by Lisa De Jong
She was falling asleep by the time they had her situated in her room. The words were garbled and slurred together as she muttered, “Love...you...Daniel,” her tongue numbed by the meds, her mind lulled into a false tranquility.
“I love you forever.” I kissed her forehead and drew her covers up under her arms and tucked them tightly around her body, hoping they would provide her some comfort while I was away. With heavy feet and a wary heart, I trudged from her room, knowing I could no longer put off the inevitable. My hand shook uncontrollably when I reached out and pressed my index finger to the five, and I held my breath as the elevator lifted me the two short floors.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
It felt as if I were in the middle of a whirlwind when I stepped out onto the floor. Everything was calm and serene except for the funnel cloud that swirled around me as the energy snarled and crackled. It was as if I were walking through a field of land mines, not knowing which step would trigger the end but knowing it would come. Feelings of regret and fear and grief circled in an endless cycle. What made it worse was that every painful memory of my life came back to originate in a place so similar to this.
My legs became weak when the glass window came into view. Infants’ beds were pushed up against it with each baby’s name proudly displayed above its tiny head. I tried to focus on the names, but my vision was blurry, my mind rejecting that one of these children belonged to me.
“Sir, may I help you?” A woman in her late thirties looked at me, concerned. “Do you need to sit down?”
“I, uh...I...” I looked at her with a blank expression, having no clue what my own son’s name was. “I’m here to see Baby Montgomery...or Levy?”
Fuck.
I didn’t even know his last name.
“And your relation to him?”
I choked as I forced it from my mouth. “Father.”
She punched a couple of things into her computer.
“He’s in his mother’s room. I need to see some identification so I can sign you in.”
I handed her my license and watched as she printed out the bracelet and secured it to my wrist. I thanked her quietly and turned away, fingering the label that titled me the father of “Baby Boy Montgomery.”
I plodded down the hallway, each step forced. I felt ill as I stood in front of Vanessa’s room. Using my hand to brace myself against the wall, I tried to come to terms with meeting a son I did not want. It was time to be the man my mother always praised me to be—the man my father had taught me to be—no matter how much I wanted to neglect this responsibility. I took a deep breath and pushed the door open.
I stood in the doorway unable to move as the shrill cries of a newborn infant hit me full force. The child was on his back in the small plastic hospital crib, screaming uncontrollably. Vanessa was in bed, a pillow over her head, trying to drown out his incessant call.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” I spat out, almost unaware I had taken the four steps needed to bring me face-to-face with my son for the very first time.
I barely registered Vanessa’s voice as she whined, “He won’t stop crying,” this tiny person demanding all of my attention. He was dressed in a little white shirt that wrapped around him and snapped in the front, the long sleeves covering his arms. In his hysterics, one hand had broken free of the folded end meant to cover it. His face was pinched and beet red—and absolutely beautiful. The reality of who he was knocked the air from my lungs.
My son.
I shook my head, trying to make sense of what I felt when I looked at this precious child.
I swallowed hard and tentatively reached an unsteady hand out to take hold of his little fist, prying his fingers open to keep him from scratching his face. He instantly reacted and wrapped those same little fingers around my index finger, jerking his mouth toward my hand. The poor little thing was starving.
I gathered all my courage and scooped him up. His cries quieted when he found safety in my arms. I made sure he was secure in one arm, holding him close to my chest as I fumbled around with the other hand to grab the bottle in his bed. I lowered us into the chair. Carefully, I protected his head as I shifted him so I could feed him. I found myself making little cooing noises, shushing him, whispering, “It’s okay, little man,” against the thin material of the cap that covered his head.
He made grunting noises as he adjusted himself to the feel of the bottle in his mouth, and he began to suck. He fell into a rhythm, taking a few gulps and then stopping to catch his breath.
I wanted to look away and ignore the way he tugged at my heart, but his call was irresistible.
