Look How You Turned Out (28 page)

"Dad…why are you crying?" I'm looking at Marcus over Artie's shoulder and raising my brows really high.

"Well, I'm happy for you pumpkin face."

Marcus breaks into a big smile. He knows my love of the term.

"Dad...," I say, in this hug that grows quickly awkward when Artie lets out an audible sob. I am splattered with tears as we simultaneously back off. "Dad," I whisper hurrying into the kitchen, grabbing a couple paper towels and returning to the living room to put one in Artie's hand.

Marcus has stayed seated on the couch. Dad has just said to him, "Well, that was quick." It's the middle of April, but yeah…it's quick.

"Dad…," I begin, but he cuts me off.

"My little girl is having a baby." He swallows loudly, wiping his face.

Marcus stands up then, enters the arena. He extends his hand. Artie nods and takes it in his own. It's one of those hard grips and a good shake. It's over quick.

"I was not expecting that," Dad says as we all sit back down. The news of my pregnancy had brought Artie right out of his chair—too fast for his hip. He is rubbing that now.

"Did you tell Juney?" Dad again.

"Not yet," I say. "He's still at Elaine's."

"Better tell him so I don't spill the beans," Dad says, cause he will spill the beans. And now he works at the local watering hole—Billy's.

"Yeah I just went to the doctor, and it's official so…," I say sitting across from Dad and tearing on the edges of the other towel. I don't know why I grabbed two, one for him, one for me. I'm not crying, for once.

"I'll be darn," Dad says, shaking his head, looking at me like I've just revealed the whereabouts of D. B. Cooper.

"It…ah happens," I say laughing, looking at Marcus, who is sitting beside me. He smiles back. He's enjoying this. I can't imagine why. It's pretty elementary. Nothing like the way he and his dad talk.

"Are you happy?" Dad asks.

"Well yeah, Dad. Are you?"

"Of course, I am, but I'm not the one that has to go through it," he says, his face crinkling for a moment before he takes a deep breath and tamps it down.

"Did you tell Juney?" Dad asks.

Later that day when Elaine drops Juney off, I text Marcus, who is at work, that our son is home. It takes Marcus another fifteen minutes to get there. Juney goes to him for a hug. He still calls Marcus 'Daddy,' at odd times. "Hi Daddy," he says hugging his father.

"Hey…we've got some news," Marcus says.

"What is it?" Juney says looking from Marcus to me.

"Why are you looking at me?" I say.

"What?" Juney says.

I nod at Marcus, "Ask him."

"What?" Juney says to Marcus.

Marcus smiles.

"What?" Juney says again. "No way."

I guess we're both grinning.

"The invasion?" he says to me.

I nod.

"No way," he laugh-cries.

"Way," I say.

Marcus grabs him in another hug. "Not an only child anymore. Big brother," he says.

"Why?" Juney whines, his face buried against Marcus.

Marcus kisses the top of Juney's head and rocks him, and Juney breaks out of it.

"Kiss your mother," Marcus says going to the fridge.

"My baby," I'm saying, arms open wide.

"Why'd you do it?" Juney is saying coming easily into my arms for a hug.

"It's your fault," I say hugging him for six seconds before he lets go.

"My fault?"

"You made me love parenting so much I want more," I say.

We go back and forth with our nonsense. It goes all the way to names. I make sandwiches and suggest Juney and Johnny if it's a boy and Juney and June if it's a girl. Marcus points out that I can call them collectively, as a set, JJ.

That gets the proper rise out of Juney. "You guys are not doing that."

He says he wants a lock on his door. It's a two-bedroom home. Juney makes it clear he's not sharing his room. Then, "Am I?"

"No," I say, because that's not going to happen.

After a few minutes, Marcus has to go back to work. I follow him to our room.

"How do you think it went?" I ask him as soon as he comes out of the bathroom.

"Fine. He'll be fine," Marcus says. He's holding me. It's the best feeling in the world. Here we are, two only children. We're shoving our son into a new bracket. "Wouldn't you like to have a brother or sister?" he asks.

"Maybe. I don't know. I think it's a good thing—having siblings. I just don't know any better. How about you?"

"The same. Course Don replicating himself…no thanks."

That makes me laugh. "When are you going to tell them, Marcus?"

"I'll tell Mom, and she can tell him. He's not a family person," Marcus says. "What about Ranita?"

"Ranita?" I'm acting surprised, but oddly enough, it did cross my mind. This is a time when a normal person would be telling their mom. "It won't be soon, if I do tell her," I say. "She wasn't that excited about me, you know?"

It will always be difficult when thinking of her. Marcus said he didn't think about Don. I know what he means, but it's always there.

So the days pass and I love our life. What we've made together.

I'm looking for what matters. I want to get it right. Love…matters. Being a loving wife…matters. Being a good mom…matters. Being a kind daughter…matters.

If I say, I believe it…whatever 'it' is…I want to live it. I'm trying to. One way or another, my parents taught me that—each in their own way.

I know I'm young, but that shouldn't stop me from being wise. And it doesn't. I just have this sense that it's a gift, you know? Life? I want to milk it…for everything. There's so much to learn, so much I want to learn.

I cry a lot because everything gets to me, is so touching. Even if I start out laughing, it ends in crying. Any jar to my emotions and I'm in tears, and Marcus says, "Bedilia…Baby, it's okay." And that makes me laugh and cry some more.

Here's the deal. I see everyday stuff in this whole new beautiful way. For example, when I look over the dining room at Billy's, I don't just see customers, you know? I see…members of someone's family, maybe a widower, or a veteran, or a single mom. I don't want to care as much as I do, but I can't help it. It's the only way to live.

