Antidote

Major

I take the envelope with the room keys and turn to see three wilting children and one exhausted beautiful woman sprawling on three couches in the lobby. They drag themselves up and follow me to the elevator. This hotel doesn’t boast the luxury the Del Mar did, but the romantic weekend is a bust and this place had a room available.

I’m not ready to take them home yet. I thought I was, but driving away from the hospital with three whiny, tired, scared kids made me rethink kiddie boot camp. I need to do a few things at home before we all move in and get comfortable . . . yeah, that’s rich. I’ll never be comfortable again for as long as I live.

It’s okay, though. They’re family. I’m going to keep telling myself that until it’s fucking true. It’s okay. It’s going to be okay. Samantha wouldn’t think twice about doing it for me. She didn’t think twice when she took Malory. She also adores children and doesn’t have a fucked up brain that can’t handle germs and disorder.

So here we are at the Oceanside hotel, going up to our adjoining rooms with lamps that are cemented to bedside tables and bathrooms that are, God willing, cleaned every day. Sometimes, I just need the knowledge that something is supposed to happen on a daily basis to ease my anxiety. Other times, I have to see it with my own eyes. Hotel bathrooms and sheets are supposed to be cleaned and laundered every day, so therefore, the room is essentially safe for a temporary amount of time. At home, I like to watch Edith put the sheets in the wash and hear the scrub brush against the tiles in the bathroom when she cleans because it’s my house where I reside permanently.

It doesn’t seem to make sense to anyone but me, but I don’t give a flying fuck. Everything has a place and everything in its place. That’s what good old Mom used to say. Along with, If you’re always late, you’re always rude, and Your time isn’t more valuable than mine, so stop wasting it, Or the best of all, I discipline you so the prison guard won’t have to someday.

All are perfectly fine little nuggets of knowledge if they aren’t accompanied by beatings and starvation. My stepmother was the queen of hypocrisy, always late, messy, rude and undisciplined. And Dad was no better, just watching it happen. Oh, he joined in occasionally, especially if the punishment had anything to do with Samantha, but for the most part, it was her ruining our lives. She turned me into a kid who dreaded every second of the future, and Sammy into a compulsive liar. Thankfully, therapy cured her of that. It’ll never give her back the normal childhood she deserved, but Sam broke the chains that our adoptive parents shackled us with and made a good life for herself . . . until today.

“Come on, guys, time for bed,” I say as Violet pulls the covers back on one bed and I do the same on the other. They slide in without a complaint.

“Do we have to go to school tomorrow?” Davy asks.

“No, we will go see Mommy again tomorrow.”

“Is she all alone?” Summer asks.

“No, she’s never alone. There are doctors and nurses, and Aunt Sabrina is spending the night tonight.”

She looks relieved to know Sabrina is with her mother. So am I. I wanted to stay with her myself, but the kids don’t know Violet well enough to stay alone with her yet.

“Get some sleep now. Goodnight, I love you.” I kiss my fingers and press them against Davy’s forehead. He’s too old for cheek kisses. Summer sits up and presents me with her forehead, but I kiss her cheek instead.

“You’re not too old for cheek kisses, now are you?” I ask.

“No, I just wanted you to be comfortable.”

My seven-year-old niece is enabling me. What the hell?

“Where did you hear that?”

“Mommy says not to touch you first and not to make messes so you will be comfortable.” She looks up at me with her big, round eyes, and I brush my thumb on her cheek where I just kissed her.

“She’s the best Mommy, isn’t she?” I say, blinking back the tears that are pricking at the back of my eyes.

Summer nods and smiles. “Don’t cry, Uncle Sawyer. Mommy’s brain will get better. The angel told me so.”

“Angel?” Violet asks from Davy’s bed.

“Uh huh, when we got there, the pretty angel that was holding Mommy’s hand told me she will be just fine.”

Violet and I look at each other, stunned. I don’t usually believe in spirits or angels, but tonight I really want to for Sam’s sake. Violet stands and rounds the bed to kiss the girls goodnight.

“Next time the angel is there, will you tell me? I’ve never seen one before, and I’d love to meet her,” Violet says.

“You believe her?” Malory mumbles against her pillow. I thought she was already asleep.

“Of course, I believe in angels and fairies and leprechauns, all that stuff.”

“I love you, Violet,” Malory says, closing her eyes, losing the battle with sleep.

