I didn’t look down. I looked at him. I held out my arms. I felt the shifting of weight. The shifting of myself. For the first time since college, maybe, my body changed. My mind changed. I looked down at her.
And, oh, oh, oh. I felt the tears. I felt the wobble of my lips and the way I pulled air. I felt the way my heart kicked into overdrive. I felt everything. The tilt and spin of the earth. The gravity that bound me. The blood that flowed through me. And I gave it all to her. The first of a lifetime of willing sacrifices.
Olivia.
She was beautiful. She was perfect. I thought looking at Cahir, looking and loving, was the closest I’d get to perfect, but she was better.
Maybe because she looked like him? Not even an hour in the world and I saw her father. In her eyes. In the way her cries weren’t loud but couldn’t be ignored. The set of her shoulders. In the way she knew that swaddling blanket couldn’t hold her. If she pressed a little harder, a little stronger, she could be free to grasp what she wanted.
I loved her. I would live for her. Die for her. Be the perfect mother to her. Give her whatever she needed and most of the things she wanted. And no one would ever tell her that she carried me the way Gran once told me.
Chapter Three
Cassidy
I woke up with her. Not because Cahir’s body didn’t stir when Olivia murmured in her crib. No. His body seemed to be as attuned to hers as mine was. Slaves to her in just a few days. A few hours, honestly.
He didn’t get up in the mornings, I thought, for the same reason that I didn’t move in the night. It didn’t belong to me. It was for them. The way dawn was for us.
I- oh, I got up. The moment I heard her. We fell into the routine that belonged just to us. She would whimper. The beginning of a cry. Her warning that it would get worse if I didn’t appear. So I went.
My feet hit the ground first and bounced at the cold. I didn’t remember the floors being so cold before. My palms went to my chest and my left thigh and rubbed in circles at the aches that were unfamiliar to me until Olivia came with all her perfection and said I was hers. I rubbed until the aches were dull. Embers instead of a full fire. I muttered the lyrics to songs that I used to listen to before- when Cahir and I went to the gym together. Motivators.
Then out the bed. Only a few dozen steps to the crib. We put it in the corner of his apartment, so the rising sun wouldn’t be a shock to her face. She would never feel it burn her skin and know that she couldn’t escape. It would be something that tickled at her, that gradually changed the space around her. She deserved to wake up that way.
My arms wrapped around my body while I took those steps. I wouldn’t realize until I stood over her. Because of the cold, I told myself. I reached for her. My hands shook. That was the cold too.
Scoop. Retract. And then she was against my chest. I know the steps then. I don’t even check her diaper. I know it needs to be changed. I hum the same songs Gran hummed for me. Even to my ears they sound off. But the whimpering quiets. That was enough. That was the bargain I made on the third morning: just let her be quieter.
In the videos I watched online, in the movies, mothers would smile at their babies. Make silly faces. Bring their nose in close and smell their baby smells. Tickle them. I hummed. That was all the bargain required.
I brought her to my chest and felt her lips move and her body seek. I couldn’t tell her no, no, I don’t have what you’re looking for. I can’t give you what you need. To the kitchen. Bottle of milk. Cahir and I didn’t think about it before she was born. We didn’t think of it at all until Tseday brought over bags of breast milk. I went back online. Of course, we’d give Olivia breast milk. Her moth-…
Breast milk. So much nutritional value. So good for development. For Olivia’s immune system. The humming continued. Gran always hummed. I could too. For the entire time Olivia was awake, for the entire time she was in my arms, I could hum and never repeat a single song. Not for a day. Maybe not for a week.
The sites, the books, the doctors, the doula that came to us after, they all said the voice was important, that talking to her was just as important. It helped her brain develop. It helped her identify us, connect her to us. My throat was so dry in the morning though. Even though I was always swallowing.