With the bottle balanced between my chin and chest, I pulled the little cap from his head, exposing his thin, blond curls. I ran my hand through the soft fine strands, twisting them in my fingers, quivering with the warmth that sped through my veins.
He released a satisfied heavy breath from his nose and snuggled into my side, still suckling, but at a less fevered rate. I ran the tip of my finger around the shell of his ear and over his cheek. His newborn skin felt like velvet from the soft, protective fuzz that covered every inch of him. His legs were long and thin but, at the same time, plump and healthy. I removed one of his socks so I could see his toes, grinning at how big his foot seemed compared to the rest of him. Cupping the whole thing in my hand, I gently squeezed. He pushed back into my palm, the little muscles in his legs flexing their strength.
He was perfect.
With the bottle nearly gone, his mouth had fallen lax, and I pulled it away and set it aside. I turned him to rest against my shoulder. He stretched, his little bottom sticking out and his legs curling up underneath him, his red lips forming a tiny “O” as he expelled a small yawn.
I couldn’t help but nuzzle my nose in the crook of his neck, smelling his soft, clean scent as I patted him on the back and coaxed the bubble from deep within his belly.
His breathing evened out and he fell asleep quietly panting. When his hand came up to rest on my cheek, I nearly fell apart. I brought it to my mouth and placed a gentle kiss against his palm, murmuring, “I love you,” into the delicate skin, shocking myself with my own revelation.
Once I had admitted it, I was unable to keep back the torrent of love that came gushing forth from some unknown reservoir. I never thought I could feel this away again. I had always believed that if I allowed myself to love another child the way I loved Eva, it would somehow diminish the devotion I had for her. But my love for her still burned bright, and I would never forget her, the child who had touched me so deeply. She could never be replaced. I would love her forever, just as I would love her brother forever.
I kissed his head as he slept against me, rocking him slowly. We sat like that for what seemed hours. With each passing minute, I fell further and deeper in love with him. Our spirits learned the other, our hearts melding together. I was bound to him for eternity. He was mine, and I would never let him go.
I didn’t try to engage Vanessa and allowed her to sleep, something she so obviously needed.
Two faint, timid knocks sounded at the door. Dad peeked his head in, an apologetic grimace on his face. “I hope we’re not interrupting. We hadn’t heard from you in a long time, and we were getting worried.”
I smiled at him in reassurance, gesturing with my head for him to enter. The door opened wide. It was not surprising that his hand was firmly intertwined with Mom’s, both of them nervous as they entered the small room. They stopped abruptly when they found me with my sleeping son cradled in my arms. My eyes were red and swollen from the tears I’d shed, this new love un-contained and dancing on my face. Mom and Dad had had no idea what to expect when they found me in this room, but from the relief that poured from them, it was clear that this was what they’d hoped for.
Mom confirmed it when she began crying as she walked toward me and kissed me on the side of my head.
“I knew this would happen.” She beamed down at me, then extended the same love-filled gaze to my s
on as she caressed the small of his back. “He’s absolutely beautiful, Daniel. Oh, my goodness, he looks just like you.”
I nodded in agreement. He looked exactly like my newborn pictures that Mom so proudly displayed in the den, so much so that I was certain nobody would be able to tell us apart.
“May I?” she asked, whisking him away with very adept hands. Her tone was sweet and melodic as she spoke, swaying her new grandson in her arms. “Hello, sweetheart. You are just precious, aren’t you?” Dad sidled to them, joining in the slow dance and running the back of his hand tenderly over the swell of the baby’s plump cheek.
She looked at down on me, curious. “Does he have a name yet?”
Vanessa may very well have named him, but I had no clue. For some reason though, I thought not. Everything I’d seen so far had only given him the title of “Baby Boy Montgomery.”
I shrugged, inclining my head in Vanessa’s direction. “We haven’t talked about it yet.” I figured that was honest enough. If she had named him without me, that was my own fault. I hadn’t been here for his birth, and I figured I’d pretty much given up that right. I would be okay with whatever she chose.
