Chapter 31 Macys Things
~Caden~
I'd woken up this morning to a texts from pretty much every family member, but most importantly one from my Aunt Patty, telling me she'd arranged for a grocery delivery, and it was on the front porch. Perfect!
I quietly left the room so as not to wake Felicity and ran down to bring the bags inside so nothing spoiled. In the bags, I found the makings for pancakes, various cereals, milks, pre-made meals and sides—you name it, she sent it. My family was amazing.
Not long after, I found myself standing at the stove, groceries unpacked and the makings for breakfast unpacked and prepped, I was flipping the second batch of pancakes and bacon—Macy's favorite breakfast. I only bust out the giant cast iron griddle a few times a year, but it was worth every penny for mornings like this.
I love this thing and it makes the pancakes taste out of this world.
Well, that, and my super-secret recipe. The smell of breakfast permeated the kitchen, and probably the whole house by now.
This was morning comfort food at its finest.
"More syrup and strawberries, please," Macy said, holding up her plate. She looked better this morning—she had a little pink back in her cheeks, and she seemed more like herself.
"How's your arm feeling?" I asked, adding another pancake to her stack. I placed the bowl of sliced strawberries and the bottle of maple syrup in front of my daughter.
Today, she could have as much as she wanted—we'd all just have to plan for a nap. A carb-and sugar-loaded breakfast like this was definitely going to knock us into a food coma sometime in the next two hours.
"Good. It doesn't hurt at all anymore. Can we still go get my stuff today?"
Felicity and I exchanged glances. We'd planned to retrieve Macy's belongings this morning, but after last night's nightmare, I wasn't sure if it was the right timing.
"We don't have to rush it," Felicity said, gently. "We could wait a few more days if you want."
"No, I want to get my things. Especially my art supplies and my books. I miss them."
"Okay," I said. "Or we could just buy you all new supplies for now."
Macy paused, looked down, and very quietly said, "but I need Lamby too."
"Oooooooh," responded Felicity. Lamby is Macy's stuffed animal.
She has loved it and slept with it since she was a baby.
I'd thought maybe by now she had outgrown it, but she must still sleep with it.
If ever there was a time for your emotional-support-stuffie, now was it.
Felicity reached over and placed her hand on Macy's back, smiling softly at her.
"Okay honey, we'll go get your stuff today. Don't worry," I responded.
"Okay. Thanks, Daddy."
"But if you change your mind at any point, we leave. Deal?"
"Deal."
An hour later, we were getting in the car,
~Felicity~
As we arrived, we rang the doorbell and waited for Brad to come to the door.
The door swung open silently with Brad standing there, clearly at a loss. We all just stared at each other, no one really knowing what to say or do first.
Brad broke the silence when he cleared his throat and said, "Ahem, Macy. I—" then he shuffled his feet, hands settling on his hips. "I mean, how are you?" He looked pointedly at Macy's cast.
"I'm okay." Macy didn't seem to know what to say in response. She leaned her head into her dad.
"Yeah, okay." Brad ushered us in. "I'll just hang down here while you guys do what you need to do. I don't want to get in the way.
We walked into the house, the silence was almost deafening.
The front door led us to the stairs. Climbing to Macy's room, I looked around, amazed at the gaudiness of the house.
There was gold painted trim on columns, a naked African style bust when you reached the top of the steps, ornate pieces all along the hallway.
It was like a museum rather than a home.
I felt uncomfortable here. There was definitely something wrong about this place. "Macy, why don't you show us what you want to take," I said, placing my hand lightly on her shoulder.
Macy's bedroom was its own type of museum.
Well decorated, almost like a guest room.
No pictures on the walls. Everything curated specifically to almost be on display.
There were a few toys strategically positioned, not a piece of clothing anywhere in sight.
It lacked the lived-in feeling of a child's real space.
"Lamby!" Macy rushed to her bed and grabbed the worn stuffed sheep out from under her pillows, clutching it to her chest. "I missed you so much."
Watching her reunite with this ugly, well-worn-stuffed animal made my throat tight.
"What else do you want, sweetheart?" Caden asked, pulling out the duffel bags we'd brought.
