Chapter 34
Cody
The truck’s halfway loaded for tomorrow. I’ve got decoys stacked, blind bags zipped, and the checklist in my head mostly checked when my phone rings.
Unknown number.
I almost let it go. Probably a telemarketer. But something in my gut says to answer it.
“Yeah?”
“Hi, is this Cody Jennings?” the woman asks.
“Yeah.”
“This is Michelle from Walter’s Pediatrics. You were listed as a trusted party on file, and I’m calling to check in on Karissa.”
My entire body stills. “Karissa? You mean Emma?”
“No, Karissa. Emma was fine, great actually, but Karissa filled out a routine postpartum depression screening, which is a standard practice, and her score was high. Concerningly high.”
I glance around me. Everything’s still but it feels like the Earth just tilted sideways.
“She didn’t say anything about that. She told me everything went fine,” I say.
The nurse’s voice softens. “That’s pretty common.
A lot of mothers try to downplay how hard things have been, especially if they’re high-functioning.
But based on her answers—I’m looking at the paper now—she checked feeling hopeless, like she’s failing, that it’s hard to connect, and thoughts of being better off not here. ”
My chest caves in.
“She said that?” I whisper.
“It doesn’t go into any further detail, but her score is high enough that we’re required to follow up. She hasn’t answered our phone calls since.”
I swallow the golf ball–sized lump in my throat. “Right.” I rub a hand through my hair and rest it on my neck. “I’ll have to talk to her first. Thanks for calling.”
“Course. Give us a call then, so we can figure out how to help.”
“Okay.” I hang up and just stand here. In the wide open. My tailgate still dropped, decoys half loaded. The sun is almost fully set now. I have a lot to do yet, but it doesn’t matter. It can wait.
I should’ve known something was wrong and that everything she’s been saying isn’t normal. I thought it was normal to cry as much as she does—being a new mom, being alone for a lot of it, being as tired as she is, irritable, unmotivated—I thought it came with the territory.
But, damn it, why didn’t she tell me about the appointment last week?
I shut my tailgate, hard, and get in my truck to drive down to her. She isn’t expecting me but I’m not giving her a choice. Not with this.
I hear Emma crying from just outside the door.
When I step inside, I don’t see anyone, but the crying is growing louder.
I take off my boots and head toward the bedroom where Emma is.
The bathroom door is half shut. I hear the shower running, and Emma is in the bouncy seat on the bedroom floor, just outside the door, her binky on the floor, and she’s kicking the hell out of the air like she just can’t take being in the dang thing.
“Alright, hey. Shh…” I say as I scoop her up. Her brown eyes stare at me, as I put the binky in her mouth and holler through the bathroom door.
“I’m here, Karissa. I have Emma and I’ll be out in the living room.”
“Okay,” she says, muted, not much emotion to it.
She comes out in pajamas, a towel on her head, her face splotchy and red, dark circles under her eyes. I’m on the couch, and Emma’s in the swing, asleep.
She sits beside me and gives me a small hug. “Thanks for coming.”
“Course,” I say finally. Then I wait. Wait for her to say it. Like the answer might be written in her face somewhere if I just look hard enough.
Her brow pulls. “What are you looking at me like that for?”
I bite the inside of my cheek, swallowing hard. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“What?”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” I repeat. “About the screening you filled out at the doctor.”
She goes still, looking down at her hands.
“How do you know about that?” she whispers. Tears threatening.
I sit up straighter, being mindful of how I speak. I don’t want to sound mad at her. “They called me. Said they’ve been calling but you haven’t answered. So they tried your emergency contact. Which—surprise—is me.”
She swallows. “They can’t make me do anything, and they don’t have the right to call.”
My body stiffens, and my voice is sharper than intended when I say, “When the mother of a child confirms they feel as though they’d be better off not here, they do have a right, and as your boyfriend, who loves you more than anything, I have a right to know too.”
She breaks, crying harder, swiping her hands over her eyes and dragging them down her cheeks. My heart aches. My breathing turns shallow. I know I have to watch how I talk—no matter how much it kills me that she didn’t tell me. I force myself to rein it in, to take it down a notch.
“Why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t you say something?”
“I have. And you tell me a bunch of things that I don’t—and won’t ever—believe are true!” she cries.
“Like what?”
“Like that you think I’m a good mom. But I’m not like the other moms. The ones who still smile on the hard days, see the bright side of everything and manage to embrace it all.
I don’t, Cody!” she cries. “I lose my cool, cry, feel like screaming at her half the time. My favorite time of the days are when she’s asleep.
When I can sit, do nothing, and stare out the window.
I get so irritated when she wakes up. No nap is ever long enough.
I’m still always left feeling unmotivated and like she is the biggest bother to me.
And the worst part…the worst part is that through finding my faith and trying to understand and pray more and read the Bible more, it’s worse! Everything’s getting worse!”
That hits me hard, so hard that I don’t even know what to say.
Her breath hitches and more tears fall. “Emma deserves better.”
I grab her and pull her against me so tight, wishing it could fix everything. Everything she feels and thinks…I wish I could make it all just disappear.
Her body shakes against me, trembling, crying. It strikes me in such a way that I start tearing up too. I wish I knew what to say, but I don’t. I don’t have a damn clue. The best thing I’ve got to offer right now is this hug.
“And all of these moms—” Her voice breaks.
“What moms?” I whisper, hand rubbing her back.
“All of them. Ella, Sierra, social media, church, all of them. They just have this glow, like having kids is what made them the best version of themselves, and I’m not. I’m the worst version of myself I’ve ever been.”
“No, you’re not.”
“Yes I am. I hate feeling like this, I hate how I look, I hate how I think. I hate it.”
I rub her back, taking a hard swallow. Searching for words, the right words to say, anything to help.
“I wish you would’ve told me it was this bad,” I mumble, gently pulling her off my chest just enough to see her face.
She’s a wreck. And honestly, I’m not much better. But I use the edge of my thumb to wipe the tears off her cheeks, then press a kiss to the side of her face.
“I didn’t want you to think I was too much,” she whispers. “Didn’t want you to stop loving me just because I’m…unstable.”
“Karissa.” I take a breath. “You’re never too much. And you’ve been unstable since the night I met you.”
She almost smiles, but I keep her eyes on mine.
“I’ve already loved you through some of the hardest moments of your life. This changes nothing.” I lean in, kissing her lips, which are wet and salty with her tears.
I glance toward Emma in the swing, still asleep. She has no idea her mom’s breaking just a few feet away. That kills me.
“I’m gonna help you, alright? Tomorrow, I’ll call the doctor. We’ll figure this out.”
My hand settles on her arm, my thumb moving in slow, steady circles. “And I’m still planning on marrying you one day. Okay?”
Her lips tremble, but she nods.