What's Left of Us
Page 58
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“I was so scared. So scared that we were going to be saying goodbye to someone we’ve never even met.”
“Me too.”
I’m shaking and Parker pulls me tighter against him.
“It’s okay, babe. I got you. Let it out. Let it all out. They’re okay. Shh.”
“Hi, guys,” Wendy’s scratchy voice announces that she’s awake.
“Hi,” I say, stepping out of Parkers hold and closer to her. “Are you okay?”
She smiles. “I’ve been better. I’m so sorry.” She starts to cry. “The last thing I want to do is to put your child in harm’s way. I vowed to protect this baby. I’m so sorry!”
“We know you wouldn’t do anything to harm the baby. That accident wasn’t your fault,” Parker reassures.
“I can’t imagine what you two must have gone through.”
“What matters right now is that you both are okay,” I say, wrapping my arms around her.
The nurse comes in with the monitor. “Shall we take a peek at the little peanut?”
We nod and smile. Ron steps to the side, giving us more room.
One second I’m looking at a blank screen and the next I’m looking at a tiny human moving its hands and kicking its legs.
My heart stops. Literally, I can’t feel it beating. “Holy shit.” I’m in shock. I didn’t know what to expect. I’ve seen ultrasounds on TV, and pictures, but to see my baby—our baby—in person, and moving … it’s absolutely one of the most beautiful and rewarding things I’ve ever seen. Watching a stomach grow is one thing, but to actually see something you’ve created move is almost surreal.
“Wow,” I breathe, squeezing Parker and Wendy’s hands. The nurse moves about, taking measurements and explaining everything she’s doing.
“Mr. and Mrs. Jackson you have one strong and healthy baby.” My eyes mist over again. I watch the numbers bounce: 156, 158, 155, 160. Strong. That’s what our baby is.
“Pretty cool, isn’t it?” Wendy speaks, looking between us and the screen.
“Amazing,” we say together.
“I’ll print photos for you also,” the nurse offers.
“Thank you!”
“Did you want to find out the sex?”
“Can you?” I ask.
“Fourteen weeks is the earliest. Wendy’s almost fifteen, so we could take a look, if you’d like.”
“Yes,” Parker answers, swallowing.
I stare at our baby. I’ve been so anxious to know, but now I’m not so sure.
“Aundrea? You want to know, right?”
“I don’t think so.”
“You don’t?”
I shake my head.
“But you hate surprises,” he says.
I told him once that I hated them because, for me, they were never good. Parker’s made it a point to give me as many happy ones as he can, though, in an attempt to change my mind.
“I used to. But I’m making new memories. I want to be surprised.”
“Then let’s be surprised.” He grins at me and the nurse nods. Wendy tears up watching us.
The nurse finishes and leaves us alone. Wendy starts to drift in and out of sleep. I reach for Parker’s hand. I take our clasped hands and place them on top of the covers, over Wendy’s growing belly. Ron watches, but he remains quiet.
“No matter what our fears are, or what happens in the future, this”—I gesture to her stomach—“is what’s left of us, Parker. He or she is a part of us, and no amount of fear will ever take that away. I will always be around, living through our child. And so will you.”
A tear slides down his cheek. Leaning over Wendy’s sleeping form, he kisses my forehead, lingering longer than normal. With a loud sigh, he releases me, and I look into his sad yet hopeful eyes.
“This baby is what’s left of us,” he repeats.
“Yes.”
“What’s left of you.”
“And you. No matter what.”
He holds my gaze, tears falling freely from both our eyes.
“I hope he has your eyes.”
“I hope her eyes match your Caribbean blue.” We both laugh lightly.
My past shaped me into the person I am today. I’ve been given the gift of life: mine, Parker’s, and our child’s.
I’m grateful for everything, including my fear. Sometimes we need those reminders to be fully awake.
To really see life.
Six months later
I wake up to the sound of Aundrea’s phone vibrating on the nightstand. It gets louder only to stop and start back up again. Tossing and turning, I will the noise to stop.
The room goes quiet, aside from the sound of her peaceful breathing next to me. Squinting, I open my eyes. A little before 6:30. Fuck, it’s early.
Aundrea’s hand curls into my side, the other resting on my waist. I smile at the warmth I feel coming off of her. Letting out an exhausted sigh, I rub the sleep from my eyes and turn around to take in my beautiful wife, who is sleeping soundly. Rubbing her back, I remember the first time I held her in my arms: the night we met. I didn’t want her to go, but I was afraid if I opened my mouth something idiotic would come out. So, instead, I did the gentlemanly thing. I covered her up with a blanket and wrapped her in my arms. It was never a one-night stand to me.
