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Zak will have to prove himself. He will have to show me that he cares, that he can commit. It’s not just myself I’m looking out for now, I think, looking at my stomach. I need to make sure that these guys have a stable home life. I would love to give them the upbringing that neither Zak or I had, a stable mom and dad, in love and always around. But, if being with Zak means ups and downs and heartbreak, then maybe the little ones and I would be better off without him.
While I am in the hospital, time passes both quickly and slowly. Every day I have concerns for my children, and every day I pray that they will remain safe in my belly and continue to grow strong and healthy.
Dad visits often but our relationship is strained, I can tell he feels guilty for what he did and blames the fall on that, no matter how many times I reassure him it’s okay. Mel visits sometimes with him, and I do my best not to snap at her. We’ve taken a few steps back in our relationship after what she said to me, and I haven’t yet been able to forgive her.
Zak is present at all times, day and night. Whenever visiting hours allow he is by my side. He comforts me by sitting with me while I cry, reading to me, and watching trashy television with me at the same time. My hand is in his grasp. He chips away at my heart, my resolve to guard my feelings this time weakens by the day.
Zak
Everything’s changed. Finding out Izzie is pregnant is one thing, but finding out I’m going to be the father to three beautiful babies is something else entirely.
At first, this was all very hard to handle. I didn’t know what to think. I admit, to begin with, I was scared. Hell, I was freaking petrified. Still am, really. But between now and then, I’ve realized that it's okay to be scared. It doesn’t mean I need to run away.
I was ready to tell Izzie that I was all in with this right before the accident. When I returned from chatting with Dave I’d planned to have a serious chat with her about us trying this for real. I was in love with her, I was no longer denying it to myself and I felt ready to admit it to her.
And that’s when my whole world felt like it was torn apart, and not for the first time this summer. Seeing her in that hospital bed, looking so fragile and small, broke me and then rebuilt me. It was like a switch flipped inside me. I realized what my role was, my purpose, my duty. I was here to protect her and our children. I could do that, and I needed to do that.
That first day, witnessing Izzie, the woman I loved, enveloped in a sterile hospital bed, sent waves of uncertainty through me. As a man who was always particular about being in control, the sight was jarring and left me with an uncomfortable puddle of worry in my gut.
In those bleak moments, she tried her best to reassure me with a weak smile, her lips twitching with waning strength. But the fear that was brimming in her eyes gave her away. And it thrust a chilling mirror to my own frantic worry.
Walking out of the hospital, a shroud of dread still hangs over me. It’ss the kind of weight that makes every step feel heavy, every corner filled with foreboding.
Each day echoes this feeling. A monotonous blur of antiseptic smells, endless charts, grim medical terms, and the constant unease. I keep my head high for Izzie's sake, strive for a hint of optimism within the white stark walls of the hospital, hoping it will somehow alleviate the suffocating tension in the air.
The doctors are optimistic but I can tell she is still in pain. She is stoic and strong even in this vulnerable state.
In the midst of this, the stunning reality of soon becoming a father to triplets keeps creeping upon me. I am soon going to be more than Zak Walters, the affluent bachelor and serial dater. A sense of responsibility, of anticipation and tension, begins to loom in my soul.
In between hospital visits and wrestling with the myriad of emotions, I have been desperately seeking an outlet. The empty upstairs room in the beach house with a panoramic view of Hoola Bay offers the perfect distraction. An idle space that promises a purpose. For some reason Izzie and I hadn’t worked on it all summer. I couldn’t decide on its purpose, I considered a home office or a dressing room. But now I know, now the purpose seems obvious. I wonder for a moment if it was some sort of fate that I hadn’t committed the room to something else.
Eager to give my anxious energy a constructive canvas, I dive into creating what is to be a sanctuary for our little ones. My mind is soon absorbed in color samples, fabric swatches, ensuring each piece that is chosen, from the dainty lace curtains to the plush flooring, resonates with the warmth and love our babies deserve.
I visit the mother and baby shop outside of Izzie’s visiting hours and a woman hits on me.
Her ample bosom is impossible to ignore as she languidly wheels her stroller toward me.
Yet, even with this provocation, my heart remains unmoved. This is a defining moment. A turning point of sorts in my life. I’m just not interested in her advances, I recoil at them.
Even her ostentatious low bend, baring an excessive view of her cleavage, doesn't sway me. “Hey there, need any help?” she coos, her lashes heaving in a flirtatious blink. I'm used to these sorts of advances. With age, I’ve noticed an escalating boldness in women. Either they find my receding baseball career irresistible or I have simply matured into a form they find irresistible.
Still, I courteously decline her offer and focus on my search for gender-neutral nursery accessories. I’m out of my comfort zone – both in the store with the unending pink and blue and with a coquettish mother towering over me. My shopping, therefore, is hasty and lackluster, resulting in some arbitrary stuffed door stopper animals and a simple cushion.
“Hey!” she persists, her voice slightly shrill. “We’re just about to enjoy some tea," she croons, twirling her hair around her finger. I follow her gaze, expecting an accomplice but to my surprise, alarm even, she implies the newborn dozing in the stroller.“Care to join?”
I decide on brutal honesty. “Look, I’m sure you’re a delight but I happen to have a girlfriend. One who is currently carrying not one, not two, but three of my children. I'd greatly appreciate it if you could let me be.” I had not intended to sound so harsh, but the damage is done. A scowl, a huff and a muttered insult later, she’s gone.
I register the items I picked, and then it hits me, I not only have a girlfriend, but soon we are going to be parents. Not to one but three little ones. This was the first time I spoke those words out loud and the first refusal I made to another woman's advances. Maybe, I think, I could pull this off. Maybe I won’t fuck this up. The thought of her alone, pregnant, and confined to a hospital bed makes my chest ache.
I never set foot in that shop again, deciding that Izzie’s tastes will be best for the softer furnishings. She will probably derive pleasure from such an activity. The weeks roll on in a rhythm of hospital visits, restoring Izzie’s faith in me and preparing a nursery. The pattern provides me with a structure, a comfort of sorts, even if it spells the end of my sleep.
Then there are the three little cribs, pure white, immaculate, each carefully arranged. They’re a stark reminder of the upcoming joy, the miracle of life, soon to grace them with their presence.
In the midst of this project, as the room transforms, there is another notable encounter. An unexpected rendezvous with Izzie’s father and my best friend, Dave. Well, probably my former best friend now. Izzie has divided the visiting hours up between us so that there would never be an overlap, not while things were still raw, not while the faded bruises of my black eye could still be seen. Both of us standing awkwardly in the glaring hospital corridors. Once good friends, the tension between us is palpable in the silence. We exchange curt nods, a silent agreement to keep the peace, at least within the sterile hospital environment.
Rumblings of past disagreements surface with a silent ferocity. But for now, we both keep our emotions at bay, driven by our concern for Izzie. The air between us is thick, the strained civility keeping a lid on the brewing storm. The animosity, however, is palpable, lurking under the surface of cordiality.
At last, when my labor of love is finally complete, standing in the midst of the finished nursery, warm colors seeping through the open windows, I feel a new wave of hope washing over me. Pearls of anticipated laughter echo in the peaceful silence that drapes the room.