I didn’t have to think about how to make her bottles. I practiced so much before. And we had a routine. We knew our parts well. So there. The bottle was ready. Tested against my wrist. I always wanted something hotter for myself. Something to peel the skin away and show me pink. To fill with fluid for me to poke at. But that wouldn’t do. That wasn’t part of what I agreed to do if she would just be quiet. If she would just act like she liked me for a moment.
I shifted from foot to foot when she latched onto the bottle. Because it was good for her to have the movement. Because I couldn’t find a comfortable place on the floors I danced all over with Cahir.
Hum.
Hum and hold back the tears. Tears were disruptive to the baby. Tears were disruptive to Cahir. Tears were proof to me.
I meditated with my eyes on Olivia. One big, audible breath. Three silent ones. Feel it all empty out, I said to myself. Then I pretended I felt it. Three deep silent breaths. Again because the first three weren’t real. Shallower than a baptismal pool.
The next three counted.
I heard the ocean. Heard the rushing of water. A violent white noise. I heard every creak and moan in the apartment. I heard the elevator ding and cars twelve stories below us. I jumped like each of those noises were a surprise and not an every day part of my life. Jump and then freeze. Was Olivia different? Did I hear Cahir?
He couldn’t know. He couldn’t know when the bottle was done, and she was burped, that the whimpering would start again. Because he watched the same documentaries and read the same books I did. He knew that in the beginning that the babies emotions would be interlocked with ours. A mirror for how we felt. A beacon even.
Olivia knew. She knew I wasn’t quite right. That I had the routine but nothing below the surface. The humming wasn’t right and she deserved more. She deserved someone that was wholly there and not about to hyperventilate on their own air. Someone that could get it right and make it look easy the way her father did. She knew I was an idiot.
Cahir
There was a moment after Olivia was born. A half an hour. Maybe forty-five minutes. I didn’t want to bring Olivia home. Not if Cassidy was coming with me. She was there when I brought Olivia into the waiting room. I saw her face when she held her. I heard her. I felt her. The change. But still. Olivia was a miracle. A surprise. The best thing that ever happened to me.
I wouldn’t bring her into a home where she wasn’t wanted. She wouldn’t be loved. But Cassidy was there to fasten Olivia into her stroller. She watched over me, her weight moved from the tip of one toe to another as I strapped the seat into the car. Before I could ask about who should drive she was in the backseat beside her.
Ok. Ok.
And then she was there in the morning. Before I could get out of bed. I saw her hands shake, but didn’t mine? And I heard the humming. I knew it. Like I knew her. I smiled and went back to sleep.
All I did was smile. I felt it grow throughout the day and into the night; my lips went numb. The nights were ours. Every three hours. A little cry. Strong. I was blessed to be surrounded by strong women. I felt a moment of delirium but that left easy. It felt like all the over-nighters I did developing projects. Pressing for deadlines. Energizing. Nothing like when I wondered if Cash would be mine again.
My feet were fast on the floor. I never felt them move. I didn’t feel anything at all until I was beside her crib. She couldn’t see me. Not yet. So I touched her first. A finger on her stomach. Another for her to grab and shock me again, as if it were the first time, with her strength. I would reach for her when she quieted, when she knew she wasn’t alone. I’d use those moments to try and fix my face. My daughter had to think I was an idiot. My jaw was always slack when I held her.
But I just-I knew she was real every time I held her.
I rocked her. Asked her if she were alright. Did she dream? Was she hungry? Did she just want to talk? What about? Books? Movies? Stocks? I was sure she understood them all already. No one who walked the earth was smarter than my little girl. She only gurgled a little and wiggled to remind me that it was rude to offer small talk when what she wanted most was to eat.
A bottle. Cash was better at them than me. Her movements soft and sure as she made them while she hummed. Her body always moving. Olivia would make little sounds back. Sometimes it was almost like she matched the humming. Olivia thought I didn’t know, but she sounded different with each of us. Abrasive with me. Because I laughed over her. At her. I couldn’t help it. I laughed at everything. Cried too. At commercials and billboards and stories in the paper and the books I read to Olivia at night. Charlotte’s Web. Who knew?
