Chương 13
“My body has terrible timing.”
“Eat three crackers and I’ll stop.”
“You won’t.”
“Correct.”
I ate one.
She stared at me.
I ate another.
She waited.
“Extortion.”
“Nutrition.”
The third cracker tasted like dust.
I washed it down with water.
Maya leaned back.
“You don’t have to decide what your mother is to you tonight.”
“That sounds like therapy.”
“I stole it from television.”
“Better.”
“You can hate what she did without solving your entire childhood.”
I looked at her.
“That also sounds like therapy.”
“That one was a podcast.”
I laughed despite myself.
Then the laugh caught in my throat.
“She asked me to trust her with my daughter.”
Maya’s face changed.
“I know.”
“I almost did.”
“You didn’t.”
“Because Jonathan said I should name someone younger as primary guardian.”
“Jonathan accidentally saved my child from my family with actuarial logic.”
“That’s going on his Christmas card.”
I stared at the soup.
“I put you first.”
Maya froze.
“What?”
“In the guardian documents.”
Her mouth opened.
Then closed.
“You never told me.”
“I was going to.”
“When?”
“Before she went to college.”
“Claire.”
“I was busy.”
“Apparently.”
She looked furious and terrified in equal measure.
“I don’t know if I can do that.”
“You can.”
“You don’t get to decide that for me.”
I flinched.
She immediately looked guilty.
“No.”
I shook my head.
“You’re right.”
“I mean, I would.”
“I know.”
“I think.”
“I know.”
“I’d obviously take her.”
My eyes burned.
Maya looked toward the door and wiped beneath one eye with the heel of her hand.
“But I’m mad you wrote my name down before asking.”
“That seems fair.”
“I’m serious.”
“So am I.”
She looked back at me.
“Ask me now.”
I swallowed.
“If something happens to me, will you raise her?”
Maya’s face crumpled in the most unattractive way I had ever seen.
“Yes.”
“Good.”
“Don’t die.”
“I’ll add that to my schedule.”
“I hate you.”
“I know.”
She reached across the bed and held my hand.
For a while, neither of us said anything.
The soup cooled.
A nurse came in to check my blood pressure.
Somewhere down the hall, a newborn cried with astonishing confidence.
At eleven that night, I finally slept.
I dreamed I was back in my childhood house trying to lock a door that had no latch.
When I woke, pale morning light had reached the floor.
Maya was asleep in the chair with her neck bent at an angle that guaranteed future complaints.
My phone displayed seven missed calls from blocked numbers.
One voicemail had been left from a number I did not recognize.
I put in one earbud and listened.
Dad’s voice came through low and tired.
“Claire, it’s me.”
He paused.
“I know you blocked us.”
Another pause.
“Your mother is a mess.”
I almost stopped the recording.
Then he said, “I didn’t know about the loan.”
My finger froze above the screen.
“I didn’t know about the deed being filed before yesterday.”
His breathing was audible.
“I knew Ethan needed money.”
There it was.
“I knew he was in trouble.”
His voice became quieter.
“Your mother said you could help him without it hurting you.”
I sat up a little straighter.
Pain pulled across my abdomen.
“I thought the apartment transfer was something you two had discussed before.”
He exhaled.
“I should’ve asked you.”
The silence on the voicemail lasted several seconds.
“I should’ve stayed when you fell.”
My throat tightened.
“I don’t have an excuse for that.”
That was the first true thing anyone in my family had given me since Ethan arrived at my apartment.
Dad continued.
“I was trying to get Ethan out before things got worse.”
His voice cracked slightly.
“I told myself Chloe would call someone.”
I closed my eyes.
“I heard you ask for an ambulance.”
Another pause.
“And I left.”
The message ended with no request that I call back.
No defense of Mom.
No demand for forgiveness.
I listened to it twice.
The second time hurt more.
Maya stirred.
She blinked at me.
“What time is it?”
“Six twenty.”
“That’s not a time.”
“It is.”
“Not for civilized people.”
She straightened and immediately grabbed her neck.
“Oh, excellent.”
“I warned you about that chair.”
“You were unconscious.”
“I warned you spiritually.”
She noticed my face.
“What happened?”
I handed her the phone.
“Dad.”
She listened to the voicemail.
When it ended, she handed the phone back.
“Well.”
“That’s helpful.”
“I’m processing.”
“He admitted he knew Ethan needed money.”
“He also admitted he left.”
“I know.”
“What are you feeling?”
“Don’t ask me podcast questions.”
“Fine.”
She rubbed her neck.
“Do you want to call him?”
“No.”
“Okay.”
“I want to.”
“Also okay.”
“I’m not going to.”
“Still okay.”
I glared at her.
“You’re infuriating before coffee.”
“I’m worse after.”
Beth came in before I could respond.
“Good morning.”
“No one who says good morning at six twenty means it.”
Beth checked my chart.
“You want to see your baby?”
“Yes.”
The answer came so fast Maya laughed.
Twenty minutes later, I was back in the wheelchair.
The NICU looked different in early morning.
Quieter.
Dimmer.
The parents who had been there overnight moved like people underwater.
My daughter was still on breathing support, but Tessa said her oxygen needs had decreased.
That tiny improvement felt larger than anything Reeves had told me.
“Can I hold her?”
Tessa smiled.
“I was hoping you’d ask.”
It took preparation.
Wires had to be arranged.
A chair had to be positioned.
My hospital gown had to be opened in front.
I felt clumsy and exposed.
Then Tessa lifted my daughter out of the incubator and placed her against my chest.
Everything else disappeared.
She weighed almost nothing.
Her cheek rested against my skin.
The mask remained on her face.
A thin tube ran beside her.
I was terrified to move.
“She won’t break,” Tessa said.
“She looks breakable.”
“She’s tougher than she looks.”
May you like
My daughter shifted.
One tiny hand opened against my collarbone.
