by Kelly Rimmer
“Marcus asked me to come in and meet the twins,” he murmurs.
“Me too,” I say as I draft a text to Mitch.
Jess: You’re a good friend, Mitch. I’m fine. So is Jake. He was just being a good friend too, and nothing happened. I’ll call you later.
“Should we go together?” Jake asks. There’s no undertone to the question, but I glance at him anyway, trying to assess.
“I won’t freak out,” I say lightly. “I’ve seen newborns before. It’s all good.”
He frowns at me.
“That wasn’t what I meant, and you know it. I just meant because we’re here together, going to the same place.”
“I need to go home and change,” I say, motioning down toward the ridiculous shirt. “God. I don’t even have a pair of shoes.”
“Okay. Go home and change. I’ll swing by and pick you up on the way to the hospital,” he says, with a shrug.
It’s on the tip of my tongue to argue with him, because I don’t need an escort and I’m independent enough that I really don’t want him to think he’s rescuing me. The problem, of course, is that I kind of want an escort. It’s not that I’m afraid of seeing Abby’s babies—I actually can’t wait for that and I’m sure I’m going to be fine.
I just want to prolong this time with Jake. And if I argue with him just because that’s what I always do, then I might miss out.
“Okay,” I sigh. I scoop my dress up and head toward the bathroom. “I’m starved too. I’ll get some breakfast delivered to my place and we can eat it before we go.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Jess
AN HOUR LATER, we’re together again in the back of an Uber, on our way back to the hospital. We travel in near silence. I hate that I feel so close to him right now—not just physically, emotionally. I hate that I’m going to have to say goodbye to him all over again soon.
“When do you fly out?” I ask.
“9:15 p.m.,” he says, looking out the window.
“Do you miss it?”
“New York?” He turns back to me, and when I nod, he shrugs. “Sometimes. I don’t miss the pace . . . the endless noise and activity. I do miss the friends I have here.”
“Did you move because of me?”
I didn’t mean to ask the question. As soon as I do, I panic a little. Somehow, in the intensity of last night, we fell into an unspoken truce and, apparently, we both assumed we wouldn’t address us any further. Jake turns back to the window, and for a minute I think he’s going to ignore my question. Well, I’m not about to take it back, so if he wants to leave things hanging—
“It was a great job offer,” he says, staring out at the street. “Working at the Stanford clinic means my patients get access to some of the most exciting drug trials available. It’s good work, and it will help a lot of people.” I’m satisfied by this and more than a little relieved. Right up until he turns to face me and he shrugs. “All of those years we danced around one another, and then the time we were together have changed the way I see this city. New York will always mean Jess Cohen to me. I moved because I knew that whenever I was in this city, I’d want to be with you.”
I inhale sharply. He’s staring right at me, his gaze sad but accepting. I swallow hard, then nod, and he finally looks away.
It’s a relief when we arrive at the hospital—and that is a thought I never expected to think. We walk side by side toward the gift shop, closer than friends would, but not actually touching. I’m already thinking back to those moments when I woke up and I could touch him. I’m missing the privilege.
Jake buys Abby flowers. I buy two enormous green teddy bears, prompting him to raise his eyebrows.
“Not pink?”
“These kids are going to have to get used to two things,” I say pertly, then I hold up a finger. “One, Aunt Jess spoiling them. Two, Aunt Jess helping them smash all stereotypes of what little girls should do, think and like.”
He laughs softly and helps me carry the second teddy bear. Now the man-mountain is walking along the corridor carrying an oversize teddy bear that, in his arms, looks like a regular teddy bear, along with a giant bunch of flowers. It’s possibly the cutest thing I’ve ever seen, although that photo of Jake with his tiny, fugly dog is definitely a close second.
At the entrance to the maternity ward, Marcus greets us with tight hugs and bleary-eyed excitement. He’s still wearing his suit pants and the button-down from last night, and his cheeks and chin are covered with dark stubble.
