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21
Jimmy
Going Home
Our daughter is three days old, andfinally, we get to take her home. Personally, I’m fucking psyched. This hospital gives me the heebie-jeebies. All the machines. The shiny floors. The echoing halls.
Every minute I spend here convinces me I’m developing claustrophobia. This hospital is my confined space.
Everyone is psyched to be going home… except Iz.
I’ve known her her whole life, so I know when she’s faking.
“You’re happy to be going home, right?”
“Sure.” And just like that, she lies right to my face. “I’ll be happy to be away from this noisy place.” That was a lie, too.
“Is that everything?” I zip up a duffel bag full of clothes for the girls that Kit thoughtfully dropped off yesterday.
Turning, I look around the room in search, but really, I already know I have everything. I simply want Iz to speak. To look. To engage with me.
She’s too damn quiet.
“Yup.” She stares right ahead and bites her pinky nail. “That’s everything.” She turns her head to look at Bean in the tiny hospital supplied crib. Sleeping soundly and swaddled up tight, she’s oblivious to the look her mother throws her way.
Something’s way off. Something’s wrong.
“Do you want to sit in the wheelchair? I’ll push you out.”
“I want to walk.”
“Oh…kay.”
And I want her to talk to me. I want her to get excited. I want her to smile. Today’s the first day of the rest of our lives, and yet…
I step past Iz and work on Bean’s swaddle. “I’ll just put her in the car seat, then.”
“Okay.”
Sighing quietly, I gently place my still tiny, still brand-new baby girl in her seemingly giant car seat and feed her arms through the straps. I’ve studied the shit out of this, so I make sure she’s in securely, then I fix her tiny little hat. I grab a soft blanket and place it over top and tuck her in, since it’s now December and it’s fucking cold outside.
I throw Iz’s bags – because somehow, we now have three – over my shoulder, and I pick the car seat up in my other hand. Walking to the door, I stop and look back at Iz. She looks like she’s about to bolt.
Without us.
“Bubs. Are you ready?”
Rooted to the spot, chewing her thumbnail, she simply stares into space with that pesky V folded between her brows. I don’t know why she’s upset. I don’t get it. I thought she’d have left fire trails on the floor in her rush to get out.
“Bubs?”
“Yeah. I’m ready.” But she’s not. She doesn’t move.
Everyone else left an hour ago. They’ve been here almost as long as Iz and I have. Everyone’s tired, so with mumbled plans to go home and crash, my brothers and sisters dragged ass and went home.
Now it’s just us. And I get the feeling Iz doesn’t want us. Walking back into the room and setting the car seat on the floor, I take her jaw in my hand and stroke her bottom lip with my thumb. “Talk to me, Bubs. Tell me what’s going on.”
“I’m okay.”