They both turned at once toward her as if they hadn’t even noticed she was there. Mom had never even met her, and I could see curiosity burn in her as she stared down at her grandson’s mother. Vanessa lay with her back to us, completely still—too still. It was obvious to all of us that she was no longer asleep.
I really couldn’t hold it against her. I couldn’t begin to imagine how uncomfortable she must feel, witnessing such an intimate exchange by a group of people she didn’t know, our only link to her found in the blood that ran through the child.
Reticent, Mom handed my son back to me, mindful of the glaring unease Vanessa was experiencing with their presence. “I love you, Daniel. And you, too, little man. I’ll see you both in the morning.” Her eyes were damp, filled with joy.
Dad kissed my baby’s forehead before clapping me lightly on the back. “Call me if you need me.” His simple words always meant so much more.
“I will...and thank you.”
They smiled warmly and left the room. The door swung closed behind them and left me alone with my son and his mother. Intense pressure weighed down the air in the room. Vanessa’s voice broke through the tension, coarse and muffled by the pillow pressed into her face. “You weren’t here.”
I sighed, readjusting my son and mustering the strength I was going to need to have this very difficult conversation. It was high time we had it, though, because our son deserved that we come to terms, and I knew part of those terms would include me conceding a bit.
I opened my mouth and accepted some of the responsibility, speaking softly to the woman who I still held a great amount of animosity for, but with whom I also shared this amazing child. “I’m sorry. I should have been.”
She sniffled and turned her head in my direction, her cheek flat against the pillow. I focused on her. Even in the subdued light of the dim room, the whites of her blue eyes were a shocking crimson from what appeared to be days of crying. There were dark bags under her eyes, her face looked puffy and bloated, her lips cracked. A huge lump formed in my throat, and I nearly choked on my guilt. She looked awful and incredibly tired.
She barely wheezed out, “I needed you,” before succumbing to another bout of emotion that racked her body as she wept into her pillow.
I felt terrible.
“Vanessa,” I tried to comfort her from afar, but had no idea how to do that. I really didn’t even know her and had no idea what she needed to hear. “I really am sorry I wasn’t here. Who was with you?”
Her head snapped up, and she glared at me, yelling, “No one, Daniel! I was alone! I don’t have anybody. I told you that already.”
Cringing at her harshness, I shielded my baby’s exposed ear with the palm of my hand. I bit my tongue to refrain from shouting back at her, trying not to make matters worse. We needed a resolution, and I couldn’t allow this exchange to end the way all the others had.
I focused on my son’s rapid breaths, a reminder of why I was having this conversation.
“I’m sorry, Vanessa. You shouldn’t have had to go through this alone.”
It didn’t seem to placate her, her eyes angry and hurt. “Where were you?”
In the face of such a distraught woman, it occurred to me that lying would probably be a lot easier on her, but I had told her repeatedly that Melanie was my life. She was just going to have to accept it.
“Melanie and I were out of town for the holidays.”
She yelped as if she were in physical pain, her fists wound tightly in the sheets. The pained expression on her face was such that she could have been my wife and I’d just told her I was having an affair. It would have made me angry had it not been so pitiful. I scratched my head, sighing as I pushed forward.
“Listen, Vanessa, what you did was wrong, but I can’t regret that now.” I glanced down at my son. The love I felt when I looked at his face sent my head spinning. I might regret her, but I could never regret him, and I’d accepted that I wouldn’t have him without her.
I thought about how terrible it would have been had I grown up with my parents despising each other. I couldn’t allow for my son to grow up that way. I took a deep breath and made a concession—for my son. “Do you remember when you came to my office that day? When you asked us to be friends? Can we try that?”
She froze, gasping, before turning on her side and raising herself up on her elbow. “You want to be friends?” she asked, dubious, but clearly excited by the idea.
I nodded, forcing a very meek, halfhearted smile.
“And see where it goes?”
I groaned and threw my head back exasperation.
“No, Vanessa.” I once again was amazed at how irrational and immature she was.
