38. Court
38
COURT
I got here.
I made it.
He’s born.
We sit there awhile, cuddled together at the top of Lucy’s hospital bed.
Then people filter in again. It’s time to clean the baby, they say, get him checked out.
The nurse takes the baby and swaddles him in a blanket.
Lucy’s parents go to watch. We haven’t officially met yet, but they seem to understand who I am.
Lucy gets cleaned up. I stay close to her face, my head pressed to hers. “You okay?” I whisper.
“More than okay,” she says.
Finally, we’re alone again.
“Can you get me some water?” she asks.
I head to the sink to fill a cup. I spot a roll of white gauze. I pick it up. There’s something I have to do. It should be today.
I twist a strip of the narrow gauze and tie it around the end of my finger. I tuck it in on itself and pull it off, then continue wrapping more gauze around the circle until it’s sturdy. I palm it as I return to her.
I pass her the water. She sips it. Sounds filter in from elsewhere in the hospital.
Any minute, her parents will return. The baby will return. The next stage will begin.
I take her hand and slide the gauze ring onto her left hand.
“What’s this?” Her head tilts.
“Lucy, let’s not waste any more time on the wrong path. Let’s choose each other. Choose this family. Together. Will you marry me?”
She looks up at me, tears spilling down her face. “Okay,” she says. “I choose you. You and Julian.”
“And Matilda.”
She laughs. “And Matilda.”
“And her goat baby.”
She laughs harder and presses on her belly. “And her baby.”
I pull her into my embrace. We hold onto each other like survivors of a storm.
It feels right having her in my arms again. Like family. Like home. I have no idea what the future looks like. Where it will be. How we will shape it.
But I know it will be with her.
The door opens.
“Baby is back!” the nurse says, pushing the rolling bassinet next to the bed. Lucy’s parents follow, videoing everything with their phones.
I help Lucy sit up. She takes the baby. So many photos are taken. I remember to take some, too.
Then he’s passed to me. I don’t know where to put my hands or my elbows, but the nurse arranges my arms.
He rests against my chest, nothing but a tight blanket, a hat, and a tiny face. His lips push together, and his eyebrows shift. I think he’s going to cry, but then he relaxes again. It must be hard, having your entire world change.
I know how he feels.
I don’t know how long I stand there, staring at him, but eventually, I look up. Everyone is watching me.
My first urge is to tell them to knock it off, to force their attention away.
But I don’t. I take a deep breath and simply say, “I’m Court. I had to fly in from New York to make it. Nice to meet you.”
Lucy reaches up to squeeze my arm. I sit close to her on the bed, and we hold the baby between us.
I’m not sure where we’re going, but I know that wherever it is, we’re doing it together.
By the time we leave the hospital, I’m an expert at making baby burritos and predicting when it’s time for a new diaper or nursing.
At Lucy’s parents’ house, I sleep in Lucy’s old room while she stays on the bed in the nursery for the first few nights, then we start taking turns.
Uncle Sherman calls about a week in to check on me. I shift Julian to the crook of my arm to take the call. Lucy is sleeping, and her parents are picking up groceries.
“How is fatherhood?” Sherman asks.
“Tiring.”
“I remember. Did it three times.” He hesitates. “Did you do the paternity test?”
“We did. All is in order.”
“Was she upset that you asked for it?”
“I didn’t. She wanted it. Wanted everything square.”
“Good. Good.”
I figure he wants to know if I’m coming back. “So, about Pickle Media,” I say.
“I’ve got it covered. I’ve taken over your office. I’m handling the merch transition plus the yokels who think having the staff do a limbo competition at a company luau is going to fix morale.”
“Yeah. Maybe they aren’t the right fit.”
“I’ll take care of it. You just be a dad, and we’ll figure things out when you’re ready.”
“And if I’m never ready?”
He laughs. “I guess I’ll be writing a recommendation letter to the local 7-Eleven.”
“I might be under-qualified to manage a convenience store, based on my human resources record.”
“Now, now. Sometimes it’s the system, not the leader. We’ll take a good, hard look. You need anything here? Someone to check on your apartment?”
“My housekeeper is holding down the fort.” I don’t say that I already know I’m not going back.
“All right, then. You let us know if that new Pickle needs anything.”
“He’s an Armstrong.”
Another gruff laugh. “Every Pickle’s a Pickle.”
Another week passes. Lucy seems more or less recovered, and we no longer look like zombies walking around the house. I rent an Airbnb a couple of blocks away, and we move there. We can’t bring Matilda, but it’s a quick stroller walk to check on her.
Matilda seems to understand that Lucy has had her baby, and, while she’s skittish about Lucy herself, she likes the baby a lot. The moment we push the stroller into the backyard, she jumps and bleats. Then slowly and carefully, she sneaks close to the stroller to nudge the baby’s foot.
Her goat belly is swelling, and I have about four months to figure everything out so the whole family can be reunited. I’ll get it done. I have ideas.
When Julian is three weeks old, my parents come to visit.
I’ve been sending pictures and waiting until the time seems right, but they’re eager to meet their first grandchild. When Lucy feels ready to be introduced, they make the quick drive to our rented house.
Mom comes in, her eyes on the baby, but she does the right thing and greets Lucy first. Only once everyone has been introduced do we relinquish Julian.
They order food and dote on the baby. Dad takes me aside and asks what the heck kind of ring Lucy is wearing?
“We haven’t had time to go ring shopping. Lucy isn’t fancy.”
He nods. “I’d fix that.”
“Did you check on that other matter for me?”
“I did. If it’s out of your reach, Axel and I can help.” He opens the bag of baby things they brought and passes me a sheaf of papers.
The number is high. I’ll have to sell everything I own. Ferrari included.
Dumb thing doesn’t have a proper back row for a car seat anyway.
Mom calls out to us. “Ronan, bring me that rattle that belonged to Court. I want a picture of Julian with it.”
Dad digs through the bag and pulls out a toy with the head of Mickey Mouse on a stick.
“That’ll give him nightmares,” I say.
“Oh, hush,” Mom says, reaching for it. “You loved it.” She shakes it at Julian. “Lookie, sweet boy. It’s Dada’s rattle.”
“I better take pictures,” Dad says. “Why don’t you go make a call before the close of business?”
Lucy looks up at me as I escape to the bedroom, but she stays with my parents and Julian.
I dial the number of the holding company on the page. The property isn’t currently for sale, but I’m ready to play “Let’s Make a Deal.”