All the Better Part of Me

by Ringle, Molly

  I called Andy’s phone, because I had to try, but no one picked up. It went to voice mail. While Verona wailed in the background, the words poured unplanned out of me.

  “Andy, oh my God, please tell me you’re okay. I’m freaking out. I love you—I should have said so ages ago. I love you so much. I’m coming back to you; please be okay. Please answer.”

  The voice mail automation asked me if I wanted to delete my message, and if not, to simply hang up. I didn’t even hesitate. I hung up. I wished he could hear it right this minute.

  I opened and reread our stilted text messages, the scant few of them that comprised most of our contact for the last month. That couldn’t be it. We couldn’t end it there.

  Given there was literally nothing else I could do, I dragged my knees onto the mussed-up hotel bed, laid my crying child down, and curled up beside her, panic shooting daggers of ice through every one of my organs.

  Life was terrifyingly precarious. Andy and Verona were the two people I loved more than anyone on the planet, and she was a delicate newborn, and he could bleed to death of internal injuries or get one of those horrifying hospital infections and be gone before I could get back to Seattle. I had worked so hard just to have Verona, and to reach the point of admitting I loved Andy. But I hadn’t risked enough. I should have committed to him, asked him to come with me. Then he wouldn’t have been in his car in Seattle and wouldn’t be lying unconscious in a hospital.

  Too late. Too late. There was nothing I could do.

  I got up, fed Verona a little more, and walked her around the room until she finally fell asleep. Moving as slowly as possible, I laid her in the portable bassinet on the queen mattress. She’d been sleeping there next to me every night so far.

  Then I sat on the end of the bed, clutching my phone, willing someone to send me news.

  It took another hour, but Andy’s dad finally called back. I darted across the room so I wouldn’t wake Verona. “Hello?”

  “Hey, Sinter.” He sounded grave. “We’re at the hospital. So, yeah, Andy’s got a subdural hematoma—head injury—and they think the best way to help it heal is to put him in a medically induced coma. So they … they’re doing that.”

  My back hit the wall. My knees buckled, and I slid to the floor. “A coma?”

  “Controlled, with meds. They say it’s a good idea in these cases, and when they take him off the meds, he should wake up just fine.”

  “He should? They’re not sure?”

  “Well, with head injuries … there’s always a level of uncertainty.” He sounded deeply shaken. Andy’s parents had to be at least as freaked out as me.

  But they got to be beside him, while I was across the world, alone, taking care of my newborn.

  “How long?” I asked. “Before they wake him up?”

  “They say at least five days. Likelier around two weeks, though.”

  “What?” It was a yelp. “But then—” Then I couldn’t talk to him. Not a word. He was out of reach, and I had to bring Verona home on a ten-hour flight by myself, all the while not knowing if he would live, or still be himself when he woke up, or …

  My eyes flooded with tears.

  “I’m real sorry, Sinter.” Carlos sounded desolate. “I know this is a shock.”

  “No, I, I …” I choked down the tears. “Sorry. It’s worse for you guys. Um, keep me updated? A lot, please?”

  “Of course. We sure will.”

  I sucked in a breath. Time to start being honest. “Listen, the reason I’m in London is that my baby daughter was just born here. I know that sounds crazy, but um—”

  “We know, yeah; it’s okay.”

  I blinked. “What?”

  “Emma told us. She’s here too. I guess she talked to him. She’ll call you soon.”

  Emma was Andy’s sister who lived near Seattle. But, what? Just, what?

  “Oh. Okay,” I said.

  “Is everything all right with the baby?”

  “Yeah, she’s good. I’ve got custody, and I have paperwork to deal with before I can bring her back.”

  “That’s great, then. Congratulations.” He honestly sounded pleased for me, for that moment, once again proving Andy’s parents were unbelievably lovely people. “Well, we’re sticking around Seattle, and we’ll send you updates every day, or if anything changes. For now, they’ve got him stabilized, so it’s just monitoring and waiting.”

  “Okay. We’ll be in touch. Thank you, both of you.”

  We told each other to hang in there, and hung up.

