The elevator doors opened and I stepped inside, reaching for the button to the lobby.
“Hey, Rhys,” Natalie said at the last minute, her hand stopping the doors as they began to close. “I really did consider your offer but it just wouldn’t work. You have to know that? You’d never be happy with me.”
She removed her hand from the door and it closed before I could respond. I wondered all the way home what she meant her last words.
23
Natalie
“Are you ready, Mom?” the nurse asked as she handed Christopher to me.
He wasn’t hooked to any tubes or wires. His little body felt heavy in my arms, at five pounds ten ounces. And my eyes misted as I placed him into the car seat that waited for him on the floor of the room.
“I don’t know if I’m ready, but I guess I have to be.” I gave a nervous chuckle as I answered her.
She patted my arm reassuringly as I fastened the straps around my son. He was ready to go home. He was thirty-nine weeks gestational age and three months old. We did the car seat test—where they make sure baby doesn’t stop breathing while sitting in their car seat for at least ninety minutes—two days before and he passed with flying colors. It didn’t ease my anxiety but he couldn’t stay in the hospital forever. This was a good thing, a great milestone, and I breathed through the nerves as the nurse went over everything I needed to do once Christopher was at home.
After signing all of his release paperwork, gathering all of his things, and hoisting up the car seat, which was heavier than he was, I hugged the nurses who helped my son survive his first tenuous three months of life and headed out of the hospital. Davis waited for me with the car, the base of the car seat expertly installed in the back. After fussing over Christopher for a minute, and with butterflies in my belly, we made our way uptown to my apartment.
The last two weeks were a blur of tests and extubation, milestones, and grateful tears. I texted Rhys every update, and even let him know that on this sunny spring day, Christopher would be released from the hospital but the most response I received was an “okay” or a “great.” It was my fault he was being distant. I shot him down when he offered to take Christopher and me in.
I hadn’t wanted to but at the same time, I knew I would never be good for Rhys. Rhys was a giver. He barely knew me, didn’t know my past, and yet he was ready to give up everything for me. I was a taker. I took and took from people until there was nothing left, wearing them down to nothing. I did it with my friends in college. I did it with Jackson. And I would do it with Rhys if he gave me the chance. On top of that, once he knew how cruel I was, knew the truth about me and everything I did in the past, he wouldn’t want me anyway.
I would never keep Christopher from him though. Hope filled my chest that he would come back to the city to see Christopher once we were settled into the apartment. The hope was followed by dread. The apartment we were headed home to no longer felt like home. I set up his room, with the help of my father, who refused to mention our argument or even acknowledge that it happened, several days ago. When I looked around my apartment, with the expensive artwork and the high-end furnishings, it felt cold and barren, and not at all a suitable place to raise a child. But I didn’t have the energy yet to tell my dad I hadn’t accepted his ultimatum. I was a coward—a coward with a child to take care of for the time being.
“Do you need help carrying the seat up, Miss Livingston?” Davis asked as he pulled to the curb of my building.
I shook my head. “I think I can manage. Thank you, Davis.”
I hoisted my bags, diaper bag, and purse over my shoulder before unlatching the car seat from its base, and lifted it from the car. It was heavy, but because Christopher was so small it wasn’t unbearable. The doorman met us with an opened door and even followed me to the elevator to press the button for me. I gave him a quick “Thank you” and a smile as I stepped in, set the car seat down, and pushed the button for my floor. I let out a deep sigh, not because Christopher was heavy or I was exhausted, but because I was relieved for him to finally be home from the hospital. Even if the place I was bringing him home to didn’t feel like home. It would take time. I hoped.
The elevator pinged our arrival, pulling me from my thoughts. I picked up the seat and stepped out. My father was supposed to meet me here and I wasn’t looking forward to the conversation that was likely to follow. He was going to ask about when I was planning to return to work again. I didn’t have an answer for him because I wasn’t planning on returning to work. For Christopher’s sake, I was hoping to keep the peace for a little while longer. But I knew that wasn’t going to happen. I needed a backup plan, but I hadn’t been able to come up with anything yet.
After unlocking the apartment door, I stepped inside, gently placing the car seat onto the tile in the foyer. Christopher was asleep and I didn’t want to disturb him.
“Nat?” I heard from the direction of the kitchen. My father was already here.
I steeled myself to deal with him. Our interactions were never this tense before now, but a lot had changed in the last few months. A lot.
“Hey, Dad. Christopher is asleep,” I whisper-yelled the words to him as I shucked my jacket and hung it in the closet.
“I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to yell.” He came around the corner quietly, his voice lowered.
“It’s all right. Have you been here long?” Once again, I grabbed the car seat and my bags to move into the living room.
My dad jumped into action, taking the seat from me as we made our way to the couch. He set it down on the coffee table, leaning over to look at Christopher for a moment. My heart squeezed with guilt for the way I felt towards my father recently. If nothing else, he loved Christopher and me. I had to remind myself of this on a regular basis. Just because he wasn’t as nurturing as I would like, or because he cared too much about our image and less about what I actually wanted, didn’t mean he didn’t love us. He loved us the only way he knew how. But the only way wasn’t good enough for me to stay at the company. Dad was going to have to accept that if he wanted any kind of relationship with either of us.