I already know Marcus is a good father. Angela abandoned him, and he got better. Bigger. He grew. Same with my dad.

I know I'm doing my best with Juney. A lot of it is effortless. Don't get me wrong, he can be a heck of a lot of work, but I mean…I have heart so…it's…good. It's great.

In bed a couple of nights later Marcus a,wakens me, or I wake up on my own, I don't know, but he's on his elbow, "Bedilia, you're having a dream."

I know right off I'm coming out of an alternate reality. I'm leaving the feelings of another world, another place, even the sounds of it. I think I've been screaming.

But my brain had already decided I needed to snap at him when I was in that other place--so the first thing I say, through my teeth, "I blame you." I say this like…vehemently.

His head hits the pillow, and he gathers me close. He thinks this fixes everything, and it usually does—his arms.

He's snoring softly. Already. How nice to be him where life is so, so simple.

"I had a dream," I say, yes I know that belongs to Dr. King, but I did have a dream.

He moves a little, clears his throat. "It's just a dream," he says in the Juney voice. He doesn't even open his eyes. Well, he's tired. There was a robbery today in the next town. They'd chased the guy. They caught him too.

"Marcus, please care," I say.

"Wha…?" he says.

He leaves the 't' off of 'what' way too often to suit me. But I leave that correction for another time. I have a dream to discuss.

"Marcus, it was twins. They said twins and you didn't even care. You laughed. And I kept slapping you and slapping you, and the nurse told me to stop. She was your girlfriend. So I hit her too."

In my dream, I was kind of like Sigourney Weaver. Only she just had one alien inside of her.

"Okay," he says, and he smacks his lips a little.

"Stop smacking in my ear," I say.

He snores.

"Marcus!" I try to shake him awake, and he gathers me in again and smacks some more.

I'm alone. All that, 'we're going through this together,' crap. What a crock. There had been this dramatic moment in my dream where he'd declared, "I'll be with you!" just like he does. "I won't let anything happen to you," he'd said.

"You already have," I spat at him.

So now I pull out of the man-cage and grab my pillow.

"Babe?" he says as readjusts his covers.

"Don't bother," I say.

I hit the couch in the family room. The fire has died down, and I get back up huffing and puffing. Then I add some more wood.

I've just laid down again when he's there. "Babe? What are you doing in here?"

I don't want to talk about it now. I'm trying to sleep.

"Go away," I tell him.

"What's the matter? Come back to bed."

"No. I just feel…so alone."

"What? I'm right here Bedilia," he says and next thing I know he's moving onto the couch beside me.

"This is impossible," I say smashed against the couch's soft back.

"Come 'ere," he's saying as he gets his arms around me. We watch movies this way all the time.

I don't want this. But I do. So I begrudgingly let him think he's solved everything once more, but I have to laugh as he struggles to get the afghan over his long legs and big feet.

"Mother…bear," he mutters failing after several tries.

We settle down again, his feet in the wind.

I can feel his misery. "Babe…why don't we go back to our big, soft bed where we can get all cozy and lovey," he says, cajoling me.

"We're not getting lovey," I say sternly.

"Come on. What did I do?"

"Don't talk to me like that."

"Like what?"

"Like I'm ridiculous, and Uncle Marcus is here to sort it out."

"Come on," he says and even though I'm protesting, quietly so as not to disturb Juney, he's got me on my feet, and he's pulling me down the hall to our room. Scrapper hears us and starts to whine. He'll probably wake Juney.

Marcus gets me in the bed, covers me up, then hurries to the other side and gets in beside me. He gets us all cozy again.

"You going to tell me?" he says kissing my temple same time his hand runs over my stomach, his big protective, loving hand.

"I…you could have gotten hurt today…so hurt," I say, the tears building.

"Well, I didn't. I'm right here aren't I?"

"I don't know."

"You don't know if I'm here?" he says rubbing a little lower, a little higher.

"I…love you so much Marcus."

"I'll always come home to you, Bedilia. Don't I always come home to you?"

"Yeah," I say as I cry, and he continues to rub. "But…I couldn't live without you." I start to really cry now.

"Hey…Bedilia, Bedilia," he says moving me so I have to look at him. "Come on."

"I…know I'm being…I…it's just…."

"Shh," he says, comforting me, my ear over his heart. I've made a wet patch on his chest. He has a few hairs there that tickle my nose.

"You're a cop's wife," he says. "You have to be strong. I need to know you'll carry on no matter what."

"I will," I say, then I hiccup like a wuss.

"Everyone has their time, Babe. I'm planning on mine being a long way off."

"How do you know?" I say just because it sucks to think of these things.

"You enjoy the day and stay positive. Babe, you can't control a lot of stuff, you know? You do what you can."

Uncle Marcus is pretty wise. He sounds a lot like Artie.

"I know. I'm being stupid." me

"We'll talk it out…you know?" him

"Are you ever afraid?" I say.

He's quiet and stroking me in such a comforting way. "It doesn't control me," he says quietly.

"What…does?"

"You," he laughs, and I slap his chest, and he settles down. "What controls me? I don't know. I really believe God's not out to get me, I guess. I get things I don't deserve…on both ends. I get more good than bad. We all do. I guess…it's love. And duty, to those I love. You get that right…it branches out in a positive way. You've got something to give. That's it."

"You're like…a sage."

He laughs at this. "A sage who likes to love on his wife," he says pulling me up higher so he can kiss me.

His kisses. He lived so long without someone to kiss. "How'd you get so good at this?" I ask.