Tossing It

by Rachel Robinson

  Celia delicately places Luna in Eva’s arms and it happens again. Someone else falls in love with my baby. With our baby. “She is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. Did you bring her to see Leif?” Eva asks, and with one phrase I can tell who has done the fighting over these months. Eva. “I bet he loved it,” she adds.

  Celia looks away, uneasy with her sister’s words. “I did,” I say. The long story was given and accepted by Eva before she came here, but I wasn’t sure how she’d react to actually seeing me after all this time. She’s always been the more…complicated sister. “I set her in his arms. He was clutching my hand,” I tell her.

  Eva’s widening gaze flicks to mind. “He grabbed your hand, didn’t he?” She’s desperate for someone to be on her side. It’s easy to sense. “Moved his fingers?”

  “A muscle spasm grabbed your hand, not Leif. Don’t do this to Malena, too, Eva. This is ending now. We’ve done all we can do. All you’ll do is make this harder on everyone else. Especially Mamma. We’re going to do it tomorrow morning while we’re all together. Go speak your peace tonight, okay? We just came from the hospital. Our room is next door.” Celia takes on an authoritarian voice, one she’s had to adapt, I imagine. “Do you understand?”

  “I’m about to put the baby to bed,” I say. “We can hang out when you get back.”

  “Great idea, Malena,” Celia says.

  “She’s so precious,” Eva says, smiling at the baby. “You’re so lucky, Malena. She’s perfect.”

  “She is lucky to have you as an aunt,” I reply, trying to bring the mood up. Eva recoils, and I’m reminded of her infertility. “Thank you,” I say instead. “She really is beautiful.” I don’t feel guilty because she does look so much like Leif.

  Shaking her head, she hands Luna back to Celia who is reaching for her. “I can’t believe I’m going to say goodbye to my brother.”

  “Not your brother,” Celia reminds her. “His body. His mind has been gone for nine months.” I think she’s trying to make her feel better, saying goodbye easier, but it’s making it worse. It’s calling her a liar. Eva starts crying and bids us goodbye.

  “I’m sorry you had to hear that. It’s hard for Eva. I have to be the voice of reason,” Celia says, hanging her head guiltily. “I was right there, thinking the best for the first few months. It’s been nine. There’s no hope, you see? It’s futile and she needs to grasp that.”

  I nod and take the baby from her to nurse her to sleep. She drifts easily, lashes fanning across her cheek, looking just like her daddy. “I just wish he got to see her,” I say aloud.

  “Regardless of what he said about wanting kids, that man wanted to be a father. I know it. He would have loved this life with you, Malena. Don’t think any different, okay? Let him go knowing he was a good man.”

  “I know he is a good man. That’s the hardest part,” I reply, setting Luna into the pack and play in the corner. She coos and turns her head to the side drifting into deep sleep. Watching her, I pray for another miracle, for things to be different.

  His mom and dad stop by the room to say hello and see the baby. I think she is the only shining spot in their otherwise bleak lives. A gift Leif gave me that I can share with them. We hug and cry and talk softly. Celia’s phone rings a little past midnight. It’s Eva.

  She’s hysterical, a complete and utter disaster. No one can make out what she’s repeating over and over.

  “I’ll watch over the baby, Malena. Please go and talk to her,” Celia says, ending the call. “I’ve said it all before, maybe you can say something I haven’t. This is over. It’s over.” Placing her face in her hands, she shakes her head.

  I’m exhausted, but Celia is right and I owe Eva this much. I owe them all. When I get into my rental car, I dial Eva back to tell her I’m coming.

  She’s still crying—a hysterical squeal, but I hear a hint of laughter as she says. “He’s breathing. On his own, he’s breathing!” I don’t even respond. Tossing the phone into the passenger seat, I race the mile to the hospital, forgetting how I even got there in the first place.

  He’s breathing.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Malena

  There is a crowd of doctors and nurses surrounding Leif’s hospital room door when I fall out of the elevator. Eva flies into my arms, wrapping me in a tight hug. “No one believed me. He’s going to be okay. I know it.”

