Chapter 38

Gigi

Trying to roll over only forces a pained gasp from my dry lips.

“Easy,” I hear Mom say from beside me.

“I hurt,” I grumble, hoping she can take the pain away just as she has all of my life.

“Childbirth is the most beautiful and most painful thing you’ll ever go through.” Her voice is soft; her hands warm on my shoulder.

“Amelia?” My eyes flutter open but slam shut against the brightness of the room.

“She’s perfect,” Mom assures me. “Waiting to meet you.”

The reminder that I haven’t met my daughter yet is like a knife to my heart. Both for the missed opportunity and the realization of what happened right after her birth.

“Jameson,” I sob. It’s not a question because I can feel in my soul that he’s gone. There’s an emptiness in my chest that only he was ever able to fill. That spot is now cold and desolate.

“Shh.” The calming hand my mother runs in circles along my arm doesn’t bring the comfort it did in childhood. This isn’t a scraped knee or harsh words spoken on the playground by mean girls who want to hurt my feelings. This pain is real and so acute I can hardly catch my breath.

“Please calm down,” my mother begs.

Calm isn’t something I can manage, and I grow angrier at the ridiculous request.

“They’ll sedate you again.”

My breath hitches, head aching with misery I have no idea how I’ll ever survive it.

“Please.” I don’t know what I’m begging for, but I’m certain that if she had the power to take it all away, she’d do it in the blink of an eye.

“Shhh.” The hand, the circles, the energy so strong I know it’s something only a mother can possess for a hurting child, is almost enough to settle me. Almost enough to make me believe everything will be okay.

Almost.

But, how can it? How can a day so beautiful be endured when it’s also filled with tragedy? Filled with such loss that the good, the beautiful is dulled like a consolation prize.

“He promised me forever, but now he’s gone.”

Saying the words out loud gut me. Acknowledging my truth rips my soul to shreds.

“No, baby girl. He’s not gone.”

Her assurance does nothing for me. Lying only makes my anguish sharper, like razors on my skin.

“He’s out of surgery,” she continues. “He’s hurt, but he’s not gone.”

I shake my head, hope the last thing I need. Hope is only going to make things worse, and in this moment I hate her saying the words. I hate my dad for putting us in this situation. I hate the world for taking away the only man I could ever love.

“I know you don’t agree,” my mother says, and it’s only now that I realize she’s walked away.

Chills run up my arm where her comforting touch was only seconds ago.

“Wires and a ventilator are better than her being sedated again because she thinks he’s dead.”

I open my eyes, head tilting to the side to watch my mother as she paces near the door. I’ve never heard her use that tone with anyone, much less my father who I assume she’s speaking with.

“Now, Diego,” she snaps before pulling the phone from her ear and hitting the end button.

Her phone chimes and the familiar sound of a Facetime call makes my heart rate spike.

I shake my head as she walks closer. She’s holding the phone away from her chest as if it’s a bomb she’s terrified is going to detonate in her hands.

“They’ve labeled him critical stable,” she warns. “He looks like hell, but he’s not gone.”

“This is a bad idea,” my dad says from the other end of the call.

“Daddy?” I say as I reach for the phone.

When I turn it to face me, I’m met with the warm eyes of my father. His face softens, the angry, agitated look I expected nowhere on his face.

“Hey, baby girl.” I’m comforted by the nickname, calmed by the kind baritone of his voice. “I hear I’m a granddad.”

I nod, my voice getting stuck in my throat. I’m a mother, one who’s not even met her daughter yet. I’m failing as a parent already, which only proves the things I’ve been telling Jameson for the last several months as reality sets in.

“I want you to know, before I turn the phone around, that it looks worse than it actually is.”

I shake my head. “Please don’t lie to me.”

“He’s holding on,” Dad assures me.

“I can handle it,” I lie. The tight smile I attempt fails as tears roll down my cool cheeks.

“I love you, baby girl.”

His words echo in my ears as the phone shifts before landing on a man I hardly recognize. The beard is familiar, but his color is off. His size, once so huge and powerful, is diminished in the hospital bed. The cords and wires connecting to his ashen body are nothing like I imagined while preparing myself for this moment.

I begin to cry, my body shaking so hard I drop the phone. My mother, being the strongest woman I know, grabs the phone and holds it in front of me. I ignore the tremble in her hands that matches mine.

“Listen, Georgia.”

I shake my head, unprepared to hear my dad make promises he’s unable to keep. I can’t bear assurances and empty words.

“Listen,” he urges again. “Hear the beep?”

My sobs quieten as I try to focus on what he’s referencing.

