“We?” I say in a playfully incredulous tone. “I believeIdid all the heavy lifting there.”
“Yeah, but we made her,” he argues, wiping away a wayward tear. “We make pretty cute babies.”
I chuckle. “Yeah. We do.”
“Love you, baby,” he says to me.
“Love you, too.” Sophia unlatches from me, and her whole body sags against mine. We watch her for a minute, her breathing growing even and placid, until she scrunches her face. Her entire—almost bald—head turns bright red right at the same time a deep bubbly gurgle emits from her bottom.
“You’re up, Daddy,” I inform James.
He proudly takes Sophia from me and does a bouncy dance as he walks her back to her bassinet. The room fills with cries as James undoes her from her tight swaddle, and he manages to balance tossing out her dirty diaper and swapping it out for a clean one like a pro.
“Daddy’s so sorry for wiping you with a cold baby wipe,” he coos, picking her back up and rocking her side to side. She protests and James adds a bounce to his rocking. “I promise we’re going to get you one of those fancy wipe warmers the second we get home.”
He looks at her with awe, and the happiness is lifting off him like a rose-scented cloud. And I wonder if he’s even thought about our first loss. It looks as if he’s covered in bliss, completely unaware of the grief still hovering over me like a dark haze.
He holds Sophia up, presenting her to me like a trophy, and he beams with pride. The last thing I want to do is burst his tight bubble of happiness. So instead of asking him if he too thinks about our babies meeting each other in some Elysium meant for babies passing through on their way to and from mortal existence, I smile back at him.
“Tommy said to make sure we take all the diapers they give us,” he informs me with a mischievous grin, nodding his head toward the stash we’ve collected.
“You want to steal from the hospital?”
He scoffs. “As if they aren’t already taking thousands from us by just being here.”
I laugh as he nuzzles his nose into Sophia’s fuzzy hair, and I try to convince myself whatever cloud hanging over my head is all my imagination. I conjured it, swirling it into reality from nothing when I should be focusing on being present.
Those two are my entire world. They’re all I could ever want or need. But why does it feel like I’m leaving something behind?
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
James
NOW
The last timeI was in Sea-Tac, I didn’t pack as lightly. A couple carry-ons and an oversized suitcase, plus a neck pillow. This time around, it’s a little different. I didn’t know what to bring or how long I was going to stay. Whether or not my arrival would even be welcomed.
I’d been sitting at home, spending my week in an empty house, and it was driving me up the wall. Especially after my talk with Leo. His advice might’ve been a little misguided and brash, but he had a point. I couldn’t ignore it. What good would it do, sitting at home while hoping and wishing Kendall would come back home at some point? I couldn’t just wait this out like it’ll all fix itself eventually. Luckily, I was able to quickly get some time off from work. I made arrangements with Diane and handed off any urgent matters to her, letting her know it would be just a few days. And next thing I know, I’m taking a rideshare to the airport with an itchy layer of anxiety crawling over my skin.
I hoist my duffel bag over my shoulder and make my way to the rideshare line to my waiting ride. I consider calling Kendall to let her know I’m here, even something as simple as a text message, just so I don’t catch her too off guard, but…I’m scared. I’m scared she’ll turn me away, tell me to go back. Get angry atme, yell at me, call me selfish and inconsiderate andcareless. And maybe this is all about me, this gesture of forcing myself into a space she created in an attempt to get away from me. But I can’t just wait out the next few weeks until she decides whether or not our marriage is over. I should have a say. I should be there to let her know I’m willing to fight for her.
The harsh slam of the trunk jolts me back. The drive to Sylvia and Tommy’s was a blur, my mind full of my last memories down these roads. Streets that look lived-in with parked cars and bustling neighbors. I think the trunk is closed by the driver with a little more force than needed after I sit in the back seat for longer than deemed appropriate, and I finally find the conviction to step out of the car. I’m here to save my marriage. I should do it with more certainty, not with this wishy-washy level of diffidence.
I thank the driver, at least I hope I do. I hear the car drive off when I turn on the sidewalk and up the walkway. I reach into my pocket for my phone, a little diversion to tip my driver through the app while I play a short stalling game. I know I’ll forget anyway, so this is good. A moment to gather my thoughts, I guess. I knock on the door, out of ways to procrastinate the inevitable. I’m swiping away at my phone screen, distracting myself and quite possibly stalling even more, when the door swings open.
“James,” Tommy says, his voice equal parts shocked and confused.
I slip my phone back into my pocket, suddenly feeling sheepish. I’ve come to his house, unannounced, dead center in the shambles of my marriage, with nothing more than my duffel bag and a strained greeting. “Hey.”
“What are you doing here?” The confusion ebbs away into concern, and he waves his hand for me to step inside. The whydoesn’t matter at this point. I’m here, obviously in a desolate state. “Come in. Come in.”
I follow his lead, that contemptible feeling still lingering over me like a menacing gray cloud as I walk over the threshold. The gloom follows as we settle in his living room.
“Syl and Kendall just took the girls out to get some things for dinner.” There’s evidence that the girls have been playing inside for most of the day. Markers strewn over the rug, drawings of what look like sea lions and lizards stacked in a messy pile, and Sophia’s tablet with the bright pink rubbery case. I’m sure the trip to the store is just as much an escape as it is an errand.
I nod. The elephant in the room doesn’t feel large or intrusive. Instead, it feels…coerced. Like it’s there because it has no choice but to be. I dragged it in behind me as if it were an extra carry-on, and it’s just sitting in the corner, on time out while it thinks about what it’s done.
“Sorry to show up like this,” I start saying. I have my elbows perched on my knees while I sit on the couch, one hand fisted in the other, and I can’t find it in me to look at him. “I just…I don’t really know why I came here.”
