“Are we hoping to find out the gender today?” the woman asks. I’m not a hundred percent sure if she’s a doctor or if an ultrasound specialist is different from a doctor, but I see the degrees hanging all over her wall so she obviously must know what she’s doing.
Journey glances over at me, waiting for me to answer. “Uh, yeah, we’d like to find out if possible,” I say, clearing my throat before and after my sentence.
“Do you have any suspicions?”
“It’s my first, so I’m not sure, and I’m not a big believer of superstition.,” Journey says.
She thinks we’re having a boy. She’s lying to the technician. She hasn’t been sick or uncomfortable—hasn’t had any cravings or aversions to smells or foods. She’s hardly gained weight, but enough that the doctor isn’t concerned. According to the books, she doesn’t approve of me reading; those are tell-tale signs of having a boy. She doesn’t want to hear it, but I saw her tracing her finger over a blue baseball cap the other day in a store.
All in all, she’s having a smooth time so far, unlike me who is wondering how I’m going to do this all over again. We weren’t planning for a baby. We hadn’t decided yet, but fate decided for us. Plus, it’s not like we didn’t know what could happen without taking precautions. I think we both silently assumed if it happens, it happens, and if not, it’s fine. Then when it happened, I thought Journey was going to have a hard time adjusting to an idea she hadn’t come to terms with first, but she’s been happier than I’ve ever seen her, so I’m happy too. Just nervous, and a little scared.
The ultrasound technician squirts the jelly stuff all over Journey’s little bump, as we call it, and presses the scanning device onto her stomach. Images flicker on the screen across the room and the sound of a heartbeat causes all the hairs on my arms to stand. “A good strong heartbeat,” Tricia says. She clicks her mouse across her screen while still moving the device around Journey’s stomach, leaving little markers on the screen. “Everything looks good so far.” Journey presses herself up to her elbows, likely assuming what comes next during the process. It takes the technician a minute to scan around Journey’s abdomen to find what she’s looking for. “Come on, sweetie, move that little arm of yours.” I see the arm now that Tricia has pointed it out. “Let’s see if we can get the baby to move that arm.” Tricia runs the device in circular motions over the spot producing the image of the arm, and a startling movement makes Journey jump and laugh at the same time.
“The baby did not like that,” Journey says.
“I guess not,” Tricia says, “but I got a clear image for you.” She clicks her mouse a few times, zooming in on the screen. “It appears you have a baby girl on the way. Congratulations!”
Journey is enamored by all the images on the screen; her eyes are wide and her mouth is ajar. The blood is rushing to my head, or out of my head, or—maybe I should have eaten breakfast because this cold sweat filling my body isn’t normal.
A girl. Another girl. Daughters. Two. Journey. All girls.
“He’s clearly not going to make it through the delivery,” I hear Journey saying through a chuckle. A damp rag is on my forehead, and water droplets are streaming down the side of my face.
“Here’s a little juice and some crackers. This will bring your blood pressure back to normal,” Tricia says.
“What? What happened?”
“You passed out, dork,” Journey says, standing in front of me, holding a wad of ultrasound pictures in her hand.
“Believe it or not, it’s common for this to happen here. It’s a lot for the mind to take in, and sometimes our bodies go into fight or flight mode, causing a blood pressure change, and dads just blackout sometimes. Oddly enough, it’s more often when they hear the word ‘girl.’” Trica laughs at her statement.
“I bet those studies show that those dads already have experience with daughters,” I say with a struggling smile.
“I’d be interested in finding out those statistics,” Tricia says with a wink.
“Brody, eat the crackers. Drink the juice. I have a lot of cute clothes to go purchase,” Journey demands. She’s beaming. Her cheeks are red. Her eyes are glossy. One hand is on her stomach, the other clutching the photos. She must not have known how much she wanted or needed this, and it’s amazing to see this change in her.
‘Hannah is going to be excited,” I say, munching on the crackers.
“She’s going to be an incredible big sister,” Journey follows.
“Two girls,” I mutter.
“How lucky are you?” Journey says.
“Do you know how many mood swings that equates to? How many boys will I have to scare off? Weddings. We have to pay for their weddings.”
“She’s going to have you wrapped around her little finger, just like Hannah does. Girls love their dads, Brody.”
I hear what she’s saying, but Hannah has not made me feel like a winning parent too often over the years, but I’d do anything for her, and I can’t imagine not having her in my life. So if this is just adding more of that kind of joy, I’m ready. Again.
“I’ll send the full report over to your obstetrician, and she’ll follow up with you in a few days,” Tricia says, placing her hand on my shoulder while offering a warm smile. “My husband and I have four girls. You’re going to do great.”
I inhale sharply through my nose and finish the crackers and juice. I can’t help but stare through the wall in front of me in a daze. It’s hard to snap out of the million emotions swirling through my head all at once.
“What are you so worried about?” Journey asks now that we’re alone in the room.
“I don’t want to mess her up,” I say. “I caused Hannah so much pain and discontent over the years. I can’t fathom the thought—but knowing it won’t happen to this baby because she will have you as a mom, makes me feel guilty that Hannah didn’t have it easy. I just don’t want her to feel like she missed out on anything, more than she already does.”