  I held my phone between my knees, staring at it with aching eyes.

  Help. Someone. Help.

  Who to reach out to? Daniel and Julie?

  I would, of course. But my thumbs picked a different name and hit the video-call button.

  She answered, her face filling the screen with a puzzled frown.

  “Hello?”

  “Mom. Hi.”

  CHAPTER 40: THE UNGUARDED MOMENT

  WHEN I WAS A LITTLE KID, WE HAD A CALICO CAT NAMED PATCHWORK. I LIKED THROWING A CLOTH MOUSE toy for her across the kitchen floor and watching her pounce on it.

  One day when Mom picked me up from second grade, she looked especially sad, and told me when we got home that Patchwork had died. She was an old cat by then; it wasn’t entirely a surprise. Nonetheless, I burst into tears. Mom sat on the living room carpet and held me a long time.

  That evening, Dad took me out to buy churros at a fast-food restaurant. I had a thing for churros at the time, and he didn’t like them and usually refused when I asked for them, but that night, he offered to take me without my having to ask. While we sat at the restaurant’s plastic table, Dad gamely eating churros with me, he asked where we should go for summer vacation.

  I had lots of useful ideas: Egypt to see the pyramids, Greenland to see polar bears, Australia to see koalas, the Grand Canyon to see—well, the Grand Canyon.

  He remarked he’d been thinking about the Grand Canyon too.

  We actually went there that summer and had a good time. One of our best family vacations ever.

  Most importantly, I felt a lot calmer about losing Patchwork after that evening.

  They’d been my support network once, my everything. They could still be part of it. I needed someone to be.

  “Did you mean to call?” Mom asked, confused, from the screen on my phone.

  I nodded, with a fleeting memory of the time they had accidentally FaceTimed me. “Are you guys back from California?”

  “Yes, we got home yesterday. We’re taking today off to get settled, then we’re back to work. And you, you’re in London?”

  “Yeah.” I glanced at the window, where I’d pulled the hotel curtains most of the way shut to dim the room for Verona’s nap. A stripe of late-afternoon sun poured in between them, and when I looked back at my phone, at the smaller window showing me in the conversation, I could see the light illuminating my tired eyes, the three days’ worth of stubble on my face, and the baby blanket slung over my shoulder. Even before this latest news, I had looked like hell.

  Mom frowned deeper. “Is everything all right?”

  “No. Um. Andy’s been in a car accident, in Seattle. I just heard. He’s … in a medically induced coma, and I’m completely freaking out.”

  “Oh dear. How awful.” She did look concerned.

  “I’m way over here, and I can’t just go back, because … okay, look, the reason I’m in London …” I was shaking all over, but who cared; by now, I was used to it. I got up, crossed the room, and turned the phone camera to take in Verona, asleep on her back, little fists up next to her head on both sides.

  “Who’s … ?” Mom began. “What?”

  “This is my daughter,” I said softly. “She was born a week ago. Her name’s Verona.”

  “You have a daughter?” Mom’s voice became louder, incredulous. “Are you sure? What on earth, Joel?”

  Dad’s voice intruded from somewhere near her. “It’s Joel?” A second
later, his scowling face entered the screen. It looked like he had taken the phone from her and was holding it at arm’s length so they could both see.

  “I have a daughter,” I repeated. “I was involved with her mother for a little while, back when I was filming the movie here. Then it turned out she was pregnant.”

  “Well, what are you—?” Mom began. “How are you going to—?”

  “Then you’re back with this woman,” Dad said. “Right? You’re there, so I assume that’s what you mean. It better be what you mean.”

  Turning the phone again so they could see only me, I shook my head and shuffled back across the room. “Her mother doesn’t want to raise a kid. And we don’t want to be a couple. So she’s letting me take Verona, and I’m hoping … that Andy and I can raise her together. If he survives.”

  They took a few seconds to absorb that. Then they started talking at once.

  “Joel,” Mom said. “What do you—?”

  “Great,” Dad said. “Just great. That’s—no. You do not mean what it sounds like you mean.”

