Nothing Matters (Family Matters Book 1)

by Key, Liana

  She looks at me quizzically, "How do you know?"

  "Cassian," I say, and add, "texted me."

  "Do you know when she's due?" Mom asks and her tone is soft, gentle.

  "March."

  Mom keeps folding, putting clothes into piles. "It's probably a good thing for her," she says eventually, "It means she can move on."

  I feel puzzled by her response. Move on? From what? From me, move on from loving me? That's what I want to say, want to shout at her. You want Magdala to move on from me?

  "Do you know who...who the father is?" Mom asks hesitantly.

  I shake my head. Would I want to know? Cassian's text had said: Magdala's pregnant, due in March. I had wanted to ask, Whose is it? Who’s the father? But that wasn't proper, wasn't etiquette, wasn't my business, even I knew that. And besides even if I had a name, what would it mean. Presumably I wouldn't know the guy. So I had texted back quickly, hoping he still had his phone in his hand: Is she ok? And he had texted back: Yes she's good, we moved to Santa Monica.

  I say that to Mom, "They moved to Santa Monica."

  Mom raises her eyebrows. "Nice," she murmurs, then, "I know it's hard love. She was your first love. And after everything you've been through, the accident." She places a hand on my shoulder. "It will get easier, you'll see. It won't always hurt this much."

  From nowhere, my eyes start filling with tears, and I wipe at them furiously, willing them to stop. And Mom's words have given me no comfort. She has no idea, doesn't understand at all. Magdala isn't just my first love, she's my one love, my true love. I know I'm never going to love again like this. Never. You don't get another chance like this. Mom's not normally one for sentimentality and tenderness, she calls a spade a spade, and she seems awkward watching me well up, and that makes me feel worse. That I'm sniffling.

  "It'll get easier," Mom repeats, still rubbing my shoulder. "Let's just hope Magdala's happy, and this baby might be the best thing for her."

  But that seems to be the last thing I want to hear. That Magdala is having someone else's baby, not mine. Why did she go off her birth control? Did she want this guy's baby? Now she will be eternally connected to him, no matter what. Whereas me and her, our bond is broken, fractured.

  And how did she fall in love with him so quickly anyway? Okay, so I've slept with someone else since our break-up, but that was all it was, sex, physical, no emotion involved. But how has she been able to move on from me so easily, to have formed a new relationship, to have forgotten what we had? Has that been so easy for her to do? When I'm still longing, pining, desperate for her.

  Was I right all along when I told her I loved her more than she loved me? Was our love lopsided? Mom produces a tissue from somewhere, the woman always has one tucked up a sleeve or in her bra. I check it, making sure it's not used, and she gives a laugh. I wipe my eyes, my nose. "You'll be okay Nate," she says mussing my hair. "Just give yourself time."

  I want to say to her, It's almost been a year, and I'm not over her. Not a day goes by where I don't think of her, don't dream of her, don't wish that everything could have been different. And now this extra thing, her having another guy's baby, her making love to someone else. I feel sick thinking about it, jealous, outraged. But they are futile emotions. Because Magdala loves someone else, is having a baby, and I'm guessing I don't even feature in her memory bank anymore.

  Chapter 9

  FLYNN

  All my dreams came true in the following weeks and months. Magdala's family accepted me unconditionally. There was no blame over the pregnancy, I know my parents were extremely disappointed in me, and I felt I had let them down, all their hopes and dreams for me, but somehow Magdala's family's reaction overrode everything. They embraced her pregnancy, supported us. Her whole family showered us with everything a baby could possibly want. And my parents jumped on the bandwagon too. They didn't want to be seen as not contributing, and Mom went shopping for strollers and change tables and things I never knew a baby needed. It was fair to say we were lucky in the sense that we didn't have to worry about money. Or school. I continued on as normal, and Magdala stayed until the week before she gave birth. She would be able to do assignments at home after the baby was born, but I knew she didn't really care.