“I love you too,” Summer chimes in, reaching around me to hug her.

“Hey, what am I, chopped liver?” I ask.

“Ew, what’s chopped liver? Sounds gross,” Summer says.

“It is gross, dummy, that’s why he said that. Duh,” Davy says, seemingly fed up with our love fest.

“I don’t get it, but I love you too, Uncle Sawyer.” Summer hugs me and I look at Davy in case he’s interested in exchanging proclamations of love too. He shakes his head and makes a disgusted sound. Fair enough.

I shut off the light and leave the bathroom light on with the door open a crack so they won’t wake up scared. I was afraid of the dark when I was their age. I was afraid of a lot of things.

“Should I close this or leave it open a little just in case?” Violet asks with her hand on the doorknob of the adjoining door.

“Probably better leave it open. Malory’s bound to wake up at some point and be confused.”

“Okay.” She pushes the door open much more than a crack, knowing all to well about waking up confused. She hasn’t sleepwalked since that first night we spent together, but I guess we haven’t spent that many nights together since then.

It feels like I’ve known her my whole life. I want to know her for the rest of my life.

I sit on the bed and watch her strip off her jeans and pull her bra through the arm of her t-shirt and carelessly toss them both on a chair. I’ll have to fold those later.

“What’s this? I don’t get to see you undress?” I say, infusing my voice with disappointment.

“I’m not getting naked with three little kids sleeping in the same room as us. You do remember I sleepwalk, don’t you?”

“Of course I remember. Maybe you’ll sleepwalk out of the rest of your clothes later.”

“Don’t count on it.” She pads across the room and stands between my legs with her hands on my shoulders.

“We should talk.” Her hands begin to knead my tight shoulders, and I moan. It feels so much better than talking.

“Later, we should get naked now,” I say, sliding my hands around to squeeze her round ass.

“No, really, Major. There are some important things we need to work out.”

“Tomorrow. I’ve had enough important things to work out today, now I’m going to work out with you.” I grab her around the waist and toss her on the mattress and straddle her, pinning her arms above her head in one smooth move.

“Hey!” she laughs softly. It’s good to hear someone laugh today, especially Violet.

“You’re not seriously going to make love to me with the door open, are you?”

“They’re already asleep—guarantee it—and I can be very quiet.” I kiss her lips and begin my trail down her neck pushing up her t-shirt as I go.

“I need to use the bathroom,” she says. I look up at her between her perfect breasts mid-kiss.

“Right now? Like this second?”

“Yes, right now, this second. I haven’t gone since we left the hospital. I’m going to burst.” Her words are rushed, almost panicky. I chalk it up to weak bladder control and roll over on my back, freeing her.

When she stands, I hook her with my foot and pull her so she’s standing between my legs again. I prop up on one elbow and take her hand, placing it on my raging hard on. “I’ve got a lot more stress to relieve when you come back. Don’t be long.”

I love the way her lips part when she gasps and her pupils dilate until there’s no brown left in her eyes, just black. Her tongue slides out, and she pulls her bottom lip back in with it before she takes her hand away. I drop back on the bed and watch the room go dark when she closes the bathroom door.

I hear a buzzing noise, and sit up to look for my phone. The hospital has my number. They could be calling with news. It’s on the night table, and it’s quiet and dark. I left it there earlier. Must be Violet’s phone. The jeans that she tossed on the chair have a glowing pocket. I was going to fold those anyway. May as well grab her phone for her.

I slide the phone from her pocket, fold the jeans neatly, and place them in a drawer with her bra. When I sit back down on the bed, I glance at the lit up screen before putting her phone next to mine on the table.

It’s a text, several in fact, and they are from Dr. Sayeed Kumar. The Dr. Kumar who caused me to see red earlier today when I found him embracing Violet outside Sam’s room in the ICU. The Dr. Kumar who took her to lunch and left her flowers on her door, and the one who gave me hope that my sister will wake up.

I slide the message open and scroll up to where it began this afternoon. It’s wrong, it’s an invasion of privacy, and it insinuates I don’t trust her. I do trust Violet. It’s the good doctor I don’t trust. He’s a good catch, rich, handsome, charming, and he doesn’t have the fucked up head problems I have, but I’m not about to make it easy to steal her away.

I start to read the first message that she sent to him and drop the phone on the mattress when I get halfway through the first paragraph. I’m here with my boyfriend, and he doesn’t know I’m pregnant.

