Chapter Twenty-Three
As Emilia was getting over her dehydration and inherent weakness, I was plunging deeper into my own private dark world. One of hypervigilance over her—I had to know where she was all the time, had to keep a close eye on the amount she ate and drank. Had to make sure she was getting enough sleep—while I neglected my own.
After she fell asleep every night, I was up walking the floor of my office or running it off in the home gym until exhaustion set in.
Anything to avoid the racing, intrusive thoughts that seemed to creep into my every conscious minute where I wasn’t otherwise over occupied with something.
But when they were denied residency in my conscious mind, they came out to play in the form of bad dreams. Dreams about going somewhere and forgetting all about her for days, coming home to find her unconscious or dead.
It was a dark place to be, and I was getting deep enough into it to know it soon would be hard to find my way back out again.
Which was why I decided, with Emilia’s permission, to talk to my Uncle Peter about it and seek a little guidance. But asking Peter to keep this news of her impending grandmother-hood from his wife would be asking too much. So, this meant we would tell her mom and Peter earlier than we’d planned.
So, we invited them over to our house for lunch that weekend. It was a gorgeous day in late spring and chef served us personally on the picnic bench by the beach. Peter sat beside me and our wives sat directly across from us. My uncle stared at the yacht bobbing in its slip.
“When are you going to take her out again? I miss going out on the ocean and my fishing pole is getting dusty.”
I glanced at my wife and then back to my uncle. “You tell me. How about you two clear a long weekend, and I’ll get the captain to take you out to Catalina or down to Rosarito for the weekend?”
“Oh, that’s so sweet. But it would be nicer if all four of us could go,” Kim said, eyes lighting up. She’d been pushing for us all to go on a short trip together for a while but none of our schedules—or, apparently, the stars—ever aligned for it to happen.
Emilia looked noticeably green at the prospect of going out on the boat, as I knew she would. The anti-nausea meds had been helping, but she still felt delicate and even during the best of times, she wasn’t super excited about going out on the yacht for long periods of time. I guess I had our honeymoon and the few days of rough seas we’d endured to thank for that.
“I don’t think I’ll be wanting to go out on the yacht for a while,” Emilia piped up. “But you guys should definitely take him up on that.”
Kim blinked. “Why not? Don’t you like the yacht?”
Emilia bit her lip, then glanced at me as if seeking reassurance that this would be a good time to break the news. I nodded. Kim’s eyes flitted from her daughter to me and back again, sharp as a whip, like her daughter.
“What’s going on?” she finally asked.
“Well,” Emilia said, adjusting her fork on the table so that it was perfectly parallel to the knife, as if she were adjusting scalpels and other medical instruments on a tray in preparation for surgery. “I haven’t been feeling so great lately because—”
Kim sucked in a breath, hand going to her chest. “Oh no...no. I was wondering because you’ve been so pale. Please, don’t tell me you’re sick again.”
It was like Kim had just cast a dark blanket over the entire table and Emilia’s eyes widened. That fear wasn’t far from any of our psyches and none of us had quite healed from it. My wife blinked guiltily at her mother. “I’m perfectly healthy. And I’ll be feeling much better soon. Nine months, to be exact.”
Peter caught on first while Kim stared at her daughter silently as if stuck in loading screen mode.
He reached over and put his hand over Emilia’s. “That’s wonderful! Congratulations.”
Kim frowned, then blinked, then slowly the implications dawned on her. “What...?”
Peter turned back to her, laughing. “You’re going to be a granny!”
Now he was slapping me on the back.
Kim glared across the table at her husband. “If you ever call me ‘granny’ again, it’s going to get ugly.” This made Peter laugh even harder.
Kim grilled us for details—due date, everything we knew about Emilia’s health, whether we had informed her oncologist and gotten his okay. At one point Peter sighed heavily at Kim. “You do know you’re dealing with Adam, right? I don’t think there’s a single stone he would have left unturned.”
Kim’s eyes widened. “Well, how should I know? It could have been an accident.”
My wife leaned forward conspiratorially. “Adam doesn’t make mistakes, Mom. You should know that by now.” Emilia threw me a pleased-with-herself, teasing look. I narrowed my eyes at her, and she smirked in response.
We talked for a little while longer, but when Kim started going into detailed plans for baby clothes, the nursery and decorations, Peter threw me a look that was clearly a call for help.
“Wanna go stretch your legs with me?” I asked him.
He raised his brow. “I thought you’d never ask.”
And with that, we bid goodbye to our lovely ladies, who barely noticed our departure.
We walked across the island and from the bridge onto the peninsula, crossing Balboa Boulevard toward the beachfront. As it was a beautiful day in early June, the surfers were out in full force and the sand was packed with sunbathers and clusters of families huddled under colorful Easy-Ups. I made a left turn to move down the paved Newport-Balboa bike trail eastward toward The Wedge. Bikes whizzed past us at a regular rate.
Peter seemed to sense the inner turmoil I was experiencing along with the happy situation because he cut straight to the chase. “So, how’s it going? Are you still sane in there or have you overthought all this about seven million ways to Sunday?”
My uncle knew me well.
I stuffed my hands in my pockets and glanced at him. “Well...yes to all of that. I’ve overthought and rethought every angle but not necessarily for the reasons you’re suspecting.”