Journey takes the paper cup from my hand and tosses it in the trash, then takes my hands and tugs me until I stand up. Her arms loop around my waist, and she presses her chin into my chest, staring up at me. “Your fears are completely warranted, but you did not mess Hannah up. What happened between you and Kristy was not your fault. Hannah is old enough to understand this, and she does. You can’t keep layering this guilt onto your shoulders. You have done everything humanly possible to give Hannah a good life. She’s going to be okay. We’re all going to be okay. I promise you.”
I’m a jerk. We should be celebrating this new life growing inside of my wife's stomach, and I’m acting selfishly. “I only want what’s perfect for all three of you. I won’t stop until our lives reach that point.”
“Our lives are already perfect, so stop and enjoy the moment we’re living in, okay?”
I lean down and kiss Journey. “Okay, I will.”
“Otherwise, I’m going to put a pile of dirty socks in your pillowcase again, and I don’t love having to teach you hard lessons, Brody.”
I roll my eyes back, counting the times my adorable wife has done this to me as repayment for jokes I played on her. There is no worse joke than work socks in a pillowcase though. It’s not comparable to anything else.
Just as Journey takes a step toward the door, my phone buzzes again. “Hang on a minute. Hannah is texting me for the millionth time.”
* * *
Hannah: DAD?
Me: HANNAH?
Hannah: OMG. YOU KNOW?!?!
Me: Know what?
Hannah: UGH STOP IT. TELL ME!
Me: I don’t understand your question.
* * *
“Did you tell her?” Journey asks, waiting in the doorway.
“No. I’m not telling her over text. She can wait until we’re all together.”
“She’s going to be the one who puts those socks in your pillowcase tonight,” Journey says.
“Thanks to you for teaching her that trick.”
> “Us girls have to stick together,” she continues.
“Yeah, and you wonder why I just blacked out.”
“I wasn’t wondering. I knew why.” Journey takes my hand and leads us out to the car, grinning like a goof. “I’ll make sure we tell Hannah before I call my family. I know how fast the word spreads through our loose-lipped family.”
“Let’s go pick her up at school, so she doesn’t have to walk today. I’m not sure I can wait another hour,” I say.
“Good idea. But park behind the trees or—socks for days,” Journey says.
We’re only a few minutes away from the school, which allows us to take up the only inconspicuous spot at the high school. Thankfully, Hannah walks in this direction to go home, so I won’t miss her leaving. The timing works out well since school got out just a few minutes ago. If I hadn’t passed out, we would have too much time to spare, so there’s the positive side of that.
Journey has her gaze pinned to the side mirror out of her window. “Has Hannah mentioned any boys to you lately?”
I laugh because I’m almost positive it’s the last topic Hannah would bring to my attention. “No, has Hannah brought up any boys to you lately?”
“No,” Journey says, inquisitively. “But, assuming there aren’t multiple girls with fluorescent turquoise hair wearing all black, I want to say Hannah might have a boyfriend.”
“Nope. Nope. No. I can’t. Not today. It’s not her. Tell her, it’s not her, Journey.”
“What are you even talking about? Is that English?” Journey asks.
“No. Just no. Text her. Tell her no.”
“You text her,” Journey argues.
I pull out my phone and type out the clear message.
* * *
Me: NO.
* * *
“Yup, it’s here. She’s reading the message now. She’s saying goodbye to the boy with matching hair color.”
“No,” I say again.
“Brody, breathe. You can’t say no. You’ll push her to do things you don’t want her to do. Believe me, please.”
“No.”
“Brody, quit it. We’ll talk about this calmly and rationally, okay?”
“No.”
“Dear God,” Journey groans. “Well, she’s walking this way while typing on her phone.”
* * *
Hannah: No, what? I’m not talking to you until you tell me the answer.
Me: Just, no! Now, get in the truck.
* * *
“She just looked up from her phone and threw her head back with irritation. What did you just say?”
“I told her to get in the truck.”
“You know, I’m not the type who wants to go pop a massive balloon with a pin to find out if there is blue or pink confetti inside, but I would love to enjoy this hour without boy lectures—just one hour. It’s all I’m asking,” Journey says.
I’m being selfish again. I’m always going to be selfish. I want my girls to myself. It’s not selfish. It’s a fact of life. I need to protect them, all three of them now. My God. I’m not going to make it through this.
“Dad!” Hannah whips open the back door. “I walk home; you know this. Why are you here?”
“Well, we were going to tell you the answer you’ve been waiting for, but maybe you should go ask—”
Journey clears her throat. “We wanted to surprise you,” she says to Hannah, turning around to greet her with a smile.
“Well, tell me. I can’t take it any longer,” she whines.
“It’s a girl!” Journey says in the highest pitched voice I’ve ever heard come out of her.
Hannah shrieks in the highest pitched sound I’ve ever heard come out of her. And then there’s me, feeling like I might just black out again.
