Chapter 19
Dixie
It’s been two days, and Misty still hasn’t woken up. Penn had to do something at the brothel, Velvet Desire, today, and I decided to visit Misty. To see with my own eyes that she’s okay.
Her room is small, but I smile when I walk in to find Bernie sitting on the bed, holding her mom’s hand. Even in this situation, Bernie is a delight. She’s telling her mom a story about her friend Carly.
“And then she told me to kick the ball, and I made it in the net, Mommy. Her mom recorded it on her phone, and she promises to send it to you,” Bernie says.
Zep sits in the chair beside the bed looking like he hasn’t slept in as many days as Misty’s been in here. He looks up at me and nods. “Hey.”
“Hey,” I say. “I just wanted to check in on her. And you two. Do you need anything?”
“I need her to wake up,” he says, rubbing a hand over his face. “I appreciate you coming by, Dixie.”
Bernie turns and smiles at me. “Hi, Dixie!”
“Hi, Bernie.”
“When Mommy gets out of here, you have to come to the party. Phoebe promised to make her favorite cake. Peanut butter, banana, and chocolate.”
“It sounds kind of disgusting, but it’s actually amazing,” Zep says with a soft smile.
Patting my stomach, I smile back at them. “It actually sounds really good.”
“It is, and Mommy ate so much of it. Phoebe had to find ways to make it lower calorie—whatever that means—because she couldn’t move around.”
Zep lets out a soft chuckle. “She gained a little more than they wanted, so we had to figure out how to cut weight.”
“Trust me, it’s hard to move around whether you’re on bedrest or not. I’m pretty sure my center of gravity is all screwed up right now. And my back kills me most of the time. And I still have three months to go,” I say with a tentative laugh.
The thought of labor frightens me. Not just because I’m standing in Misty’s room who had one of the worst birthing experiences I can imagine, but because it seems really painful. I read that the pain a woman goes through during childbirth is actually enough pain to kill a person.
Proving, once again, women are the superior gender. But I can’t say that out loud in most rooms.
“I’m hungry,” Bernie says. “Can we get something to eat? My tummy is making noises.”
Panic flashes on Zep’s face, and I wish there was something I could do to make this better for him. For all of them. “Um…”
“I can stay with her if you want to take Bernie to get something to eat. You should probably eat, too,” I say. “I won’t leave, I promise. Even if I have to pee. I’ll wait.”
He lets out a soft chuckle. “You don’t have to do that. That’s asking a lot of a pregnant woman.”
“I might not actually be able to keep that promise, but I will make it as quick as possible. Cross my heart.”
Bernie takes his hand as she hops off the bed and heads him to the door. “Come on. We gotta eat something fast so we can be with Mommy. And we don’t want Dixie to have an accident.”
Great. Now I’m like a child. Or a puppy. “I’ll be okay. Eat, Zep. You can’t take care of anyone until you take care of yourself.”
He pats the door with his large hand as Bernie leads him away, and I sit down in the chair he vacated.
The baby’s graduated from the NICU and should be able to go home in a day or two.
It should be joyous news, but I know Zep’s dreading it.
Going home with the baby while leaving her mother in the hospital has to be difficult.
Leaning back, I take in the sight of Misty. We don’t know each other well, but we know each other well enough for me to feel for her and her family right now. Tubes and IVs connect to her at various parts of her body, and I notice how her eyelids move.
She’s dreaming.
I reach out and take her hand, and the movement stops. I hope whatever she dreams is pleasant and happy. The thought of having nightmares while unconscious in a hospital, unable to wake yourself up, chills me to the bone.
My fingers wrap around a limp hand, and it surprises me. I don’t know why I thought she’d grip my hand back, but I did. This feels almost creepy.
“Misty, I need you to wake up,” I say, my voice trembling and quiet in the silent room. “You can’t leave Zep and Bernie like this. Or your new baby.”
There’s no reaction. In the movies, this would be the point where the patient wakes up, suddenly healed enough to come out of the coma when a declaration is made to the comatose version of herself. But this isn’t a movie.
Or maybe that’s more of a soap opera thing.
“I’m scared, Misty,” I confess, hating how the words sound to my own ears. “Ever since this happened, it’s only added to yet another fear I have. I need another mother to talk to. Someone who has been through this before.”
I squeeze her hand, hating how weak I sound. Admitting I’m scared has never come easy, and I’m glad she’s unconscious for this. I might not have the strength to say this to her if she was awake.
“I’m terrified, actually,” I say. “I don’t know how to do this. Any of it. And I don’t trust my instincts.”