“His room is all set up. I had everything put together a couple of days ago. I even assembled the bassinet in your room myself.” He said the last part with pride, puffing his chest out. Dad prided himself on the people he could afford to pay to do things for him, so to have set the bassinet up himself was quite an accomplishment.
“Thanks, Dad, I really appreciate all that you’ve done for us.” I meant it. “It’s going to take us a little time to adjust to being home, I think.”
Dad nodded. “You’re right about that. It’s so weird to see him in the car seat and not his incubator, with all of his tubes and wires.”
“I know. I keep having mini panic attacks, thinking about him not being hooked up to anything to let us know if he’s in distress. But they assured me he didn’t need them anymore.” I put a hand on my chest as I spoke, to calm my rising heart rate.
We both watched Christopher breathe in and out slowly as he slept. The nurse’s warning about letting him sleep in the car seat flitted through my head though, and I jumped up to unstrap him.
“They told me not to let him sleep in the car seat if I could avoid it because it can make him stop breathing.” I lifted him gently to my chest. He didn’t stir, only sighed heavily and resumed his sleep. My heart constricted for a whole different reason—with love for my son.
“I think we should talk about when you will return to work,” Dad blurted out, just as I settled back on the couch with the baby on my chest.
Right on cue. My heart rate spiked again for a new reason.
“I don’t really think now is the time, Dad,” I began through clenched teeth.
“Now is the perfect time, Natalie. We can discuss getting Christopher a nanny and your new schedule. You wouldn’t return right away, of course, but in a few weeks.”
I shook my head, being careful not to move too much and wake up Chr
istopher. “I’m sorry, Dad, but I won’t be getting Christopher a nanny. Because I won’t be coming back to the company.” I decided it was better to pull off the Band-Aid in one fell swoop.
Dad closed his eyes, clenching his fists in his lap. “So that’s what you’ve decided then? You’ve decided to throw away your whole life and career for some musician?” His face reddened and his voice got louder as he spoke.
“No, I’ve decided to give it up for my child. I don’t want it anymore and I don’t want Christopher to be raised by a nanny.”
My dad reared back as if I hit him. I knew the nanny comment would resonate because I was raised by one. “There is nothing wrong with having a nanny.”
“There isn’t, but that’s not what I want for my son.” I spit the words out at him with the rage building in my chest.
My dad stood up, brushing his khaki pants off, and folded his arms over his chest. “Natalie, I don’t know what to do with you anymore. This whole thing with the musician changed you and I don’t know you anymore. We used to want the same thing. You wanted to take over my company when I retired.”
“I never wanted it, Dad. I did it to please you because I didn’t have anything else. That’s not true anymore. I have Christopher, and I realized I want more out of my life than to be you and live in the world you created for me. I’m sorry.” But I wasn’t really sorry.
Dad paused for a minute, pacing to the other side of the room. He put his hands on his head and paced back. When he looked down at me, I knew what he was going to say and instead of fear, I felt free.
“Then you leave me no choice but to cut you off. I’m sorry, Natalie.” But he looked about as sorry as I felt.
A solution, one I hadn’t thought of before, formed in my head and as it did, I knew it was the right solution all along.
“That’s fine, Dad. Christopher and I will be okay. I’ll make sure of that. You can prepare the apartment to list.” It didn’t feel like home anyway and I had a better plan.
The plan I was formulating was scary, out of character, and the biggest risk I had ever taken in my life. But I knew what I told my dad was true—Christopher and I would be okay.
24
Natalie
“Is that everything, Miss Livingston?” Davis asked as I stood in the middle of the empty apartment, Christopher strapped to my chest in a baby carrier.
I nodded. “Yes, Davis. Everything I’m taking is in the moving truck. Thank you for the help.”
“No problem, I was happy to help.” My dad’s driver was told to stop driving us several weeks ago, and Davis had stayed on to help me.
I glanced around the apartment, my home for the last five years, and didn’t feel any of the emotion I should have felt. Nothing. I was excited to start a new chapter with my son, but not sad to leave the old one behind. These feelings solidified the decision for me—I was doing the right thing.
I handed Davis the keys and walked to the elevator, dropping a light kiss to the top of Christopher’s dark hair-covered head. We rode down to the waiting car in silence. The moving truck had already left and was going to meet us in Los Angeles. Christopher and I had a flight to catch.
As the plan had formed in my head that night several weeks ago, on Christopher’s first night home, I thought it was a reaction to my father’s rejection. But as I thought about it, the decision to leave New York and move to LA made more sense. Rhys had a right to be near his son, even if we didn’t have any chance of being together. Though I had heard from him sporadically in the last few weeks—he knew Christopher was home but not that I was moving to LA, I was conflicted on whether to tell him about the move. I didn’t want him to think I was moving out there because of his offer. Not because I didn’t care about him, but because I wasn’t sure I had anything to offer him right now. Because I didn’t deserve him and I had no intentions of leading him on. That was something the old Natalie would have done for attention and security. The new Natalie knew she had to make it on her own.