“Did you get any sleep?” I ask him gently. He grimaces, shakes his head, then tells me, “I got to hold one this morning, but the other is still not quite strong enough. It might be a few days for her.”
“‘One’ and ‘the other’? Please tell me that isn’t their names, Marcus,” I laugh softly. He grins at me.
“You’ll have to see for yourself.”
Abby is lying in bed, pale and still connected to all manner of machinery. When she sees me, she bursts into tears and opens her arms. I rush at her and give her the hug she obviously needs.
“Jess,” she weeps into my hair. “If you hadn’t—”
“Don’t,” I say fiercely. God, Abby. Please don’t say it. “You don’t need to go there. You’re fine, and they’re fine, and that’s all that matters.”
She nods, then pulls away gingerly to stare right into my eyes.
“We will never forget that you did this for us.”
“All I did was suggest you get help, Abby,” I say, more than a little uncomfortable now.
“And when I tried to be stubborn, you made sure I got checked out. Which is the only reason we’re all going to be okay,” Abby says, tears rolling down her cheeks. “You saved our lives. All of us.”
“I’ll take you guys down to the NICU so you can see them in a minute,” Marcus murmurs as he walks to the other side of Abby’s bed. “But we need you to understand how grateful we are. To both of you.”
“I’m just so glad you’re all okay,” Jake murmurs.
“Have you seen them?” I ask Abby gently. She nods tearfully.
“The nurses took me down earlier—just for a few minutes. And, Jess, there’s nothing like it—I got to hold one, and she nuzzled into me. Like she knows me already! She’s so tiny and soft and warm, and I—”
He was warm at first when they placed him in my arms. But he was so still, and all I could think was, could I have saved him if I’d been stronger? Braver? Better?
I open my mouth to speak, intending to say something encouraging or congratulatory, but I’m shocked to find I just can’t. All I can think about is that moment back in the hospital room in Georgia—the harsh glare of the lights, the scent of the antiseptic, and how utterly, utterly alone I was with that baby in my arms and a lifetime of grief and regret stretching out ahead of me.
The memory is fierce and overwhelming in a way I don’t anticipate. I think of Tristan every single day, but after so much time, I’m actually accustomed to the sharpness of the emotions. There’s a gap in my life that he would have filled—I’d have a seventeen-year-old son now. But my entire life would have been different if he’d survived, and maybe that’s why it’s generally impossible for me to imagine the way things would be if he was here now.
Today though, right in this moment, the loss splits me in two and for the first time, I suddenly can imagine what it would be like if Tristan had survived and somehow made it here to New York with me. He’d live in one of my spare rooms. The apartment would sound different. He’d probably love awful music because all seventeen-year-old boys love awful music. And it would smell different, because I’m pretty sure all seventeen-year-old boys have awful BO and a serious Axe body spray addiction. He might be just coming out of those awkward teenage years, where our stubborn, hotheaded personalities would have clashed. He might have a girlfriend or a boyfriend. I couldn’t work as much as I do and my social life would be completely different. Someone would know me as “Mom,” just as two little someones wi
ll soon know Abby as “Mom.”
I don’t resent Abby’s joy—I do genuinely celebrate it. Even so, I’m suddenly not sure I can keep my composure. I turn and look at Jake, and in a microsecond, he reads my expression and he takes control.
“When are we going to hear these names?” he says, stepping forward until he’s right behind me. Abby and Marcus can’t see, but his hand rests gently on my lower back. I focus on the warmth and gentle pressure of his hand, and the overwhelming tide of emotion passes as Marcus and Abby laugh and tease us about “finding out soon enough.” I love Abby and Marcus like they’re my siblings—but their excited giggles are making me nervous. While she was pregnant, Abby was calling the twins “Luke” and “Leia,” and I swear to God if they’ve gone with some Star Wars theme for these kids, Aunt Jess is going to have a very difficult conversation with their parents.
Jake leads the conversation through safe territory: Abby’s lab results—“already improving but I’m going to be in here awhile”; Abby’s pain level—“I’m drugged to the gills, don’t worry”; Marcus’s sleep or lack thereof—“I’ll catch up tonight”; and then their parents, who are apparently safely ensconced in a hotel room nearby, catching up on their own sleep so they can come back later.