As Macy pointed out the things she wanted to come home with her, I found myself collecting the items from her closet. In my hands was an assortment of items when I looked up and saw myself in the full-length mirror on the back of her closet door.
I caught my reflection and, just as suddenly, saw hers in my mind.
Macy—standing in this same spot, twirling, maybe modeling that purse the way I never got to.
I felt a pang in my chest and my stomach twisted at the thoughts of the purse.
I'd never even had the chance to touch it or hold it.
I hadn't been able to model it. I don't blame her, but I do have a little resentment sitting there under the surface.
I couldn't even make sense of the emotions churning inside of me.
I looked away, trying to put the visual out of my head.
It didn't matter anymore—the purse was gone now, donated to provide for women who needed the proceeds more than I did.
I was glad it was gone. I was proud that we'd done the right thing, that it had gone to a good purpose.
But God help me, I still wanted that fucking purse.
Even knowing it had been Macy's, even knowing I wouldn't actually want that specific purse anymore—I still felt that hollow ache of want.
What was wrong with me? Was I selfish?
Here we were, so soon after Macy's trauma, sitting in her room and gathering her belongings, where she has to say goodbye to a major part of her life, and part of me was still thinking about that damned purse.
I told Caden last night that I was afraid I would get lost in all of this, that I was afraid we would fall apart.
I can't help but feel like those fears are coming true and I don't know how to articulate it.
A tear sprung to my eye, but I looked away, afraid Caden might see.
I stopped myself though—maybe I need Caden to see.
Maybe he needs to see that I was struggling still, that this whole situation was hard for me in ways I didn't know how to explain.
Part of our issues, I know, were exacerbated by me not communicating—expecting him to change without telling him that I wanted him to change.
"Felicity?" Caden's voice was gentle. "You okay?"
I turned around, still holding Macy's clothes. "Yeah, just... taking it all in, I guess."
But I wasn't okay. Why can't I bring myself to tell him?
Looking around this sterile room that was supposed to be Macy's space, I felt overwhelmed by everything we were dealing with.
Macy's trauma, our marriage, becoming full-time parents overnight, and somehow, underneath it all, my own selfish wants that I couldn't seem to shake.
Honestly, I wish my mom were still with me.
I feel like I could talk to her, and she would know what to do.
"Can we get my art supplies too?" Macy asked, pointing to a desk in the corner. "They're in the bottom drawer."
Caden walked over and pulled out a sketch pad, some colored pencils, and markers. "This it?"
"Yeah—it's not a lot but I love drawing. Mom said when I go through that sketchpad she'd see if she could get me another."
The reminder of Jessica hit me like a punch. Focus—just get this done and you can think these things through when we get home.
"That's great, honey, maybe with the move we can get you some more." I said, kneeling down next to the desk. "We can set up a really nice art station in your room at home."
"Really?"
"Really."
Macy's face lit up. "That would be so cool!"
As we continued packing, I found myself watching Caden with Macy.
He was so patient, asking her about each item, making sure she felt heard about what mattered to her.
This was the man I'd fallen in love with—attentive, caring, present.
It made me wonder why it had taken a crisis to bring this version of him back.
And then it made me aggravated. At him. At myself.
At the situation. Tamp it down, Felicity.
Let's not lose it in front of everyone, yeah?
"I think that's everything," Macy said after we'd filled two large duffel bags and a box with her books.
"What about your school stuff?" I asked. "Notebooks, backpack?"
"Oh yeah!" She ran to her closet and pulled out a purple backpack. "I'll need this for when I go back to school."
Well that felt a bit weird. We'd never had her for school drop off before. Could that really be? Damn, that can't be right. But as I thought back, it was just weekends and vacations, so dropoff at school really hadn't been a thing.
What time is drop off? Am I supposed to make her lunch?
Does she need anything special? I don't even know her teachers!
Internally, my wheels started to spin. I had this crushing feeling in my stomach—Am I even ready for something like this?
This is bigger than we'd experienced with Macy before.
Sure, we went to events and supported her for things, but this is routine stuff that I have absolutely no idea how to do.
I took a breath. Reminded myself that there was a time and a place to have my freak out and that was not here.