  We had been to birthing lessons for new parents and the plan was to go as natural as we could, but with Mom going to be there no one was the least bit worried. When Magdala finally went into labour, three days overdue, it was like a whole entourage gathered at the hospital. There were flowers and gifts before the baby was even born. I had no idea how I was going to react during the birth and Mom had clued me up on what to expect, but really nothing could have prepared me for what I was about to witness. The agony, the swearing, the pain, the screams, but somehow all done in good humor. After three hours she said she needed a rest, was there a drug that could stop the contractions while she napped? After four hours the pain was too much to lie down. She stood, she knelt, she crawled, she sprawled over a beanbag. They offered her the pool. She didn't want to swim she said. She was hot, she was cold. We gave her ice and cold compresses and hot wheat bags. She craved a milkshake and her cousin Jakey went for one, but she had one sip and threw it up. After six hours she declared she didn't want to have the baby anymore, she'd changed her mind about it. She was told to push; she stubbornly refused. She ignored the doctor, nurse, midwife, even Mom. She went back on the bed, in traditional style, saying she wanted to sleep.

  Cassian came and took her hand, kissed her cheek and said softly, "It's time you were a Mom, Magdala. The baby wants to meet you." And it's like a light came in her eyes and she suddenly responded. We supported her with pillows. Her Dad held one hand, I was holding her other side. Jakey lingered at the back of the bed, not wanting to miss the action, but adamant he didn't want to see anything. Mom floated, lost between the role of impending grandmother and surplus doctor. Cassian somehow took control and, under the midwife's guidance told her when to push. She listened, she screamed and Jakey mopped her brow, and Mom breathed with her. Again, Cassian directed, and she did as she was told. I knew Cassian wanted to study medicine, but what he was doing was mind blowing, staggering. "I can see the head, Magdala," he said and for the first time Magdala smiled, she laughed. "One more push, Magdala," he said and the encouragement resounded through the whole room. You can do it, Come on, This time, Almost there! And then she pushed and screamed and Cassian was handed the most perfect little baby girl, as if he was born to do it. A baby girl with a mop of brown hair, and he passed her to me to cut the cord. And I placed our daughter on Magdala's chest, and the tears and laughter in that room was the sweetest sound, in what was the most remarkable day of my life.

  MAGDALA

  We named our daughter Cassidy, not just because we liked the name, but after her fabulous uncle who helped delivered her. I really couldn't believe that Cash had directed the birth. When he had said he wanted to be there, I'd said No way, I didn't want him seeing that part of me. But with all the pain and suffering that accompanies childbirth, I could have been on live television and not given a damn.

  I loved him for what he did, not just that day, but everyday afterward. Flynn and I grew even closer, our love for Cassidy overwhelmed us and we were lucky at the support we got from everyone. There was no shortage of babysitter offers and we divided our time between home and Flynn's parents house. Flynn stayed at school after the birth, but I did schoolwork from home, if I could be bothered. It didn't seem that important to me. Being a mother was the best feeling in the world.

  Cassian was sitting with me one afternoon as I breastfed Cassidy. Her little mouth suckling on my nipple was just the cutest sound and Cash and I just watched, enthralled by her.

  "You have got to be the best mother in the world," he announced.

  "She is the most perfect baby in the world," I smiled, my finger stroking her soft cheek. "Am I lucky or what?" I asked, looking up at him.

  "I guess I never got to do that," he said

&nbs
p; "Do what?" I asked, my eyes narrowing.

  "Suck on my mama like that," he said, with a fleeting grin. But I saw it, in his eyes, a longing, a yearning for something he knew he'd never had. And at that moment my heart broke for him. All the years growing up, his mother was a name, a photo but never someone real. She had never seen him, never touched him, never held him. It was an inconceivable thought, now that I had my own baby, that a child could grow up motherless. "How long did she sleep for?" he suddenly said, giving the attention back to Cassidy.

  "Three hours," I said, and he leaned back in his chair and just sat and watched us as if we were the most precious things.

