Marie Sexton - Coda 06 - Fear, Hope, and Bread Pudding (15 page)

Back inside the birthing room, it was immediately apparent something had changed. Before, the nurses had been quietly encouraging and consistently gentle. Now, they seemed more excited. Not anxious or worried. More like cheerleaders turned up to eleven.

“This is it,” one of them said. “You’re almost there!” “You’ve been saying that for an hour now!” Taylor cried.

The nurse laughed. “I know, sweetie, but this time I mean it. One or two more pushes is all that’s left. I promise.”

 

The nurse who’d called me into the room grabbed my arm. “Come up here, Dad. You need to be ready.”

 

“I’m not the father,” I said stupidly.

 

“You’re the one cutting the cord, right? Here. Hold her leg. Right there. Just like that.”

It was all too soon and too fast. I had a view of Taylor I’d never expected to see, and I hoped to never see again. On her other side, Cole was holding her hand, but his eyes were on me.

“See that?” the doctor asked, pointing to a circle of hairy, pink flesh in the midst of a whole fucking lot of hairy, pink flesh. “That’s the top of the baby’s head.”

I hadn’t wanted to see poor Taylor with her legs spread so wide, but suddenly the view went from obscene to magical. “Oh my God,” I breathed, overwhelmed. “Taylor, the baby really is right there. We can see her.”

Cole squeezed her hand. “You can do it.”
She started to tense, and I knew another contraction was coming. “Make it count, girl!” the nurse said.

Taylor screamed. Larissa pushed her forward through the contraction, helping her bear down. “That’s it, that’s it, that’s it!” the doctor cried. “Push push push push push!”

And suddenly, the baby’s head came free. Her face was red and contorted into a grimace that would have been comical at any other time.

“Oh my goodness!” Cole said, peeking around Taylor’s knee to look at the baby. “She looks mad, doesn’t she?”
“Stop!” the doctor cried, with only the head out. “Stop right there honey. Take a break. We need to get her airway clear before she takes her first breath.” The nurses suctioned the baby’s nose and throat with practiced efficiency. “We’re all set now, Taylor. Next contraction, she’ll be free. Are you ready?”
“She’s ready,” Cole and Larissa said together.

“Push!” the doctor said again. Taylor bore down, too tired now to scream, and in the next instant, the baby was free, pink and wet in the doctor’s hands. Her first cry was a pathetic, angry warble, but it quickly grew to a shriek. The nurses wrapped her in a blanket, and one reached up to put the baby on Taylor’s stomach. She realized her error partway there. She shifted direction and handed the baby to Cole. The baby was halfway wrapped in a blanket but still slimy and covered with stuff I didn’t even want to try to identify. My first thought was
you’re going to get your shirt dirty!
but Cole obviously could not have cared less.

The way he gazed at her took my breath away.

The doctor shoved a strange bent pair of scissors into my hand and directed me toward the cord. I tried to follow through, but I was shaking so hard, I couldn’t squeeze them shut. I had to use both hands. After that, Cole and I were gently pushed out the door and into another room.

“We’ll go someplace else to weigh her and check her Apgars,” the nurse told us. “Normally we do it right there in the room with mom, but adoptions are always special cases.”

The other nurse smiled as she took the baby from Cole and began to unwrap her again. “You can bring Grandma and Grandpa in now. And you might want to take some pictures.”

Those sounded like good ideas, yet I couldn’t do anything but watch as they weighed her and checked her over and cleaned her off. She was pink and wrinkled, with a cap of dark hair on her head. She screamed and the nurses cooed and laughed.

“All ten fingers, all ten toes, and a good set of lungs too. Just the way we like them.”
They bundled her into a blanket and handed her back to Cole. He immediately began unwrapping her again, until one of her hands popped out, an angry little fist waving in the air. He held it in his hand, as if inspecting the tiny nailbeds. “Look how long her fingers are,” he said to nobody in particular.
I’d never seen him happier. I’d never seen him so perfectly at ease and at peace, as if his entire life had been nothing but a precursor to this moment. As if every thing he’d ever said or done had been leading him here. This baby was suddenly his everything.