  “The things I said at Granddad’s party, they’re all true,” I said. “Patty and Phil were right. We were basically a couple. But I was too scared to tell you, and that’s so stupid because why should I be scared to say I love someone who’s an amazing person, the best friend I’ve ever had?”

  “We worry that you’re confused,” Mom said. “That you’re mixing up affection for a friend and—and something different.”

  “I was confused. For a long time. But I can tell you now, I’m bi, I can love both men and women, and I love Andy, and if he never wakes up, this is going to be the worst day of my life.” My voice broke.

  “For God’s sake, Joel,” my dad said. “This—no. That isn’t a real relationship. And what about your baby? How is that ever going to work?”

  “People will try to hurt you.” Mom sounded terrified. “All of you! I don’t understand why you’d want to do this.”

  “You guys,” I said. “Please. This is not a good day. I know I’m dumping a lot on you at once, but … normal people get to call their parents for support at times like this. You wanted me to be normal, right?”

  Their side of the video was swinging like it was in a high wind, the two of them jostling to keep their eyes on me.

  “We’re grandparents? You have a child?” Mom said. “This is completely out of the blue. How are we supposed to react?”

  “And you think you can raise it with him?” Dad said. “What the hell are we supposed to tell people? Explaining this to Grandmom and Granddad—yeah, that’ll be a real treat.”

  “Your parents aren’t going to be much better,” Mom retorted to him—a show of spirit that might have entertained me any other day.

  “Right, that’s what matters, isn’t it,” I said. “What are you going to tell people? What will people think? That matters lots more than whether your child is happy. It never has been about religion, really, has it? It’s always been about what people will think.”

  “Oh, don’t give us that.” Dad had a vein about to pop in his forehead. Even on the tiny screen, I could see it. “You’ve always made it a point to be miserable and moping and rebellious around us. Nothing we could do would make you happy.”

  “That’s not true!” I was trying not to shout, in consideration for my sleeping infant, but my voice was creeping up in volume nonetheless. “If you had just tried to understand me, support me, that’s all I would have needed. But you didn’t, and it’s turned me into this messed-up wreck. Do you even realize the damage you’ve done?”

  “Oh, that’s our fault, is it?” Dad said.

  “You’re springing all these shocks on us at once,” Mom said. “It’s asking a lot to expect us not to be upset.”

  “Fine! Yes. I screwed everything up between us. For years and years. But now, I have a daughter—you have a granddaughter—and Andy might die, and I’m so, so tired of feeling like my own family hates me and isn’t going to help me. So if we could please, somehow, fix this? I’m begging you guys. Please.”

  Mom looked torn, her mouth partly open, but she said nothing.

  Dad had no problem speaking. “Joel, you not only screwed up with us, you screwed up with this poor woman you got pregnant, and you’re about to screw up this kid monumentally, and God help me, I will not let that happen. I will find a way—”

  “Oh, no you won’t.” My voice finally found its iron. My face hardened too; I could feel it locking into place, fire rising into my eyes. “You think I didn’t look this up, Dad? Homophobic grandparents count for nothing. Legally, I can cut you out of her life, but you have pretty much no chance of taking her out of mine.”

  “We’ll see about that,” he said.

  “Walter,” Mom began. “Joel.”

  “You know everything now,” I told them. “That’s it. All the secrets. Oh, except I guess there’s one more: if Andy survives, I’m asking him to marry me. And I won’t be sending you an invitation.”

  I hung up and threw the phone against the window curtains. They rippled as it smacked into them and dropped to the carpet.

  I sank my fingers into my hair, tearing out strands. Pacing, I felt every stinging inch of the operation, as the part of me that had been hoping all along for a warm family reunion got sliced out with no anesthesia.

  Well. As Sebastian had said, it was okay to let go of what wasn’t working for you, and okay to feel upset about it at the same time.

  I picked up my phone, made sure it wasn’t broken, then lay down next to Verona and shut my eyes, praying in earnest for Andy.

  My phone buzzed with an incoming call, startling me out of a nightmare where I was sniper-crawling through blood and broken glass in the dark, frantically trying to find Andy under a wrecked car.