Soon, Abby is starting to look tired again, so Marcus kisses her forehead gently and suggests the three of us take a trip down to the NICU. Finally, I unfreeze. I kiss Abby’s cheek, and promise to return tomorrow.
“It’s a workday. You don’t have to come.”
“Bullshit. I’ll see you at lunchtime. Do you need anything?”
She catches my hands in hers and squeezes. Hard.
“Thank you,” she croaks, one last time.
My eyes well, and I blink the tears away with some determination.
“Sleep well,” I tell her, and then I follow Jake and Marcus into the hallway. Marcus is apparently riding another caffeine wave and he chats animatedly as we approach the nursery. Jake is watching me as we walk.
“I’m okay,” I whisper under my breath.
“You weren’t a minute ago.”
“I’m fine now.”
Marcus pauses, surveys us and goes right back to chatting. We’re soon at the entrance to the NICU, so he leads us through the process of washing our hands and donning a gown and mask before he pushes open the second door.
And then suddenly I am in a world of tiny, sick babies. I knew where we were headed. I even had a picture in my mind of what it would be like. Confronted with the reality of it though, I’m faltering again . . . until a big, strong hand slides against mine.
I look at Jake, then at Marcus, and I’m panicking because I don’t want Marcus to know anything is wrong and I definitely don’t want him to know that Jake and I have ever been more than friends. But I need this support, and that hand is all that grounds me right now. Panic threatens again, and as much as I hate my weakness, it turns out I do need help to hold the feelings back.
Jake nods toward Marcus, and when I look to my business partner, I realize he’s making a beeline for his daughters as if they are all he can see in the world. Jake and I could probably strip naked right now and he wouldn’t even notice. I relax somewhat from the realization, and then follow Jake to the crib where Marcus and Abby’s daughters are sleeping.
They are so small. Both girls are wearing just diapers, revealing their little bellies and the black stubs of their umbilical cords caught up in yellow pegs, and expanses of red-purple, wrinkled skin. They both have adorable button noses like Abby, and they’re both pretty much bald. One of the twins has a tube in her nose, but otherwise looks pretty robust there in the tiny crib. The other is obviously weaker—she has a mask fixed over her lower face, an IV strapped into her and cords everywhere around her.
“They’re in a cot together,” I whisper. Marcus looks up at me, tears in his eyes even as he smiles.
“Well, they’ve been roommates for a while. I guess it makes sense for them to have each other’s company.”
“They’re so completely beautiful, Marcus,” I say. Marcus probably assumes the emotion in my voice is caused just by being overwhelmed by his gorgeous children. He’s staring down at his daughters too, his gaze shining with pride and relief.
“Jess and Jake, let me introduce you to my daughters.” He points to the stronger of the twins, and announces, “This one is Clementine Jade.” He winks at Jake. “The Jade is for you. We couldn’t figure out how to make ‘Jake’ work, so we had to go with something close.”
“What? No way!” Jake is visibly delighted. “I’ve never had a kid named after me before. That’s so great. You guys didn’t have to do that. I didn’t really do anything.”
“You got her here. Then jumped the line for us. We’re so grateful. And, Jess, please meet Jessamine Rose. We assume you’re going to do a lot of babysitting, so we thought we’d call her Jessie for short. That way it won’t be confusing.”
I open my mouth, but I don’t know why, because I have no clue what to say. A noisy, confusing sob bursts from me as I stare down at that tiny baby in the crib.
“Hey,” Marcus says, coming around to hug me. Jake quietly, carefully releases my hand. “She’s a fighter already, our little Jessamine. Tough and determined—not even a day old and she’s already exceeding everyone’s expectations. Even if you hadn’t saved her life—which you did—she actually reminds us of you. The name is totally perfect.”
“And their prognosis is good?” Jake asks quietly. I have a feeling he’s trying to distract Marcus so I have time to compose myself. It’s not going to work. I simply have to get out of here.
