I winced. “Yeah, I’m not sure who I was trying to be with that hair.”
“Brad Pitt in Fight Club?” she suggested.
“Probably.”
“Nate was always so vain about his hair.” My mother, who had followed us into the room, continued to stare at Paisley in my arms and fidget. “It used to take him forever to get ready for school.”
“Thanks, Mom.”
Emme laughed. “Really?”
“Yes.” My mother nodded and smiled. “It had to be just right or he’d be in a bad mood all day.”
“Okay. That’s enough.” Part of me was glad my mother was doing well enough to keep the mood light, even if she was poking fun at me. Another part was surprised she even remembered any of my moods, bad or otherwise, or what had caused them. She had always seemed so focused on herself. Then again, I’d been a typical surly, sullen teenager in those days. I probably hadn’t noticed that much about what was going on around me either.
“That’s hilarious,” Emme said, catching my eye and grinning delightedly.
“Can I get either of you something to drink?” my mother asked.
“No, thank you.” Emme smiled and shook her head.
“I’ll take a cup of coffee if you’ve got it,” I said. “But don’t go to any trouble.”
“It’s no trouble to make some. I’ll be right back.” She gave Paisley another lingering stare before heading into the kitchen.
“Your mom wants to hold Paisley so badly,” Emme whispered. “I can tell.”
“Me too. But I’m not playing her game about the germs. I don’t want to argue with her, and I don’t need to hear all her statistics about how dirty public places are or how easily viruses are spread.”
“Why not let her wear the gloves if it will make her feel better?”
“Because it’s ridiculous. She doesn’t need to wear gloves in the house. I don’t want to encourage that kind of behavior. Her therapist told her she had to stop doing it.”
“I just feel so bad for her. It must be terrible to be so afraid all the time. So afraid that you can’t even hold your own granddaughter. Can’t you let her do it this once?”
“No. Look, I feel bad for her too. And I used to give in to her all the time. When we ran out of milk and she wouldn’t go to the store to get it because the dairy aisle is too far from the store exit, I went and got the milk. When she wanted to attend my high school graduation wearing gloves and a surgical mask because there weren’t any windows in the auditorium so the air had to be full of contaminants, I said okay. When she was too scared to fly to North Carolina to see me graduate from college because she might have a panic attack on the plane, I told her it was fine. But I made a conscious decision a couple years ago to stop doing that. It wasn’t helping her.” I was probably being too hard on Emme, maybe even on my mother, but I’d been dealing with this for a long time, and I couldn’t be in this house without bad memories knocking at my psyche.
Emme put a hand on my arm. “You’re right. I’m sorry. It’s good that you can be strong for her sake and not give in.”
“I’m sorry too. I didn’t mean to snap at you.” I took a deep breath and exhaled. “This house comes with a lot of baggage for me. I don’t always deal with it well.”
She snuck a quick kiss on the lips. “You’re doing great. And maybe your mom eventually won’t be able to resist holding Paisley at some point while we’re here. She’s being so good right now, isn’t she?”
“She is.” I kissed the top of my daughter’s head.
“And if not, there’s always the next time.” She turned back to the wall with all the pictures on it and pointed at one of Adam, the last one taken. “This is your brother?”
“Yes.” As always when I looked at that picture, something in my chest caved. Nothing about the grin on his face or the gleam in his eye or the wayward lock of hair above his forehead indicated he had less than a year to live.
“Adorable.” She glanced over at some of my earlier photos. “You guys looked a lot alike.”
“Yes.”
“And you know what?” She moved down the row of Adam’s pictures, then went over to the fireplace and studied a couple of the baby pictures on the white-painted mantel. “I can totally see the family resemblance in Paisley.”
My mother entered the room carrying a tray with two steaming cups on it as well as a small sugar bowl and a carton of half-and-half. “I brought you some too, dear. In case you wanted a little warm-up.” She smiled at Emme and set the tray on the table in front of the burgundy sofa.
“Thank you. Actually, it smells delicious. I think I will have a cup.” Emme went over to the sofa and sat down. “I was just saying to Nate that Paisley really resembles his side of the family.”
My mother nodded. “I think so too. Nate had that same kind of hair when he was a baby. And her eyes are exactly like his.”
Some of the tension in me began to ease. And then.
“But Nate, really you need to get a complete medical history from the mother’s side of the family. You never know what conditions she could be predisposed to.” My mother’s eyes grew wide. “Cystic fibrosis, hemophilia, Huntington’s, Parkinson’s, Sickle Cell Disease, certain kinds of cancer—”
“Mom! Stop it! Paisley does not have any of those things!” I yelled.