  The call was from an unknown number with a Seattle area code. Verona still slept, so I leaped off the bed and crossed the room again.

  “Hello?”

  “Sinter? It’s Emma.”

  I recognized the warm, emotional voice of Andy’s older sister. I could picture her: skinny jeans, combat boots, brown hair either in two low-maintenance pigtails or in a rat’s nest of little pinned-up twists. She had a law degree and worked for a legal nonprofit, but still looked like a college freshman. “Emma, hey. How you holding up?”

  “Oh my God. He’s this mass of bruises and stitches, and with all the tubes and things stuck in him … I can’t stand to see him like this.”

  I swallowed, fighting a wave of nausea. I sat on an armchair and pulled my legs up. “Jesus. I can’t stand this either.”

  “But I had to call you. See …” She drew a shaky breath. “He came to my place yesterday, to store the rest of his stuff. Then he said he wanted to talk. He was like, ‘Usually I’d talk to Sinter about my romantic problems, but this time, he’s my romantic problem, and I don’t know what to do.’”

  “Oh, God,” I said, barely above a breath.

  “He told me about the last time you saw each other. How he offered to be with you, and you didn’t want to mess up his life or something.”

  “Yeah. I didn’t, but …”

  “He was heartbroken, Sinter. He was like, ‘Why didn’t he ask me to stay? He has to ask me. I can’t just invite myself. It’s his kid.’”

  I pressed my hand to my mouth. Tears flooded my eyes again.

  “I asked him if he loved you,” Emma continued, “and he said, ‘Only for about ten years now.’” She imitated his snappish hurt voice perfectly.

  The tears spilled down my cheeks. I wiped them off with my knuckles. “I feel the same. I wish I’d told him. I did, on his voice mail, but until he wakes up …”

  “He will,” she insisted, though her voice shook. “He will and you’ll tell him then. Anyway. Just in case … I thought you should know.” She let out a sigh. “I hope he isn’t mad at me for telling you.”

  “I’m glad you did. And I’m coming back as soon as I can.”

  “With your baby?” S
he sounded happy and hopeful for the moment.

  “Yeah. Verona.”

  “My new niece! Which is completely what I consider her, whether you like it or not.”

  “You’re awesome that way. So your parents know about her? Do they know about me and him too, or …”

  “Yeah. Mom asked me this morning what was going on with you guys when I said they needed to call you right away. I told them because I … I wanted them to be sure to keep you in the loop. Treat you extra nice.”

  “They’ve always treated me extra nice. More than I deserve.”

  “You’re one of us, Sinter. You know that. For real, Mom and Dad basically already view your baby as their granddaughter.”

  I tried to smile. “See, that’s why you’re all rock stars.”

  “Send us lots of pictures of her. Seriously.”

  “I will.”

  “Take care, Sinter. We’ll be in touch.”

  “Definitely. Thanks, Emma.”

  CHAPTER 41: DESTINATION UNKNOWN

  DANIEL AND JULIE TOOK ME UNDER THEIR WING WHEN I TEXTED THEM THAT EVENING AND TOLD THEM about Andy’s crash. They showed up with an array of take-out for me to eat, though I couldn’t manage more than a few bites, and they listened while I came out to them.

  “The reason I’m so upset about this is, well, I love him, and his sister says he loves me, but we weren’t exactly together and—ugh, I need to fix it. Oh, by the way, I’m bi; that’d be good to know, huh?”

  I was pacing with Verona. They stood before me, attentive and sympathetic.

  My shoulders sagged when I read their expressions. “This isn’t even a surprise, is it?”

  Julie wrinkled her nose and shook her head.

  “You two lived together,” Daniel said. “You wear makeup. You have been known to kiss guys. So, no, I’m going to say not a surprise.” He gave me one of his charming smiles, the kind that kept you from pitching a pillow at his face.

  “Right. So …” Then my pretense at being able to communicate fell apart, and I stonewalled all my emotion and ducked my head to look at Verona so I wouldn’t start bawling.