And my everything too.
My knees gave out, and I fell heavily into the chair behind me. For months now, I’d concentrated only on getting us to this point, on supporting Cole and trying to keep him sane through it all. I’d thought only vaguely of what it meant to be a parent. Yes, we’d feed her and keep her warm and comfortable and safe.
Safe?
The absurdity of it nearly made me laugh out loud. I stared at her, screaming and flailing in Cole’s arms. He beamed at her, bouncing a bit on his toes, making soft cooing sounds to her. She was tiny and completely helpless. How could we possibly keep her safe?
Blind terror made my head spin and my chest tight.
No. Not tight.
Empty.
It was as if somebody had reached into my body and scooped out my heart, and now it lay in Cole’s arms in the form of a very loud, very red-faced baby. I thought of taking her home, and I began to panic.

Nothing had prepared me for this. Nothing had prepared me for how impossible it was to take something so fragile and innocent into my care. The entire world seemed like a threat. Every piece of hard candy, every electrical outlet, every drapery cord. Every car and bookcase and swimming pool.

And that was only the beginning.
Later she’d have to go to school. To learn to ride a bike. To learn how cruel other kids could be. She’d get hurt, and Cole and I would feel it just as keenly as she. Every scraped knee, every broken bone, every broken heart, we’d be there, suffering with her, wishing we could protect her, but knowing we couldn’t. How did any parent survive?
There was no going back, either. There was no way to reclaim my heart. No way to take it and make it as small and unknowing as it had been before. No way to put it securely back in my chest.
Her cries died down, and Cole looked over at me.
“Do you want to hold her now?”
I couldn’t answer. I needed to hold her. I knew that. But that implied a level of commitment I wasn’t ready for yet. That would be the final step toward losing my heart and myself forever.
My dad appeared out of nowhere and put his hand on my shoulder. He smiled at me, his eyes warm and a bit amused, but sympathetic as well.
“Scary, isn’t it?” he asked.
I could only laugh at the inadequacy of the word. “Scary? More like terrifying.” Even that word wasn’t strong enough. Cole was still smiling at her. She held one of his fingers in her tiny fist. I turned to my dad again. “Does this panic ever go away?”
He shook his head. “Never. Not even now, Jon. It’s still there.” He pointed at the gray hairs on his head. “Where do you think these came from?”
“I’m serious, Dad.”
“So am I.” He patted my shoulder. “All I can say is, you get used to it.” He grabbed my arm and pulled me from my seat. “Come on, son. It’s time for you to hold your daughter.”
My daughter.
If Cole shared any of my anxiety, it didn’t show. He looked at peace as he laid her in my arms. She was asleep now, her tiny mouth making little sucking movements. She sighed, and some of the terror fell away. I began to smile.
“She’s perfect,” I said, and I was surprised to find I was crying.
“She is,” Cole agreed. He kissed her forehead.
“
She
still needs a name,” my dad said.
“Well,” Cole said, glancing from my father to me and back. “I guess we’ve ruled out Carol? And Elizabeth? How about—”

But I didn’t even have to think about it. I knew her name. It had been there all along, simultaneously simple and profound, guiding us to this place. “Hope,” I said. “Her name is Hope.”

Chapter Ten

M
ANY times in the preceding months, I’d wondered how it would feel to stand outside the nursery window and see our child on the other side. I was surprised to learn that the idea of lining babies up on little carts on the other side of the glass was a thing of the past.

“Normally the baby would stay with the mother,” the nurse told us, “but Taylor didn’t want that, so we’ve made other arrangements.”

We were given a room on the maternity ward, just as if we’d delivered the baby ourselves. We were encouraged to hold her as much as possible—not that any of us needed much persuading on that count.