  Her excitement is contagious. I have to remind myself about Celia and her words. She works in the medical field. This is her life most days. Eva is living on a prayer, and even if I want to partake in this particular prayer, I can’t. “Tell me everything,” I say, pulling back to look at Eva’s eyes. “What did the doctor say?”

  She shakes her head, an incredulous gleam to her eye. “That he’s waking up. Right now. We won’t know what we’re dealing with until he’s completely conscious, but he’s breathing. All on his own.”

  What if that’s the only thing he can do on his own. “Let’s take it one step at a time.” Swallowing, I let my gaze slip to his door. It’s poisonous. This hope I feel blooming inside my chest. “Will they talk to me?”

  “Yes,” Eva counters. “I am responsible for his medical decisions, technically my parents were, but they handed it over to me when they realized I was better equipped to deal with these decisions. I’ll tell them you’re family.” She releases me and bounds over to the nurse who must be in charge and then nods her head my way. I hold up a shaky hand and approach.

  With soulful eyes, the nurse takes my hand when I’m standing in front of his room. “It may not be as you hope. As your sister hopes,” she says. “This is good news, but it’s not a foregone conclusion. Nine months is a long time to be unconscious.”

  I nod, trying to peek over her shoulder into the room. Eva is already in there, her cell phone pressed to her ear telling the story to whoever she’s on the line with. In a rush, Eva squeals, “His eyes are open. They’re open.”

  The next few steps into his room feel leaden—the most difficult steps I’ve ever taken. If I don’t leave this room with the same hope I entered with, I’ll never be the same again. The atmosphere has changed, the buzz of energy drives my heart rate up. There’s life between these walls that didn’t exist mere hours ago. My gaze falls to Leif’s face—the gaunt planes sharp, his skin the color of chalk. His lashes are fluttering, and in another step, I’m able to glimpse the ocean blue of his eyes and I close the distance to stand as close as I can to him. He’s surrounded by doctors.

  Eva’s voice prattles on in the background, and the doctors are practically shouting Leif’s name at this point, asking if he can hear them. They’re checking vitals, with wild, confused gazes. They work with grit and determination. So soft, I can barely hear my own voice, I say, “I need to try something.”

  Clearing my throat, I say it again, louder this time.

  “Who are you?” a doctor asks.

  “Malena,” I say, my gaze on Leif’s face. “Winterset. My last name is Winterset.”

  Eva chimes in. “She’s his baby’s mother.” So delicately put, Eva, I think. “I gave permission for her to be in the room. He’d want her here.

  They make room for me on the right side of the bed. I sit, taking his hand. “I need to try something.” Leif squeezes my hand. It’s no different than before, except now his face is clear of tubes and I’m granted a full view. A chill rises up my spine. He looks so different. Closing my eyes, I envision him the last time I saw him. The last night we spent together in his apartment before he snuck away in the morning and left me with a ring. His wide jaw that ticks when he smiles. His eyes that crinkle in the corner when he laughs. I think of the man he was before when he was in love with me. I recognize I’m feeling so wistful because when and if he wakes up, he might decide he doesn’t want me, that my lies were too much to get over. In his ear, I say, “I need to try something right now.”

  Then, I kiss his closed lips. They’re still full, the only things on his face that lo
ok the same. I feel his warm breaths push out of his nose, a ragged, out of practice, speed. It reminds me of when Luna took her first breaths. A nurse sets her hand on my shoulder, but I hear someone else say, “Let her. He’s responding. He’s responding.”

  I pull my mouth off his and watch his blue eyes search my face. He closes them for another thirty seconds and I think that’s it. He’s gone, if he was ever really back. Eva sits next to me, one hand squeezing mine like a vise. Turning, I look at her, my gaze teary. That’s when I see his parents. They are standing in the back of the room, pain etched across their faces. “I’m so sorry,” I say.

  “Stop it. This is amazing progress,” Eva says.