“That’s his heart monitor,” he explains as the consistent beep, beep, beep is heard through the phone. “It’s strong, steady. He’s in an induced coma because of the vent. His lung was punctured. He’s not dying, baby girl. He’s healing.”

“H-he’s going to live?”

“I have every faith that he will,” Dad answers.

“Promise me, daddy.” Tears brim my eyes again. “Please.”

“Baby girl.” I can hear the emotion in his voice, but I don’t miss the fact that he never utters the words. He never tells me everything is going to be okay. How can he?

“Have faith,” he urges.

“Leave your phone,” Mom instructs.

I watch as the phone is propped against something.

“Love you, baby girl,” Dad says before I hear the click of a door. Silence, other than the beep of his monitor and the rush of air every time the machine pushes air into my love’s lungs, fills the room around me.

“I’m going to have the nurses bring Amelia in,” Mom says as she lifts my hand and wraps my fingers around the phone.

“Thank you.” I hope she knows the two words are meant for everything she’s done.

My eyes close against the warmth I feel on her lips as she brushes them against my forehead, but then they focus back on the man in the hospital bed.

When the door clicks closed as my mother leaves the room, the begging begins. I beg him to live, to fight, to hold on for me, for Amelia. I make promises I’m not even sure I can keep, but have every intention of trying to manage. I promise to let him do dirty things to me. Swear he can punish me for missteps I haven’t even committed yet if only he’ll wake up.

He doesn’t.

I know he’s unable. After Dad’s explanation, I know he’s physically unable to fight against the drugs they have pumped into his body so he can get better, but that doesn’t keep me from selfishly hoping he will. It doesn’t keep me from watching him so intently that my eyes begin to hurt because blinking means losing a second of time with him.

A whimper from the doorway is the only thing strong enough to make me refocus. A nurse with a smile too bright for the situation pushes a small cart topped with a plastic basket into the room. Pink and wiggly is all I can see until Mom sidesteps the nurse and reaches inside to pull Amelia out.

I smile back at the phone, hoping the noise was enough to make Jameson wakeup.

“You’re missing the most precious moment,” I chide as if he’s aware of his surroundings. “I know you hate missing this.”

“Shh-shh-shh,” Mom coos as she walks closer.

“I’ll hold her twice as tight until you can have her in your arms,” I promise.

I whimper right along with Amelia as Mom pulls the phone from my hand and replaces it with the most perfect angel I’ve seen.

“Don’t,” I say as I settle the little bundle in my arm and reach for the phone with my free hand.

“I’m just propping it up,” she assures me as she rolls the table closer.

I watch the screen of the phone as she settles it against the pink water pitcher. I don’t fight the smile that crests my lips when I split my time between watching the screen and looking down at the miracle we made.

“She’s perfect,” I whisper to Jameson as Amelia calms, her lips jutting out as she falls asleep.

“She’s got his eyes,” Mom says. “I imagine her chin is his as well, but I’ve never seen him without a beard.”

“She’s a mix of everything good from both of us.”

Tears fall from my eyes transforming the spots on the blanket from light pink to fuchsia.

“I’ll give you guys some time,” Mom says after another brush against my head. She repeats the action to Amelia’s tiny head before backing away. “I’m going to have to track down an extension cord and have Misty let Shadow know your dad will need to find one also.”

“Thank you.” I take a few seconds to look up at my mother. She nods, eyes still brimming with tears.

“There is a waiting room full of people waiting to see you and meet Amelia.”

“I’m not ready,” I tell her with my eyes back on my daughter.

“Let me know when you are.” The softness in her voice is unexpected. I anticipated her telling me not to be selfish, to urge me to consider other people’s feelings. “Ivy is chomping at the bit to get back here.”

“She’s here?” How long was I out?

Mom nods. “She jumped on the first plane. Isabella is out there as well.”

I begin to tremble. “I want to see them both.”

Mom glances back at the phone before her eyes meet mine again. “It will be hard for Isabella to see him like that. Maybe after you end the video?”

I shake my head. “The video stays until he wakes up.”

“That could be days, Georgia.” It doesn’t come out as chastisement, only her acknowledging the length of time in case my hopes were up for immediate gratification.

“I know. You can explain to her, just like Dad did for me. She’ll want to see him.”

Mom nods even though she seems unsure.

“Give me ten minutes alone, and then you can send them back.”

I don’t bother to look at the door when it clicks softly behind my mother.

“Your sister and aunt are going to meet you soon,” I tell Amelia’s sleeping form.

My fingers trace the small pout of her lips, trailing down her tiny chin.

“Everything is going to be just fine.”

My eyes sting as I lie to my daughter for the very first time.