She was gentle with Cash. Barely woke me in the morning. She curled in to Cash. Reached up and laid a little baby fist against Cash’s neck. Kicked and fussed when I took her from Cash’s arms. Probably why Cash looked so stressed when she saw me reach for the baby. I always riled her up.
Probably why I was so jealous of my nights. I knew Cash wouldn’t take them from me. I wouldn’t take her mornings. But still…
We danced after the bottle. Smooth movements. I wanted her to smile at me first but something told me- a mama’s girl. Wasn’t that a bitch?
When the dancing was over we sat down to a book. A movie. Olivia didn’t like the movies very much at first. Hated Disney. I didn’t blame her. The things they tried to teach women. I threw those movies out. And I realized I had to dim the TV. Then it was better. We could talk. In quiet voices- she was always a little quieter. Probably looking out for her mother. I still wasn’t jealous.
Not at all.
I got a little ashamed of the time I spent angry on the way to the hospital, the hour or so before we brought Olivia home. I tried calling her Liv or Livie and they were both wrong. My baby needed her whole name. Or maybe Cash would figure something out. She was so good with her. Like she was born for it. I didn’t even feel that way all the time. I was terrified the first few weeks. Cracked my knuckles so loud they sounded like gunshots whenever I approached Olivia. It was Cash that handed me diapers and laid her head against my back while I changed Olivia. I would feel her fingers move, mirroring my motions. I didn’t question it. I got phantom limbs every time Cash pulled Olivia out of her crib or off her blanket.
I wanted my baby too.
I saw her rubbing her chest and thighs. Felt more shame. Real shame. Of course her muscles were tired. She always had Olivia in her arms. Walked her from one side of her apartment or mine to the other. Up and down the stairs. Knew to strap her into her carseat and drive her around the block on the few nights she wouldn’t settle. To give her a special music that came out of her bones. Even if it was a bit off-key.
I sent Cash to the spa. Bought every product they used when she came home empty handed. I washed her hair. I sent her shopping and knew what to expect. The next day everything she touched made it into her closet.
I bought her the Range Rover she deserved. She said it was too much. So I hired a driver. A better laptop and tablet for her business. Birkins. Too much. Cahir, she said and shook her head, it’s all too much.
How? I smiled. Smiling was all I did. For the perfect mother? Was anything too much?
She always cried when I said that.
Chapter Four
Cassidy
Gran had to pry Olivia out of my hands. “Stop humming and give me my grandbaby.”
“Great.” I imagined roots growing out of my feet. Deep roots that would take hours to pull from the ground. Roots that trapped me and sent branches up my throat, to crowd my tongue. To block the truth.
If you take her everything will be undone. The bargain. She’ll forget it.
I love her. I need her here. It hurts. I love her. Leave her where I can see her. You won’t care for her like I will.
“Don’t get sassy with me. Where’s her bag?”
Cahir handed it to her. He packed the bag. I unpacked it. Checked it. Made sure everything was there. Re-packed it. Unpacked it again. To be sure.
Gran kissed my cheek. So did her hair. It felt like mine. She said it was mine. The piece of her I carried with me everywhere. Olivia’s hair would-
The door clicked shut after Gran kissed Cahir, and it was just us. He smiled at me and swept me up into his arms. “Alone at last!”
It was the same smile. The one he gave me before the hospital and the promises and the aches in my chest and legs. Before my feet found cold floors.
I thawed. I remembered I had a smile too and that it cost me nothing to give it to him. No bargains or bartering. Just a lifting of lips that met his. Over and over. From his kitchen to his bathroom. Into the shower. Hands on each other’s bodies. Still the same, and new, and exactly the same. Kisses in the closet as we chose clothes for each other. Kisses on my fingers as we waited for the elevator.