  “Eva,” I say, grabbing her hand. “There’s a possibility he’s not in there. Will never be inside there again. I love this man with everything I have and I have to accept that this shell, this broken shell that housed the perfect man will never be in there again. You have to understand.”

  Eva looks crestfallen as she pulls her hand out of mine. “You have no right,” she counters.

  “I have every right. I lived with a woman who wasn’t inside of her own head for most of my life. I understand exactly what that means. Grieving a person while they’re still alive is torture. It’s a technicality. A horrible, disgusting technicality. A beating heart does not mean recognition.” I shake my head, memories of my mother flooding my awareness. “Breathing doesn’t mean love. It just means life. Life altered. Never the same again.”

  “You’ll give up on him that easily? I should have known better. You ran the first second the going got tough, the very first chance you had to run from him, you did. You used a photo. One that I took, might I add.”

  My stomach sinks and tears prick my eyes. “You took those photos? You followed me?”

  She has the good sense to look guilty. “We protect our own in this family. I’ll have you know I followed you because I was worried about you because I’d heard your mom was sick. What I found was anything other than a worried woman.”

  Wasn’t I grateful for those photos? They gave me the opportunity to break it off with Leif in a painless manner. The scapegoat. “I can’t believe you would do that, Eva. I’ve never given you a reason to doubt my loyalties. What you caught was a jaded moment that should have been private.”

  “I understand that now,” she whispers. “I wish I could take it back, I do. You lied to him. To all of us.”

  I throw my hands up. “No one ever asked if I was married. It was a non-issue. I never loved Dylan. I never loved Dylan.” Damn, that feels good to say. “I never loved Dylan,” I yell.

  Eva stays silent.

  “I love Leif. I’ll never love anyone other than Leif,” I yell. The nurses and doctors turn to my boisterous declaration, trying and failing to pretend they aren’t listening to every single word of our conversation.

  You could hear a pin drop in this moment. It feels like every person in this room is holding their breath. No one speaks. The monitor beeps, giving a reading of Leif’s blood pressure. His heart rate monitor beeps at precise intervals.

  Leif groans. And every set of eyes train on him. My own heart rate would set off every monitor on planet earth. He mumbles something, but his throat is dry and his tongue out of practice.

  “He’s trying to talk,” Eva says. “What’s he saying?” Our argument is all but forgotten for the moment. That’s how it works with family. You move on after fights. You fight for the common good. Our fight turns to the man in the hospital bed.

  Disuse has destroyed his voice box. The doctor leans over and narrows his eyes. “What was that?”

  Slowly, Leif’s blue gaze flicks to meet mine. I’m sure I look like a wild animal—a crazy person without the ability to control her emotions. “Why,” he says, broken into two scratchy syllables.

  I hold my breath. My heart pounding against my ribcage furiously.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Leif

  I don’t wake to true love’s kiss. No. The first thing I hear is my sister screeching like a motherfucking wildcat. The next voice is more pleasing, but I can tell she’s upset. She talks about not loving Dylan. My brain seems to be a few steps behind. It takes several moments to process what they’re talking about and what it means. I seem to be entrenched in some foggy haze. It feels like I’m in a nightmare. One I can’t force myself to wake from—knowing all the bad would go away if I could arise from this sleep.

  “I never loved Dylan,” Malena shouts. The name breaks me from my black prison. Opening my eyes, I’m met with a dull light. Malena. I see the back of her head, her brown hair sleek, with blonde highlights. It’s shorter and lighter than it was when I saw her last. When did I see her last? The beeping correlates to a hospital. The dots connect in rapid succession. Malena’s hand shakes in mine own. “I never loved Dylan!”

  Even in the haze, my recollection is seeping back in. The unexpected gunfight. Aidan. Tacos. Eva messaging me photos. Dylan and Malena. Husband. My leg. The fucking bad guy. My voice doesn’t work when I try to open my mouth. A noise I’ve never heard comes out of me. It’s enough to garner stares from those around me. Malena’s big brown eyes meet mine and it nearly kills me. Again. I open my mouth, taking more effort than opening a mouth should take.

  The word comes out, finally. “Why?”