The ride to the airport was uneventful and Davis made small talk as he drove. He didn’t say, but I think he was worried about Christopher and me. I tried to keep his mind from fretting about us by asking about his life and his family. By the time we arrived to JFK, I found out he had a wife and two young girls. It struck me as sad that, after all these months of Davis being my driver, on our last day together, I was finally getting to know him. Feelings of selfishness settled in an uncomfortable knot in my belly. Was I being like the old Natalie again? Was the cold bitch who used to reside in my head taking over?
No. I wasn’t letting her back in. These last few weeks had been pretty busy and before that, I spent ninety percent of my time in the hospital with Christopher.
“If you’re ever in LA with the family, look us up, Davis,” I said as I pulled Christopher’s car seat from the back and hoisted it to my hip.
Davis nodded as he helped me haul the suitcases from the trunk. “We are planning to take the girls to Disneyland soon. Maybe we will visit then.”
“That would be great. I’d love to meet them.” That was the truth. Now that I had my head out of my ass, I wanted to make meaningful friendships and stop using people.
I gave him a slight hug—which was a little awkward because I wasn’t used to being affectionate with people—gathered my bags and Christopher, and headed into the airport.
* * *
My eyes widened as we drove up the short driveway and I took in the cottage-style house before me. This was my first time seeing it in person, and from the outside, I loved it more than I did when I saw it online. The siding was white-washed brick with a large storybook style chimney jutting up to one side. It had black trim and shutters, with a red arched door.
My heart skipped a few beats as I looked at the house that would now be a home for Christopher and me. How did this house, which I never set an actual foot in, feel more like home than the apartment I lived in for five years? Excitement filled me from head to toe as Christopher and I got out of the cab. The driver helped me with our bags—which would never have happened in New York—and with the car seat perched on my hip, I unlocked the door to my new house.
A strange feeling washed over me as I walked in, having never owned anything on my own before. It felt like a huge accomplishment and tears clogged my throat as I set my luggage and Christopher’s seat down. In that moment, I was grateful I had the house furnished before we arrived because I needed a place to sit down. I perched on the edge of the overstuffed beige couch and put my face in my hands. My emotions were all over the place lately.
When I finally composed myself, I wheeled the suitcases into our perspective rooms, took Christopher from his car seat, and changed his diaper before sitting down on the sofa again to give him a bottle. My mind drifted to Rhys as Christopher chugged away and I wondered, for the fiftieth time, if I should call him.
No, my brain answered right away.
I knew why I wouldn’t call him yet—I was afraid. Afraid to see him, afraid of how I would feel when I did, afraid I would go against the promise I made to myself not to slip back into my old ways and try to use Rhys. That was probably my biggest fear. I was hyperaware of the way I used to be and the way I behaved now. It was exhausting, but I refused to be the person I was. I hated that woman. She was lonely, anxious, and cruel.
No, I wouldn’t call Rhys yet because I didn’t know what to say to him. Because I couldn’t make him feel as if he owed me anything.
I looked back down at Christopher, who was halfway through his bottle, and popped it out of his mouth. Lifting him to a sitting position on my lap, I patted his back firmly but gently to coax a burp from him. Because he was a preemie, I had to be careful with gas and reflux. Most newborns had them but with Christopher, we could end up back in the hospital. After a few minutes of soft thumps on his back, he let out a burp more suited to a teenage boy and not a five-and-a-half-pound baby.
“That was quite a burp, mister,” I cooed at him. I was rewarded
with a toothless grin, milk dripping through his lips.
My heart felt like it was going to explode with love as I looked into Christopher’s green eyes. Everything I had done up to this point was for him, even if some of it wasn’t the most ethical decisions. Even if I regretted a good deal of it.
The rest of the day, I spent unpacking, organizing, and resting on the couch with my son. This couch, Christopher’s crib and bedroom set, and my own bedroom set were the only pieces of furniture I had sent out from New York. I didn’t want anything else from the apartment. None of it meant anything to me. It was time for a fresh start—new things, new life, new me. At least I hoped I was a new, better person than I was before, because I could barely live with the sins I committed against others hanging over my head now, let alone commit new ones.
* * *
I bolted upright, looking around frantically. What was that noise? Where was I? My heart slammed into my ribs and a fear I hadn’t felt since Christopher was in the hospital gripped my chest. I was in the new house. Taking a deep breath, I swung my legs over the side of the bed and looked around again. When my breathing calmed a little, I could hear Christopher’s quiet breathing from the pack ’n play next to my bed. He was fine. But what was the noise that woke me?
I stood up, wrapping my arms around my middle because the house was chilly from the AC, and padded out into the living room. The sound grew louder and I blew out another breath. I had left my phone in the kitchen to charge so it wouldn’t wake Christopher. For the last week since we moved in, I had been doing that because the first night, Jessica called to see if we arrived all right and woke him up. Lesson learned—no phone in the same room as a sleeping baby.
I glanced at the time on the wall oven. It was 3:17. Who could possibly be calling me this early? Irritation, but also fear, filled me as I reached for my phone. Despite my father’s rejection, I still worried about his health. He worked too hard and never saw a doctor.
One Song: book two in the one series Page 16