“Look, I need you to understand something.” I didn’t know why I felt compelled to tell her, but maybe if I did, if I gave her the whole story, she would finally comprehend there was no possibility of anything ever developing between us. “I know you know very little about my past, much like I know nothing of yours.” I paused to search her sullen and dejected face, praying what I was saying would have some sort of impact on her.
“I fell in love with Melanie when I was sixteen.” Her sharp intake of air told me she was listening. I hugged my son to me, kissing him softly on the head, giving her a moment to recover. I could only assume she’d believed that dinner was the first time I’d ever met Melanie, and we were sharing nothing more than a torrid fling.
“We were so happy.” I laughed wistfully, remembering how incredible those first years had been. “We were so excited when we found out we were going to have a baby. Scared, but happy. We were going to get married as soon as Melanie turned eighteen.” I drew in a ragged breath. I felt so exposed sharing this with Vanessa, but for some reason, I wanted her to know. “We were in a car accident...our baby...Eva...she lived for two days.” I gave myself over to the pain that surged through me, allowing myself to relive it for that short time.
Through bleary eyes, I looked at Vanessa who had sat up, wringing her hands.
“Her parents separated us. We were both young and naïve. We let our fears drive us apart. For nine years, we believed a lie, but we never stopped loving each other. My heart has belonged to her since the day I met her.”
I hesitated before pressing forward. “That dinner you came to?” Vanessa nodded. “That was the first time I’d seen her in nine years. You can probably put the pieces together from there.”
She sucked in her quivering bottom lip and turned away as she battled another round of tears, wiping them with the back of her hand. Feeling I’d finally gotten through to her, I felt satisfied we could push forward and unite or at least cooperate and put this child before all of our past grievances.
I laid him against my legs and he stirred, yawning and drawing his legs up to his belly. “He’s beautiful, isn’t h
e?”
Vanessa drew in a deep breath, whimpering as she grabbed a tissue from the box. She squeezed her eyes shut and pressed the tissue to her mouth.
“Did you name him?”
“No.” She gulped, looking down and tugging at the gown that was twisted at her waist. She took me by surprise when she suddenly rushed the words, “You name him.”
“Vanessa—”
She looked up to meet me in the eye. “No...just name him.”
She shuffled around, climbed under the covers, and pulled them to her chin. “I’m really tired. Can you take him back to the nursery?”
I nodded, guarding my son protectively in my arms when I stood, kissing him and humming an indecipherable love song as I set him in the small bassinet. Things I had thought would be so foreign to me now came so naturally, changing his diaper and dressing him in a fresh shirt, even wrapping him in the blue and pink striped blanket in the same fashion I’d seen others do time and time again.
As quietly as I could, I wheeled the small bed from the room and flipped off the one muted light. Blackness fell over the room. I reluctantly pushed my son down the hallway to leave him for the night. The movement jarred him awake, his deep, dark eyes fully opening to me for the very first time. I gazed down at him, overcome with a sense of belonging, positive he could feel it, too. By the time we got to the nursery, he was fussing and trying to stuff his fist in his mouth, attesting to his hunger again. I gladly accepted the nurse’s offer to feed him in a rocker sitting in the nursery.
I rocked him and kissed his forehead while he drank. I relished the feel of his tiny, warm body in my arms, cherishing this child who had brought this part of my soul back to life.
I remembered those long forgotten dreams of a family, how important they had been, and now this baby boy had made them a reality.
My only worry was for Melanie. She would always have my heart, but now she had to share it. It in no way diminished my love for her; I loved him in a whole new capacity that I didn’t even realize existed. All the same, he had become just as important to me as Melanie was. I knew it would be difficult for her, and it broke my heart that something so precious to me was going to cause her pain. I just prayed that in time Melanie would heal enough to forge a relationship with him. There were so many women who adored their stepchildren, and I prayed Melanie would be one of them. I knew she’d want to care for him and would try. I wasn’t blind enough, though, to believe there weren’t going to be huge obstacles in her path.