The buzzing stars back up again, but this time it’s coming from my phone. Who the hell is calling this early?
“Me too.”
I’m shaking and Parker pulls me tighter against him.
“It’s okay, babe. I got you. Let it out. Let it all out. They’re okay. Shh.”
“Hi, guys,” Wendy’s scratchy voice announces that she’s awake.
“Hi,” I say, stepping out of Parkers hold and closer to her. “Are you okay?”
She smiles. “I’ve been better. I’m so sorry.” She starts to cry. “The last thing I want to do is to put your child in harm’s way. I vowed to protect this baby. I’m so sorry!”
“We know you wouldn’t do anything to harm the baby. That accident wasn’t your fault,” Parker reassures.
“I can’t imagine what you two must have gone through.”
“What matters right now is that you both are okay,” I say, wrapping my arms around her.
The nurse comes in with the monitor. “Shall we take a peek at the little peanut?”
We nod and smile. Ron steps to the side, giving us more room.
One second I’m looking at a blank screen and the next I’m looking at a tiny human moving its hands and kicking its legs.
My heart stops. Literally, I can’t feel it beating. “Holy shit.” I’m in shock. I didn’t know what to expect. I’ve seen ultrasounds on TV, and pictures, but to see my baby—our baby—in person, and moving … it’s absolutely one of the most beautiful and rewarding things I’ve ever seen. Watching a stomach grow is one thing, but to actually see something you’ve created move is almost surreal.
“Wow,” I breathe, squeezing Parker and Wendy’s hands. The nurse moves about, taking measurements and explaining everything she’s doing.
“Mr. and Mrs. Jackson you have one strong and healthy baby.” My eyes mist over again. I watch the numbers bounce: 156, 158, 155, 160. Strong. That’s what our baby is.
“Pretty cool, isn’t it?” Wendy speaks, looking between us and the screen.
“Amazing,” we say together.
“I’ll print photos for you also,” the nurse offers.
“Thank you!”
“Did you want to find out the sex?”
“Can you?” I ask.
“Fourteen weeks is the earliest. Wendy’s almost fifteen, so we could take a look, if you’d like.”
“Yes,” Parker answers, swallowing.
I stare at our baby. I’ve been so anxious to know, but now I’m not so sure.
“Aundrea? You want to know, right?”
“I don’t think so.”
“You don’t?”
I shake my head.
“But you hate surprises,” he says.
I told him once that I hated them because, for me, they were never good. Parker’s made it a point to give me as many happy ones as he can, though, in an attempt to change my mind.
“I used to. But I’m making new memories. I want to be surprised.”
“Then let’s be surprised.” He grins at me and the nurse nods. Wendy tears up watching us.
The nurse finishes and leaves us alone. Wendy starts to drift in and out of sleep. I reach for Parker’s hand. I take our clasped hands and place them on top of the covers, over Wendy’s growing belly. Ron watches, but he remains quiet.
“No matter what our fears are, or what happens in the future, this”—I gesture to her stomach—“is what’s left of us, Parker. He or she is a part of us, and no amount of fear will ever take that away. I will always be around, living through our child. And so will you.”
A tear slides down his cheek. Leaning over Wendy’s sleeping form, he kisses my forehead, lingering longer than normal. With a loud sigh, he releases me, and I look into his sad yet hopeful eyes.
“This baby is what’s left of us,” he repeats.
“Yes.”
“What’s left of you.”
“And you. No matter what.”
He holds my gaze, tears falling freely from both our eyes.
“I hope he has your eyes.”
“I hope her eyes match your Caribbean blue.” We both laugh lightly.
My past shaped me into the person I am today. I’ve been given the gift of life: mine, Parker’s, and our child’s.
I’m grateful for everything, including my fear. Sometimes we need those reminders to be fully awake.
To really see life.
Six months later
I wake up to the sound of Aundrea’s phone vibrating on the nightstand. It gets louder only to stop and start back up again. Tossing and turning, I will the noise to stop.
The room goes quiet, aside from the sound of her peaceful breathing next to me. Squinting, I open my eyes. A little before 6:30. Fuck, it’s early.
Aundrea’s hand curls into my side, the other resting on my waist. I smile at the warmth I feel coming off of her. Letting out an exhausted sigh, I rub the sleep from my eyes and turn around to take in my beautiful wife, who is sleeping soundly. Rubbing her back, I remember the first time I held her in my arms: the night we met. I didn’t want her to go, but I was afraid if I opened my mouth something idiotic would come out. So, instead, I did the gentlemanly thing. I covered her up with a blanket and wrapped her in my arms. It was never a one-night stand to me.
The buzzing stars back up again, but this time it’s coming from my phone. Who the hell is calling this early?