Peter tilted his head, giving me a questioning glance without saying a word. I took a deep breath and continued. “Last week we had an...incident.” He nodded, remaining silent. Honestly, Peter was the best listener. “She got really sick. Fainted on the job because of low blood sugar and she’d been hiding her extreme nausea from me for weeks.”
He blinked, mouth thinning. “Hmm. That’s not good, especially her feeling the need to hide things from you. I’m sure it took you right back to when she was fighting cancer.”
I let out a long breath. “Exactly. I’m just—” I cut myself off, shaking my head. My hands, inside my pockets balled into fists.
Peter put a hand on my arm. “Adam, take a breath. It’s not happening again. I’m sure you talked to her.”
“More like I yelled at her.”
He nodded again. “Understandable.”
I shook my head. “Understandable, yes, but not acceptable.”
Peter laughed. “Every couple yells at each other once in a while. No one’s perfect. And Mia’s a quick learner. I’m sure she understood, when pointed out to her, that she was repeating the same pattern as before. She won’t repeat her mistake.”
“I mean...I understand where it comes from. She feels like she has to protect everyone at the expense of herself and her own health, but that runs exactly contrary to my needs—protecting her and keeping her safe. If she won’t let me in, I can’t do that. And I gotta say, it’s two strikes now.”
He blew out a breath. “But this isn’t a ball game. You’ve got a trust issue, true. Do you feel like this is going to lead to something serious, like a marital breakdown?”
I shook my head vigorously. “No, no. I mean, not this direct issue. But if I don’t trust her, well, it worries me.”
Peter shrugged. “I’m happy to give you my advice, for all that’s worth. But honestly, I think at this point, you might consider talking to a professional.”
I took a breath, turned my head to gaze out at the rolling waves slamming against the shore and dissolving into white foam, bringing body surfers and swimmers along with them. A breeze kicked up scented with coconut suntan lotion, salty air and pungent, drying seaweed. I’d been afraid he’d suggest therapy. Quite frankly, that thought had crossed my mind, too.
Clearly, I was still harboring some issues from before. And, honestly, given my past, there was a whole heaping mess of issues buried deep in there. Was I ready to confront all that? My shoulders slumped.
“It’s not that bad, Adam. I saw someone for a couple years after my divorce. It helped. I honestly recommend it.”
I gave my uncle a long look. “Am I broken, Peter?”
Without hesitation, he laughed. “You’re the strongest man I know. But everyone, even the strongest, sometimes needs to offload some of their burden—and work on themselves as a person. Not only are you dealing with the past, but you’re also facing a massive life change. I can’t understate how enormous this coming bend in the road will be for you two.”
I nodded. “Yeah, I worry about that too.”
“What are you worried about?”
I shrugged. “I wonder if I’ll even be a decent dad. I had no example of what that even meant during the first twelve years of my life until I moved in with you and the cousins. And the one parental example I did have...well, you know how wonderfully that went.”
Peter’s face clouded for a moment as if he was remembering something from that time, maybe even about my parents, that he was debating sharing with me. Instead of pushing him on it,I followed his example and waited. It was weird, really, to have this kind of conversation with Peter but a bit of a relief, too.
He took a deep breath, and I looked straight ahead. “You’re miles ahead of them, Adam. And you shouldn’t let them haunt you.Your dad...” he cut himself off and squared his shoulders. I could always tell that talking about my dad brought up emotions for Peter. As brothers, they were close. I’d picked that up, too.
Peter continued, “He was the best man I know. But your parents’ marriage was failing well before it even started and I know that’s on your mind, too. You and Mia have been through the gauntlet, really. You’ve already faced things most married couples never have to face—and you’ve come through brilliantly. I couldn’t even dream up a fictional woman better suited to you than Mia is.”
He sent me a reassuring smile and when I nodded for him to continue, he did without hesitation. “The key to bringing a new life into the world, what makes it so much easier to do, is the foundation of a good partnership with the co-parent. They don’t have to be married, or even together romantically. I’ve seen divorced couples and never-married parents alike put aside their differences to be amazing parents to their shared kids. But clear communication is the key. And this burden isn’t all on you. But talking to someone, learning strategies on how to deal with—and in some cases—educate your partner for what you need will go a long way in helping you tackle these challenges.”
We walked on for a few yards. Then he cleared his throat and spoke again. “Your present isn’t doomed by your past, Adam. What happened between your parents isn’t even a part of your story. That was their story and quite frankly, it was a tragic one for all of you involved. But that doesn’t have to define your future. I once heard someone say that almost every person has two parent-child relationships in their lives—the one we have as a child with our parents, which is the one we have much less control over. And the one we have, as an adult, asthe parent with our children, which we have so much more control over. You can think of this as your do-over and with a little help, some conscious effort and support, I think you’re going to knock fatherhood out of the park as well—or better—than you’ve met every other challenge in your life.”
I blinked, absorbing that.
Not long later, we turned around and walked back to the house, mostly in silence, stewing in our own thoughts. We spent a few more minutes chatting with the ladies and then said goodbye. Peter gave me a long hug, slapped my back and said, quietly. “You’ve got this, Adam.”
I only wished to feel as confident in myself as he seemed to be in me. But he had given me a lot to consider. And I intended to do just that.