“They’ll both need care for a while,” Marcus murmurs. “Jessie especially might need a bit more support. But their outlook is great. And Abby . . . well, you saw. They’re monitoring her liver and kidney function closely, and it might take her a while to get her strength back, but the doctor sounds positive.”
“They’re beautiful,” I tell Marcus, then I raise a hand to my chest. “And I’m honored. Truly. Thank you. I’m just so glad everyone is okay.” I draw in a breath, then smile as brightly as I can. “Now you, my friend, look exhausted. So we’ll leave you be so you can get some rest.”
Marcus’s eyebrows knit, but he doesn’t say anything. Maybe he knows I’m cutting this short. Or maybe he’s deliriously tired, too overwhelmed and sleep deprived to even notice anything is wrong. In any case, we say goodbye to him at the entrance to the NICU, and Jake and I are once again walking in silence along the corridor.
As we reach the entrance to the hospital, a wave of pure impatience and irritability comes over me. I’m just done. I need to go home, cry a little and get some more sleep.
Most of all, I need to be alone.
“Mitch and I are catching up for an early dinner now before I fly out,” Jake says suddenly. “Why don’t you join us?”
“Since when are you two so close?” I ask him, snippy even though I don’t want to be.
“Well, I’ve known him almost as long as you have,” Jake says. That’s true—Mitch and Jake met at my place a few months after Mitch and I met. But they were friends in the same way that Abby or Paul are friends with Mitch—friendly enough to say hi in the street, not friendly enough to call one another up and organize brunch. I like to keep a little distance between Mitch and my other friends. Maybe I am too good at compartmentalizing my life these days, but at least there’s a good reason for it when it comes to Mitch. He’s safe from any drama that might arise at work or within my work-friendship group. Mitch is my backup plan for any and all emotional turmoil.
“You always knew him a bit, but you didn’t know him,” I snap. Jake is still watching me closely.
“You might not have noticed this, but you and Mitch are all but joined at the hip, so when you and I were spending every spare minute together, that meant Mitch and I spent a lot of time together too,” he says, apparently unperturbed by my bitchiness. “He’s a great guy. We’re pals now.”
“I
just . . .” I don’t even know how I’m going to finish that sentence, but the tone of it is altogether too sharp. I stop, draw in a breath and try again. “Thanks for the offer, but I already have plans.” Plans of a hot bath and a bottle of wine and donning my PMS pajamas as soon as I step through the door.
“Do you really want to be alone tonight?” Jake asks me gently, and I try so hard not to snap his head off, but once again fail miserably.
“Yes,” I say flatly. “That’s exactly what I want.”
Jake sighs and shrugs.
“Okay.” He bends and plants a gentle kiss on my cheek, and I pause while he’s close, suddenly battling tears again. I catch his hand as he moves to rise, and squeeze it, hard. He pauses, close enough that when I breathe in, his scent fills my lungs one last time.
“Thank you,” I whisper, closing my eyes briefly. “Thanks for being there for me.”
“Take care of yourself, Jess,” he says somberly as he rises. I pin my most brilliant smile onto my face as I nod and step away.
“I always do.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Jake
“YIKES. I HOPE the airline doesn’t charge you excess luggage fees for those bags under your eyes,” Mitch greets me as I take my seat opposite him at the trendy Upper East Side bar he picked for this meetup. There’s a beer waiting for me on the table, and I nod toward him as we knock our glasses together. It’s early on Sunday evening and this place is freakishly quiet.
“I got close to seven hours of sleep in the end. It was just the wrong seven hours and yeah, I’m feeling it now.”
It’ll be the middle of the night before I get back to my house in Old Palo Alto, but I can sleep in tomorrow. I don’t have anywhere to be. I have a permit for some parts of the trail so there are only specific dates when I can walk those segments, but luckily, I left a buffer so I could organize my gear. As long as I’m on the road by Wednesday, I’ll be fine.
“And is she okay?” Mitch asks me quietly.