keep the hits rolling all at once.
“You need to go,” I force out.
“Go? Wait, Eve, let’s talk about this.”
I shake my head. “There’s nothing to talk about. We had our fun, but let’s be honest—this was never going to work.”
His face falls. “It can if we want it to.”
I wanted Dad to live a long and healthy life. I wanted to be by my sister during the most difficult time of her life.
“We don’t always get what we want.”
He scrubs both hands over his face. “Come on, Eve. Don't do this again. You can’t push me away. Not after everything we've shared. I care about you—more than you can possibly imagine—but I can’t be the only one fighting here. I’m only human.
There’s only so many times I can be shut out before I stop trying. ”
I hate the pain coating his voice.
I want to run into his arms and promise I'll do better, while another part of me wants to curl in on myself and shut the world out before it can break me again.
My emotions are a mess. And as always, when the fear gets too big, I retreat. Because as much as this hurts now, the thought of what I'll go through if I lose Grant later feels unbearable.
He reads the decision on my face and his shoulders fall. One more sigh, and he walks out the nursery.
Moments later, I hear the front door opening and closing, and his car pulling away.
The house instantly feels like a tomb without him. I wrap my arms around myself, but it does nothing to stop the chill that’s already seeped in.