I warmed. He turned on music when we both got in the car. He got out of the car.
“What are you doing?”
He opened my door and took off my seatbelt. I was out of the car. The music, my laughter, the click of my heels, they all echoed in the parking garage as we danced in a new place and made it ours.
How had I forgotten how much I loved him? Where had I put all those feelings?
He led me back to the car, and I felt like Cinderella.
“Another magic night.”
He kissed me. That was how I knew he heard me. “Another one.”
We both laughed. No need to actually tell the joke.
He drove us to the speakeasy with the live band and the dance floor that felt like it was supposed to be in a movie instead of the City. An oversized booth and too much champagne and lobster that almost melted when I ate it and course after course after course that only came when one of us shoved the other off the dance floor because we had to breathe.
Breathe.
Privacy in the booth. His hands creeped up my leg. Mine dragged down his chest and under the table and slipped my panties into his pocket. My back was pressed against the seat then. For just a moment. Long enough for me to lose my breath.
Breathe.
He fed me. I heard his zipper when I dragged it down. Felt the absence of air when he sucked it all in. Swallowed it when he exhaled. I smiled.
“I want to buy you a house.”
My bracelet was the reason I couldn’t pull my hand free fast enough. My greed was the reason. Forgetfulness. “What?”
“Don’t you get tired of it? Moving from one apartment to another?”
No one noticed me in the chaos of traveling from one place to another. I couldn’t get comfortable. If I couldn’t get comfortable, I couldn’t fuck up the bargain.
“No.” I swallowed.
Breathe.
“It’s nice to change,” I said.
He laughed at me and brushed my hair back from my face. He was still before-Cahir and I was floating, untethered, from my own body. “We can’t do that forever. We can’t toss the baby back and forth between two places.”
No. Only a bad mother, an unnatural mother, one that was pretending and hoping, would think that. “We can do whatever we want.”
“We want to buy a house.”
“No. We want to be happy.”
“And houses make us miserable?”
Before-Cassidy would have laughed. Kissed him. Seen how ridiculous she was being and acquiesced. I rubbed my chest.
“Change does. Right now.”
His arm was comforting when it draped across my shoulders. My body knew to shiver when he kissed me. “What’s one more thing? We can hire people. Make it simple.”
He told me about the service he found. The crew that would pack each of our apartments and move them into the house. The project manager and designer that would unpack for us and blend things.<
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“They do it all in one day,” he said. “I won’t tell you how much it costs.”
Breathe. Be grateful to have an excuse for why your eyes were so wide. Grab hold of his laugh. Pray it will bring you back into yourself and stop the ringing.
“You sit down with the realtor and tell them exactly what you like.” He snapped his fingers and laughed again when I jumped like someone fired a gun. So much laughter. So good for him.
Breathe.
“We could ask Guy. He’s easy for you to talk to. And O’Shea would love to feel like she’s masterminded another part of our lives.” He sounded like he loved her. Like she was family. So nice for him.
Supposed to be nice for the both of us. There I was in the gown I was gifted because I was the perfect mother. Listening to plans for the house for the perfect family. So amazing.
Breathe.
Houses were just structures. They were nothing more. Losing a home was just losing a roof. Wasn’t the loss of your center. Couldn’t be used as proof to everyone that you were found out because there you had no ruckus or disruption to hide behind. Home wasn’t just quiet nights. Home wasn’t the beacon getting a little bright. Home was what you made it.
I fell back into my own body. And I smiled. I kissed his next words out of his mouth and washed away all of my rancid flavors with champagne.
“If you can talk, you can dance.” I pushed at his shoulders.
Harder than I should have, but he was in the mood to laugh. Blessed enough to be able to. He took me back to the dance floor. I kissed him every time he tried to talk. His hands found my body and didn’t leave it. So wonderful. So sexy.
Chapter Five
Better as Lovers Page 2