“But you can’t be too careful, Nate!” Her hands were working and working and working. “If we had known a little sooner that Adam might have been predisposed—”
“Mom.” Fury was boiling in my veins like molten lava, but I tried to keep my temper in check. “Stop. Talking.”
“I’m only trying to spare you what we went through! What if we’d been aware? I always think about that. What if we could have done something? What if there was an early treatment we missed out on because we didn’t know any better?”
But I was done. Striding through the front hall, I threw the diaper bag over my shoulder and marched up the stairs. “I have to change her.”
I took her into my old room, which looked very different now that it was a guest room—not that my mother had very many guests. The walls were now a butter yellow instead of dark blue, and the old gray carpet had been removed, the oak flooring underneath refurbished. My twin bed was still there, as were my desk and dresser, but the blackout shades were gone, replaced by curtains with a floral pattern.
I stared at the bed, remembering so many nights with my little brother asleep at my feet. He’d always wanted me to tell ghost stories, but then he’d get too scared to go back to his own bed—at least, that’s the reason he gave at the time. But maybe he just wanted to be near me. I’d complained to my mother about it, whining about how it was my room and I didn’t want to share it. Then after he was gone, there wasn’t anything I wouldn’t have given to have him back at the foot of my bed.
I lay Paisley on the bed’s new daisy-patterned quilt, then pulled the changing pad from the diaper bag and slipped it beneath her. She didn’t smell messy, but I’d learned that anything was possible during the diaper change.
Fuming silently, I went through the motions scarcely aware of what I was doing. How could my mother have said those things to me? How could she suggest that I might lose Paisley the way we lost Adam? Didn’t she know how that loss haunted me still? Didn’t she realize how it had affected me? Or see the things I had sacrificed in order to protect myself from that kind of suffering? Here she was throwing my fears in my face, reminding me how dangerous it was to love something as vulnerable as a child. My stomach churned.
Once Paisley was dressed again, I picked her up and held her close to my chest, tucking her head beneath my chin. “I’ll never let anything happen to you,” I promised her quietly. “Never.”
But as soon as I uttered the words, I recognized their emptiness. How could I make that promise? What power did I have to protect her? I was no superhero. I was just a guy whose condom had failed. There was no honor or nobility in my journey to fatherhood. I hadn’t even wanted it. What if I deserved to be punished for that? What if losing her was my life sentence?
“Brad Pitt in Fight Club?” she suggested.
“Probably.”
“Nate was always so vain about his hair.” My mother, who had followed us into the room, continued to stare at Paisley in my arms and fidget. “It used to take him forever to get ready for school.”
“Thanks, Mom.”
Emme laughed. “Really?”
“Yes.” My mother nodded and smiled. “It had to be just right or he’d be in a bad mood all day.”
“Okay. That’s enough.” Part of me was glad my mother was doing well enough to keep the mood light, even if she was poking fun at me. Another part was surprised she even remembered any of my moods, bad or otherwise, or what had caused them. She had always seemed so focused on herself. Then again, I’d been a typical surly, sullen teenager in those days. I probably hadn’t noticed that much about what was going on around me either.
“That’s hilarious,” Emme said, catching my eye and grinning delightedly.
“Can I get either of you something to drink?” my mother asked.
“No, thank you.” Emme smiled and shook her head.
“I’ll take a cup of coffee if you’ve got it,” I said. “But don’t go to any trouble.”
“It’s no trouble to make some. I’ll be right back.” She gave Paisley another lingering stare before heading into the kitchen.
“Your mom wants to hold Paisley so badly,” Emme whispered. “I can tell.”
“Me too. But I’m not playing her game about the germs. I don’t want to argue with her, and I don’t need to hear all her statistics about how dirty public places are or how easily viruses are spread.”
“Why not let her wear the gloves if it will make her feel better?”
“Because it’s ridiculous. She doesn’t need to wear gloves in the house. I don’t want to encourage that kind of behavior. Her therapist told her she had to stop doing it.”
“I just feel so bad for her. It must be terrible to be so afraid all the time. So afraid that you can’t even hold your own granddaughter. Can’t you let her do it this once?”
“No. Look, I feel bad for her too. And I used to give in to her all the time. When we ran out of milk and she wouldn’t go to the store to get it because the dairy aisle is too far from the store exit, I went and got the milk. When she wanted to attend my high school graduation wearing gloves and a surgical mask because there weren’t any windows in the auditorium so the air had to be full of contaminants, I said okay. When she was too scared to fly to North Carolina to see me graduate from college because she might have a panic attack on the plane, I told her it was fine. But I made a conscious decision a couple years ago to stop doing that. It wasn’t helping her.” I was probably being too hard on Emme, maybe even on my mother, but I’d been dealing with this for a long time, and I couldn’t be in this house without bad memories knocking at my psyche.