Thirty-six hours later Taylor and Hope were released from the hospital. Technically, Hope had to be discharged into her mother’s care, but there was no law that said Taylor couldn’t give the baby directly to a babysitter, which was exactly what she did. It was unusual, certainly, and it felt a bit like stealing cookies from the jar when no one was looking, but Taylor didn’t hesitate to hand our baby over. And so Hope Nicole Fenton came home earlier than we expected.

Cole was quietly, blissfully happy. He spent hours holding her and rocking her and taking a ridiculous number of pictures. Thomas warned us not to take anything for granted. After all, Taylor had another thirty-six hours to change her mind, but his well-intentioned warnings proved unnecessary. Exactly seventy-three hours after her birth, Taylor made it official.

We were parents.

There is no hope unmingled with fear, and no fear unmingled with hope. The words are as true now as they were then, but my father was right about this, as he is about so many things.

You get used to it.
Date: February 14
From: Cole
To: Jared

Happy Valentine’s Day, sweets. I hope you and that big adorably grumpy cop have something sexy planned.

Everything here is going well. Hope is perfect and beautiful, and I’m certainly the proudest father in the world, although Jon’s giving me a run for my money. I know I’ve been bombarding you with pictures, and I apologize, but what do you expect? You are, after all, her godfather. Of course I’m not Catholic, so I have no idea what that means, but it’s a title you should wear with pride. I’m not getting much sleep, but I don’t mind. Not yet, at any rate. Hope seems to sleep all day and be awake all night. Isuppose at some point I’ll begin to feel exasperated as all parents do, but for now, I can only be thankful.

My mother is still staying with George, and I can’t help but wonder if it will become permanent. She adores Hope as much as the rest of us. I think she’ll be a far better grandmother than she was a mother. I’d like to say something snide about that, but the truth is, I’m glad to have our family grow a bit. From three to five in the span of a year.

It feels good.

As for she and I, our relationship is improving. We still have our bad moments, and I suspect we always will, but we’ve had some really good moments too. We’re learning to think before we speak. Seems silly that it took us this long to figure that out, but I suppose that’s life.

Speaking of mothers, we heard from Taylor the other day too. It was sooner than we expected, but she’s doing well. She’s happy. She says she knows she made the right decision. I was glad to hear it.

Hope will be awake soon, so I don’t have much time. The truth is, there’s not much to say. I could go on and on about how beautiful and amazing my daughter is, but I’m sure I’d bore you to tears. I want you to know though, sweets, you’re always on my mind. I miss you terribly. Something about Hope and this whole mess with my mother makes me realize that I need to be honest about these things. It’s silly to not tell somebody when you love them, and so I’m telling you now: You’re the best friend I’ve ever had, Jared. I love you to pieces, honey, and I always will.

All right, I’ll stop now. I can feel you squirming from here.

We’ll be up there in the spring to introduce you to your godchild and to make Angelo good on his babysitting promise. In the meantime, give him and Zach my love, and call Matt “buttercup” for me, just once.

Baby’s crying. Gotta run.
See you in May.
Love,
Cole

About the Author

M
ARIE
S
EXTONlives in Colorado. She’s a fan of just about anything that involves muscular young men piling on top of each other. In particular, she loves the Denver Broncos and enjoys going to the games with her husband. Her imaginary friends often tag along. Marie has one daughter, two cats, and one dog, all of whom seem bent on destroying what remains of her sanity. She loves them anyway.

You can find Marie on Twitter, and at http://mariesexton.net/, or download the official Marie Sexton app (available free on iPhone and Android).

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By
MARIE SEXTON

 

N
OVELS

T
HE
C
ODA
S
ERIES
Promises
A to Z
Strawberries for Dessert

N
OVELLAS

T
HE
C
ODA
S
ERIES
The Letter Z
Paris A to Z

Fear, Hope and Bread Pudding Published by D
REAMSPINNER
P
RESS
Cole and Jonathan’s story begins with:
The Coda Series: Book One by MARIE SEXTON