  When school finished for the summer, Flynn, Cassidy and I moved into my mother's beach apartment. She hadn't bothered to rent it out, as she would stay in it whenever she came to LA. We didn't ask to use it; she offered. And it seemed perfect, being only ten minutes from both our family homes. We felt like we were a family, and the simplest things like pushing Cassidy in her stroller or taking her in the swimming pool became moments to treasure. Flynn and I never tired of looking at her, even if she cried and whined or had restless nights, attending to her was never a chore. I felt like I'd found my calling in life, and as bizarre and perverted as it may sound, it was almost as if I hadn't been raped, then I would never have arrived at this point in my life.

  I know we were fortunate having family and financial support, but we disliked sponging off others, and I used my savings from my job to run my car, and Flynn was working almost full time through summer. Even so, anytime visitors arrived, they always brought bags of groceries, fruit and vegetables for us. And Grandad kept our freezer topped up with meat.

  Cassian and Jakey graduated high school and both had decided to go to UCLA, Cash to do an undergrad in pre-med, and Jakey in pre-law. I was so proud at their graduation ceremony, my two favorite boys. It really felt like life couldn't get any better. Like I'd been down as low as anyone could possibly go, but life had turned a corner. I'd persevered and come out the other side, on top. Sure, it may have been through an accident, but Dad said it didn't matter. You just took whatever hand life dealt you, and made the best of it. And that's what Flynn and I were doing.

  Cassidy was four months old when we noticed something wasn't quite right. The first clue was that she stopped feeding normally. Over the course of a few days, her feeding was less frequent and less vigorous. At that point breast feeding was her only food, she hadn't taken formula yet, and I had been determined to feed her until at least six months old, as had been recommended to me. As a first time young Mom, I was doing everything by the book. Because motherhood was new, daunting and unexpected at times, I figured that following guidelines was the sensible way to go.

  When Cassidy didn't improve after a few days, I asked Flynn to ring his Mom. When I checked with him on what she advised, he said he'd forgotten and would do it first thing tomorrow. So it was another day before Julie came around to check, but she told us Cassidy probably just had a cold, but that she would come around after work. Naturally Cassidy perked up a bit by time Julie arrived, so I remember feeling like a bit of a fraud, making her take an unnecessary journey. But Julie never minded, in fact she said she liked an excuse to visit her granddaughter.

  I was dishing up our dinner when Julie examined her, and maybe that was best, because the shiver that went down my spine when Julie said, "I think we should take her in for a check up,'" was like a forewarning.

  "Just to be safe," Julie reassured, but even I sensed some tension in her voice and Flynn queried whether it was really necessary.

  "Like now?" Flynn had asked, annoyed because we hadn't even eaten dinner yet.

  "Yes now," Julie said, and it was her doctor's voice. And I knew the difference between her doctor voice and her mother/grandmother voice. And that's when I felt scared.

  "Is it something bad?" I'd asked, so young, so naive.

  Julie tried to smile. "Let's just pack a few things shall we?" And Flynn and I had looked at each other, bewildered, and Julie had bustled us around, now completely in doctor mode.

  There was a lump in Cassidy's abdomen. I hadn't felt it. Even though I changed her diapers frequently, washed and bathed her twice daily, cuddled and hugged her constantly, I hadn't felt it. And on one examination Julie felt it, and knew it wasn't good.

  They took Cassidy's blood, they scanned, x-rayed, poked and prodded. And there was a fear in Julie's eyes, a fear that even she, in her role as doctor, and especially in her role of grandmother, could not hide from us. The diagnosis came, looming over us like an executioner's sword - neuroblastoma, a cancer. A cancer, already advanced, all ready to take our little girl. We virtually had one week of testing, two weeks of saving her, two weeks of dying and one week of watching and waiting for the end. And then that sweet little girl, who had grown inside me for nine months, vanished from our lives.

  FLYNN

  I will never forget the look on Magdala's face when Mom told us that Cassidy had cancer. Neuroblastoma to be exact. Grade 4S, which is not good. Her face, her whole body just shut down, wilted, as if her skeleton just dissipated and she was made of nothing. No one was quick enough to catch her, not her Dad, not my Dad, not Cassian, not me. And all of us helpless, useless, unable to offer any consolation, any hope, because there was none. Our daughter literally had a death sentence over her head.