Emme put a hand on my arm. “You’re right. I’m sorry. It’s good that you can be strong for her sake and not give in.”
“I’m sorry too. I didn’t mean to snap at you.” I took a deep breath and exhaled. “This house comes with a lot of baggage for me. I don’t always deal with it well.”
She snuck a quick kiss on the lips. “You’re doing great. And maybe your mom eventually won’t be able to resist holding Paisley at some point while we’re here. She’s being so good right now, isn’t she?”
“She is.” I kissed the top of my daughter’s head.
“And if not, there’s always the next time.” She turned back to the wall with all the pictures on it and pointed at one of Adam, the last one taken. “This is your brother?”
“Yes.” As always when I looked at that picture, something in my chest caved. Nothing about the grin on his face or the gleam in his eye or the wayward lock of hair above his forehead indicated he had less than a year to live.
“Adorable.” She glanced over at some of my earlier photos. “You guys looked a lot alike.”
“Yes.”
“And you know what?” She moved down the row of Adam’s pictures, then went over to the fireplace and studied a couple of the baby pictures on the white-painted mantel. “I can totally see the family resemblance in Paisley.”
My mother entered the room carrying a tray with two steaming cups on it as well as a small sugar bowl and a carton of half-and-half. “I brought you some too, dear. In case you wanted a little warm-up.” She smiled at Emme and set the tray on the table in front of the burgundy sofa.
“Thank you. Actually, it smells delicious. I think I will have a cup.” Emme went over to the sofa and sat down. “I was just saying to Nate that Paisley really resembles his side of the family.”
My mother nodded. “I think so too. Nate had that same kind of hair when he was a baby. And her eyes are exactly like his.”
Some of the tension in me began to ease. And then.
“But Nate, really you need to get a complete medical history from the mother’s side of the family. You never know what conditions she could be predisposed to.” My mother’s eyes grew wide. “Cystic fibrosis, hemophilia, Huntington’s, Parkinson’s, Sickle Cell Disease, certain kinds of cancer—”
“Mom! Stop it! Paisley does not have any of those things!” I yelled.
“But you can’t be too careful, Nate!” Her hands were working and working and working. “If we had known a little sooner that Adam might have been predisposed—”
“Mom.” Fury was boiling in my veins like molten lava, but I tried to keep my temper in check. “Stop. Talking.”
“I’m only trying to spare you what we went through! What if we’d been aware? I always think about that. What if we could have done something? What if there was an early treatment we missed out on because we didn’t know any better?”
But I was done. Striding through the front hall, I threw the diaper bag over my shoulder and marched up the stairs. “I have to change her.”
I took her into my old room, which looked very different now that it was a guest room—not that my mother had very many guests. The walls were now a butter yellow instead of dark blue, and the old gray carpet had been removed, the oak flooring underneath refurbished. My twin bed was still there, as were my desk and dresser, but the blackout shades were gone, replaced by curtains with a floral pattern.
I stared at the bed, remembering so many nights with my little brother asleep at my feet. He’d always wanted me to tell ghost stories, but then he’d get too scared to go back to his own bed—at least, that’s the reason he gave at the time. But maybe he just wanted to be near me. I’d complained to my mother about it, whining about how it was my room and I didn’t want to share it. Then after he was gone, there wasn’t anything I wouldn’t have given to have him back at the foot of my bed.
I lay Paisley on the bed’s new daisy-patterned quilt, then pulled the changing pad from the diaper bag and slipped it beneath her. She didn’t smell messy, but I’d learned that anything was possible during the diaper change.
Fuming silently, I went through the motions scarcely aware of what I was doing. How could my mother have said those things to me? How could she suggest that I might lose Paisley the way we lost Adam? Didn’t she know how that loss haunted me still? Didn’t she realize how it had affected me? Or see the things I had sacrificed in order to protect myself from that kind of suffering? Here she was throwing my fears in my face, reminding me how dangerous it was to love something as vulnerable as a child. My stomach churned.
Once Paisley was dressed again, I picked her up and held her close to my chest, tucking her head beneath my chin. “I’ll never let anything happen to you,” I promised her quietly. “Never.”
But as soon as I uttered the words, I recognized their emptiness. How could I make that promise? What power did I have to protect her? I was no superhero. I was just a guy whose condom had failed. There was no honor or nobility in my journey to fatherhood. I hadn’t even wanted it. What if I deserved to be punished for that? What if losing her was my life sentence?