21
Life doesn’t stop when a new journey presents itself. It keeps moving forward, and we either follow the path of that journey or go in a different direction. The irony of Journey being my journey still plays with my mind, but if we had stayed together in the first place, things would have been very different. I wouldn’t have had to deal with some hard times that fell upon me, but those experiences taught me to appreciate what I have. t When you overcome a challenge that seems overwhelming and unthinkable, you feel a sense of newfound strength knowing you survived. Maybe I secretly read too many of those “how to live” books despite Journey’s disdain and her free spirit ideas of living without rules or maps, but it’s easy for her to say when she is the map.
I know nothing was easy for her between the ages of eighteen and now, but she passes by eruptions as if they are invisible. She doesn’t even blink but just keeps moving forward as I watch from behind, wondering why I don’t have that same switch to turn things on and off. We brought a baby into this world, and if I didn’t know Journey, I would have thought she’d given birth ten times. Everything was natural and calm, almost easy, aside from the pain she gritted her teeth through for thirty-two hours. And then, as if the clouds parted on the stormiest of days, Isla Raine Pearson made her entrance into this world with what was likely gas, but appeared to be a smile. Perfect, pink, bright eyes, a button nose, six pounds on the dot, and a natural beauty.
I’m surrounded by beauty and a little chaos.
Isla is almost a year old, and Hannah is driving. Journey smiles all day, which weirds me out sometimes. It’s like she had the opposite effect of postpartum depression. Either that or she’s silently planning my murder, but I’m going to go with happiness. I’ll take the happy, contentment, and peacefulness surrounding Journey and Isla because I’ve done everything in my power to give Hannah that same sense of calm and peace—somewhere away from the drama, misery, and depression that doesn’t seem to relent.
She isn’t as snippy as she once was, but the silence kills me more than the attitude. I don’t know what’s going through her head. I can't tell if she’s happy, angry, or somewhere in the middle. She sees a therapist and a psychiatrist, and I’m only given information if there’s a risk to her well-being. For that, I’m grateful because I haven’t heard much from the therapist. No news is good news I guess, but I want to be inside of her head so I can understand what her eyes see when she looks at the same world that I do.
“I’m going to do it,” I say to Journey.
We’re still in bed on a lazy Sunday morning, but Isla is bouncing up and down on Journey’s lap while yanking at my t-shirt.
“What we talked about last night?” Journey asks.
“Yeah, I think you’re right. I don’t think it’s going to send her the message of what I’m afraid of, just a moment to be open and share a past she’s old enough to hear about.”
“I think it’s a good time. You were around the same age she is now. It makes sense.”
“Do you want to come?”
Journey smiles and shakes her head. “I have to finish a client’s edits, and Isla will need a nap.”
I take Isla from Journey’s hands and sit her on my chest. “Da-da,” she says with a mouthful of spit following. Her clammy little hands press into my cheeks and she giggles.
“Where did you come from, little girl?” She only knows a handful of words, but she can make a room full of people laugh with just the sounds she makes and the infectious giggle she has for everything around her.
“She has your humor, obviously,” Journey says, nudging me with her elbow.
“Finally, someone will understand me,” I say, poking Isla’s nose.
She sneezes on me. Yup. My kid.
“Ew, boogers,” Journey coos, grabbing a tissue.
“Yeah, on me,” I whine.
“But they’re Isla’s booger, so they’re cute.”
“No, Journey. No. I need a tissue before I gag.”
Isla starts a bout of belly laughs at the scene as Journey smears a tissue lightly from one side of my cheek to my forehead. “How’s that?”
I feel a gag coming on. Can’t deal with boogers. I can’t. “Journey,” I groan.
She leans to her bedside table and grabs a baby wipe. “You’re such a whiny baby,” she says, cleaning my face off with the wipe.
“Thank you,” I sigh.
Just as I reposition Isla on my lap, I see her face preparing for another massive sneeze. My eyes widen, and Journey takes her back from my hands. “Wimp.”
“You can sneeze on me, cutie-pie,” she mutters in a baby voice to Isla. Rather than sneeze, Isla just giggles. “That’s what I thought. You just wanted to do it to Daddy. I don’t blame you.”
I kiss Journey and Isla and slip out of bed to get dressed so I can drag Hannah out of the house for some one-on-one time. I pray I can get through to her today. I wish for the same thing every day, but I have failed miserably. Something has to give. Anything would be a start.
I tap my knuckles on Hannah’s door. “May I come in?”
“Mmm,” she says. The sound means she’s busy doing something on her computer. God only knows, she’s probably hacking into a government system in another country. She’s smart as a whip and gets perfect grades yet can’t figure out how to be happy. I don’t understand how that works.
I open the door to an immaculately, clean room. This is something different for Hannah, but I love it. She makes her bed every morning, drops her clothes in the hamper. Folds her laundry and places it away in the correct drawers. Even her closet doors close the way they’re supposed to. It’s like I’ve almost raised a functioning human, kind of.
“Whatcha’ doing?”
“Just reconfiguring the data coordinates in my flying module app for the drone mechanism I’m using for my science project.”
The Barrel House Series: Boxed Set: Bourbon Love Notes, Bourbon on the Rocks, Bourbon Nights, Bourbon Fireball Page 83