  Cassidy never came home again. Not after that fateful night when Mom came around after work, fearing maybe a cold, possibly a virus, sometimes the change in seasons can bring on these things, I'd remembered her saying. Then telling us to pack Cassidy's bag, with an urgency, making us abandon our barbecue steaks and baked potatoes which were served up and ready to eat. Herding us out the door as if the place was about to burn down.

  She was fast tracked into testing, blood tests, scans, X-Ray's, and Magdala and I were left frozen, overcome by temporary paralysis, not really knowing, not comprehending the reality of the situation. When Magdala's family arrived, her Dad and stepmom, her aunt and uncle, Cassian, Jakey and Raff, they shepherded us from floor to floor, room to room, none of them listening to authority, all of them demanding that they be allowed to listen, to comfort, to support. None of them was going to be left out of the loop, fuck the rules, fuck the regulations. This was their granddaughter, niece, cousin. No one would be excluded.

  And when the tests confirmed the worst, that Cassidy was in the far stages of cancer, when every drug, tested or untested, every treatment option, every trial, every possibility had been looked at and discarded or rejected, when the last straw had been grasped at, the last ray of hope extinguished, then the families, hers and mine, had come together. My mother's colleague, Dr Williams, who was the neuroblastoma expert, gently told us the worst possible case scenario, that Cassidy had a month at the most, two weeks at the least. Or he may have said two weeks at the least, one month at the most. Whatever, the cry from Magdala sent a chill down your spine, it made you feel that utter despair was the rawest of all emotions, that hopelessness was uncontainable. And her pleas, her begging, to retest, find another drug, another doctor, another hospital falling into an abyss. And I held her, the mother of my daughter, feeling useless, ineffective, as she looked into my eyes, unseeing me, but pleading with me to save our baby, our little girl, our Cassidy.

  We virtually never left her side in those last weeks. The four weeks had been slightly generous. Cassidy died on a balmy October day, twenty days after we had been told to prepare for the worst. Magdala was gallant at the end. It was like she had mentally prepared herself, well we both had tried to. We had treasured each minute with her, even when the cancer had distorted her tiny body, making it impossible to even take her in our arms. And she dug deep for an inner strength, which seemed to desert me, holding me up as I started to crumble. We had no lack of support and it's probable that no child had ever been more loved than that little girl. In just six short months she had brought so much love and joy into the lives of those who knew her.

&nb
sp; That little girl, who had accidentally been conceived, because I had stupidly not used a condom. That little girl who we dreamed would ride ponies, learn ballet and play soccer. The hopes and dreams we had, all disappeared on that day in October, when the sun shone like it was the middle of summer. Our hearts were broken that day, our memories shattered, our lives left purposeless. Magdala and I had held her then, laid down on a bed, cradling our baby, not wanting her to be taken away, fearing and knowing we would never stroke her beautiful soft hair, tap her tiny button nose or feel our lips on her skin again. We laid there and we cried and cried and when they finally took her away, all we could do was hold one another. And as we returned to our apartment that evening, seeing her crib, seeing her room, her toys, her clothes, the reality hit, hit hard, that our baby girl was never coming home.

  NATHAN

  Life was a predictable slog, day after day much the same. I either biked, or if weather was bad, took a bus to trade school or my job, worked hard, diligently, which my parents said they were very proud of. It was kind of ironic that I was doing an auto technician's course, considering my license had been suspended for twelve months after the court case. My lawyer had gotten me off the original charge of vehicular manslaughter to one of reckless driving. I'd been fined and had been given community service which I did on a Saturday. Lately it had involved gardening at a local church, and my supervisor had added in some hours I had done mowing lawns at my Nan's, so the hours were clocking up. Like only fucking fifty five to go. I was playing basketball twice a week, and motocross on Sundays, things were as good as they could be. I'd been on a couple of dates, one set up by Luke's girlfriend, another the cousin of someone's cousin, which was a two night stand, because she was in town for two nights. I wasn't actively looking for anyone special; I knew I'd never find them.