There, I’ve said it. Not to someone who can give me real advice or actual feedback, but we’re tackling one problem at a time.
“My dad is a whore. There’s really no nice way to put it, and Mom is crazy. Like, legit crazy. Locked away because of what Daddy put her through. So, that’s my parental upbringing.”
I’ve thought about calling my dad. Telling him I’m going to have a baby, but I can’t shake the feeling he’d want to come and stay here. Be near the baby.
And all the new women he could bed.
God, he might even visit Velvet Desire. No thank you.
“Then the father of my baby tried to take me out in a fire. All because I didn’t get an abortion, and he didn’t tell me he was married with three kids. I’m kind of starting to think I’m just a lightning rod for terrible things to happen to me.”
I cringe. How the hell can I say that to a woman in an actual coma after almost dying giving birth? Yeah, my life is so bad right now.
“I think I’m developing real feelings for Penn, and he’s been amazing. But I don’t know if I can trust him. Or me. Not at that level. It’s hard for me to imagine him wanting to raise another man’s baby. I don’t know if it’s even fair to ask.”
Any hope I had that she would magically wake up and have all the answers diminishes with every moment I speak. The only real answers I’m going to get will come from me.
“You raised Bernie alone while you were a teenager. You did what I couldn’t, and I’m scared to death that I’m going to fuck it all up. That I won’t be a good mother. That Penn won’t stick around. That my baby daddy might try to kill me again. You know… totally normal pregnant woman situations.”
I laugh to myself. I have to laugh. If I don’t, I’ll cry, and I hate crying. I do it. A lot more than I want to, but I hate it.
“How did you do it?” I whisper. “How did you stay so strong when you were doing everything on your own? How did you look at her every day and know you were making the right decisions?”
That’s really the root of my issue. How am I supposed to be a good mom and make good decisions when raising my son or daughter when I don’t actually know what it means to be a good parent. My own were too busy drowning in their sorrows or causing them to be much of an example.
“I need you to wake up and tell me your secret, Misty. Because I have to admit that I feel like I’m drowning.”
Nothing. No reaction.
I sit in the weight of my confession as if it’s made the air around us heavier. In a way it has, but I feel a little lighter. Confessing my fears has made me feel a little better, even if I don’t have any answers. I suppose they’ll come eventually.
“Zep is having a hard time, Misty. He blames himself,” I say, releasing her hand and leaning back in the chair. “He thinks he did this, and he’s beyond terrified of having to take this baby and Bernie home to raise on his own. He needs you. Everyone does.”
I study her face, trying to figure out if she looks paler than the last time I saw her or not. I can’t imagine having to have a blood transfusion is much fun, but she looks okay. Not too sickly. That has to be a good sign, right?
Bernie walks into the room carrying a small white cup, her purple glasses slightly fogged from the steam. “Look, Dixie! Zep got me the fast soup. The ones with the stars.”
“That’s super cool,” I say. “Did you save me any?”
“No,” she says, her tone serious as she shakes her head. “It’s too hot for babies. But we should have brought you something. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. I was just kidding.”
Zep walks to the other side of Misty’s bed and kisses her forehead. “It was silly to hope.”
“No, it wasn’t,” I say with a soft smile. “I was hoping you’d come back up and have the surprise of your life, too.”
“That baby’s being released tomorrow morning,” he says, his voice quiet. “I don’t know what I’m going to do.”
Pulling myself out of the chair, I walk over to him and take his hand. “You’re going to be a dad. You’ll take that little girl home, and you’ll take care of them until Misty can come home, too.”
“She doesn’t have a name yet,” he whispers. “How can I take her home if she doesn’t have a name?”
“She will,” I say with a wink. “Have faith. I do.”
“I have faith!” Bernie all but screams.
Looking at that little girl with unwavering faith and innocence fills me with hope. It’s a sudden, sharp wave of hope, and I feel it in my gut. Everything will be okay.
“That’s exactly what you need to have,” I say and kiss the top of her head. “Enjoy your soup, Bernie.”
“You don’t have to leave,” Zep says, taking my hand.
The desperation in his tone stills me. “I can stay for a little longer. I don’t need to let the dog out for a little while.”
“You have a dog?” Bernie asks. “We just have cats. Peanut Butter and Chunky. I wonder if they’d like your dog.”
Zep looks a little relieved as Bernie starts rattling off everything that comes to her mind about the animals, and I sit back down to give her attention. Give him a little time to be alone with the woman he’s scared to death of losing.
It’s heartbreaking but beautiful at the same time.