The door to the bathroom opens. I take one look at her, and she knows I know. She looks at her phone on the bed and rushes toward me, but I’m up on my feet pacing before she can reach me.

“Oh my God, Major, this isn’t how I wanted you to find out. Shit, I’m so sorry, I wanted to tell you tonight. I swear that’s what I wanted to talk about earlier.”

She’s standing by the bed, clutching her phone to her chest. Every quick, shallow breath she takes causes her hands to rise and fall. She’s pregnant with my baby. God, this could be Katie all over again. I can’t breathe. I can’t do this. Why didn’t she fucking tell me? Wait, how pregnant is she?

“How far?” I say, my voice cracking with the two simple words.

“How far along?” She bites her lip hard enough to draw blood when she answers my question with a question.

“Yes, damn it, how far along are you?”

“Twelve weeks.” Tears are streaming down her cheeks, and I’m trying to process information that I should never have to process. Twelve weeks? That’s three months!

“Jesus, Violet, three months? Why didn’t you tell me sooner? How the fuck did this happen? I mean, I know how it happened, but you said you were on the pill. Were you lying?”

Her shoulders start to shake, and a sliver of me wants to go and comfort her, but not until I’ve heard the details. Not until she convinces me she didn’t do this to trap me.

“I . . . wasn’t lying.” She sobs between words, but I wait.

“I got sick.”

“And?”

“And they did a test.” Her voice wavers and shutters.

“I was eight weeks already.” And she’s bawling uncontrollably now. I have no choice but to comfort her. The kids are going to wake up next door and think something has happened to their mother.

I take her in my arms, and she grabs onto me like a lifeline, clutching my shirt and molding her warm body against mine. It’s pointless to try and resist her. No matter how angry or suspicious I am, I can’t deny that she is my calm,

my gravity,

my antidote.

She holds the insane buzzing anxiety in my head at bay. She is my normal in a world filled with abnormalities. When I’m with her, I know things are going to be all right. Tonight is no exception. The second she’s in my arms, I have hope.

I never wanted to have another baby. I never wanted to love anyone ever again. But sometimes, your heart speaks the words your mind won’t, and my heart is yelling, You love her. Don’t let her go!

“I’m so sorry. I didn’t know how to tell you. I tried once, but—”

“Shush, stop apologizing, it’s me who should be saying I’m sorry. I just never expected . . . I mean I never planned on—”

“I know, me neither.”

I tip her face to mine and kiss her salty lips. She refuses to loosen her grip on me, so I lift her up and we fall to the bed locked in each other’s arms. It’s dark, but I can see the relief flooding her eyes.

“Were you afraid to tell me?”

“Yes, after you told me about Katie and Malory, I wasn’t sure I could.”

“So you were going to have my baby. And not tell me. And support it alone.”

“I didn’t really think it through very well, I guess. I would never have kept it from you. You deserve to know you have a child. Dr. Kumar reminded me of that today.”

“I wanted to wring his neck a couple of times, you know.”

“I’m sorry. It was nothing really. He had a crush and I didn’t. End of story.”

I sigh, and my breath blows a piece of her hair. It flutters off her cheek and against her neck.

“It’s not just Katie that has kept me from having anymore kids. I never wanted to fall in love again, and I had a difficult childhood. I’m not sure I can be the right kind of father.”

“You will be the exact kind of father our baby needs, because you’re his father. I don’t think you give yourself enough credit. Malory is a great kid, and she knows you love her to the moon and back. That’s all that counts, Major. She knows you’re there for her no matter what. That’s what kids need.”

“You sound like the therapist I went to when I signed custody over to Sam. You don’t look like her though. She was old and wrinkled and she had spiky hair.”

“You’d better love me when I’m old and wrinkled with spiky hair.”

“Old and wrinkled okay, but keep the hair. I love your hair.”

I cover her mouth with mine and breathe in her scent, feel her lips sliding against mine, listen to the soft snore of a sleeping child in the adjoining room, and taste her tears, memorizing the moment that I learned I was going to be a father again.

Just when I’m about to strip her bare and very slowly and very quietly make love to this new mother to be, I feel a light tap on my shoulder.

“Daddy, I don’t like sleeping with Summer. She snores,” Malory says.

Violet pulls down her t-shirt, and I moan. Kids, they have crummy timing.

“Come on up here. You can sleep with us. It’s all right.”

And it is, because Violet makes everything all right for me.