  “Oh, my God. Can you hear me?”

  Not going to try to talk again, so I nod once.

  “I love you,” Malena shouts like she thinks I’m also deaf. “You can hear me.”

  Eva leans over and meets my gaze with a tearful look. “I can’t believe you’ve been such an asshole,” she says.

  I grin.

  “I was going to kill you tomorrow.”

  I grin once again.

  My mom and dad pace over. How much time has passed? They look older. So much older than the last time I saw them. The worry etched on their faces tells a lifetime of heartache. Mom leans over and hugs me, whispering things in my ear about being so happy I’m okay. How much she loves me. How worried she’s been. There’s a fear there I’ve never heard before. Not in a lifetime of deployments and dangerous trips.

  “Ai-dan,” I croak.

  “He’s fine. He saved your life,” a doctor says. I’m in a military facility. The uniforms telling me everything I need to know. He leans over me. “You’ve been gone for nine months, Leif Andersson. In a coma, we have tried everything to get your body to work on its own. I won’t give you too many details right now. It must be a lot. You need rest.”

  Eva groans. “He’s had nine months to rest. He needs to meet his daughter!”

  Malena’s gaze is wild as she turns her focus to Eva and then back to me.

  Daughter. Daughter. Daughter. Daughter.

  “He’s not ready for that, Eva. Shut your mouth for once.”

  My mom scolds my sister, as my dad hugs me which I think is supposed to distract me from what Eva just said, but it’s too late. “Why?” I say once again, touching Malena, my hand brushing her thigh.

  “It wasn’t what you thought Leif. Get some rest. Like the doctor said. I’ll be here when you wake up. I love you,” she says, running her hand over my forehead, and into my hair. “We’ll all be here when you wake up.”

  Daughter. Daughter. Daughter. “Daughter,” I manage to get out. “Mine?”

  Malena cries, her hand covering the lower half of her face. I wish she would move her hand. I want to see her. I haven’t seen her in so long, never thought I’d see her again. Against the darkness, her face is like a beacon of light calling me back home. She nods. “Yes. Your daughter. She’ll be here when you wake up. I’ll explain everything. I’m so sorry,” she says, swallowing hard. “I love you. Sleep.”

  I am tired. Which doesn’t make sense, but when I close my eyes briefly it feels like sleep instead of a dark hole, so I let it take me. There isn’t blackness this time. I dream of a daughter. A beautiful girl who looks just like the woman I love.

  ______________


  The bed is up and the curtains are drawn. My body isn’t mine anymore, my muscles are so atrophied that I can barely sit up on my own. My mother has busied herself about my room. Bringing in flowers and magazines and anything she thinks I might like. My dad strolls around the hospital floor with a cup of coffee in one hand. He pokes his head into the room and looks shocked to see me every single time. Today was the day I was supposed to be pulled off life support and instead, it’s the start of my recovery.

  “Tell me if you want anything in particular, honey. Anything at all.”

  “Malena,” I rasp, clutching my throat. “I want Malena,” I say again, just to prove my fucking voice box I’m the boss. I have a permanent sore throat from the tubes that pumped life into my body all of these months. Sipping water feels like razor blades, and that’s what they keep pushing me to do. Drink water, piss a ton.

  Mom looks down to the floor. “She will be here shortly, I’m sure.”

  “Why did that sound like a question? Where is she?” It’s almost noon and Malena hasn’t been in to see me yet.

  “Leif,” Mom croons in that way only a mom can. “Last night was a lot. She’s probably sleeping still. If not, she’s dealing with the…” Mom pauses. “I’m sure she’s busy, honey. What can I get you in the meantime? The physical therapist will be here this afternoon. Celia had to call in a favor as you weren’t on the schedule.” No one has said the word baby or daughter again since last night. I’m beginning to think I dreamed it. It’s why I need Malena. Her words. To tell me if what she said last night is real.

  “I need to fix myself,” I croak. “I need Malena, Mom.”

  She nods. “I’ll call her now. Stay put,” Mom says, then shakes her head. “I’m sorry.”