My leg won’t stop its nervous twitch. I have been sitting in Grace’s fucking office for ten minutes, and I need her. I need Grace’s assurances that I’m not going to mess this up. Opening the door behind me, she scoots in. This time is not my normal therapy session, but I needed to see her before Aspen and Tyler arrive. “Sorry, Emma, for being late. Jolie needed some assistance with Reagan, and I’m the only one she trusts besides you. However, she understands you are freaking out ten days to Friday and didn’t want to burden you.”

The truth is I have missed Jolie since she moved to the family wing of the retreat. I visit her several times a day, normally holding Reagan while she takes a catnap here and there. “Maybe being around Reagan and Jolie will help me to forget how utterly scared I am.” Looking at my watch, I see they will arrive here in less than an hour.

“So tell me, Emma, what can I do to help you prepare for this visit?”

“Tonight, they are just coming for dinner and will leave after supper. Tomorrow, Anders will drive me into town where I’ll spend the afternoon with them, and then you are picking me up around four.”

Nodding, she acknowledges this part of the plan. “Then Sunday, he’s coming to get me if all goes well, and we will do some sightseeing. He and the baby will leave the next day.”

“Okay, I think it’s good you are taking it slow.”

My eyes instantly fill with tears. “You know, that is not how I see it, Grace. It seems so much at one time.”

“I know, Emma. Let’s go over some of your techniques. First, the ones you have been practicing,” she reminds me as if I can fucking forget. “Remember what I have told you. It is okay to be prepared for the triggers that bring on the trauma,” she states.

“Yes, the big trigger is in the form of a baby I’m supposed to love.”

I take her hand, and as if she’s ready to reprimand me, she begins, “Aspen is not the trigger. Sure, her birth is, but stating Aspen is the trigger is like saying all Germans are Nazi followers.” She has used this analogy so many times with me that I want to take her words and dissect them to prove her wrong. I don’t want to blame Aspen, and I try to tell myself that every day, but my heart is not getting the message.

“I understand seeing your daughter does bring up the unpleasant memories, but she’s not merely the one event you keep remembering. She’s the product of your love for Tyler.” Pausing, she narrows her gaze on my eyes. “Okay, what are some internal triggers? The things that live inside you?”

We partake in this exercise at least once a week. I start because I can rattle them off like the back of my hand. “It includes the thoughts, all my memories, emotions, and bodily sensations, including how I felt useless and a failure with my inability to bond with my baby.”

“Okay, I know you know this, Emma. But go further, tell me one thing.”

There are so many memories to remember, and as Grace has told me on many occasions, if I can process the triggers in my brain, then I can prepare my body for when a panic attack is brought on by my triggers. I’m trying to think of a new one, a situation we have not discussed. I can’t go too deep right now, and I know she’s pushing me for a reason. “Mom and Dad thought I was asleep in my room after I refused to hold Aspen. Ty took her back to the nursery, and the on-call nurse came in and told my parents she’d never seen anyone pull through so much blood loss. Mom and Dad were beside themselves, and of course, I remember the doctor saying they were losing me, but to hear it in that way. I only now remembered that memory, as though I’d pushed it so far down, I never wanted to remember it.”

She’s nodding her head, and I know it’s the “we’re making progress” look she seems to get on her face when I make some headway. “I think these memories will continue to surface. The brain is funny; it is as if your brain is giving you pieces of that day when you are ready to go on to the next level.”

“But I’m marked, as though leaving my baby is the worst thing a mom can do.”

“Sure, it’s a double standard, but then again, we have to work through what should and shouldn’t concern you. Sure, you left, and you’ve been honest about how you feel. With you, I’m assuming you can’t be any other way. But, Emma, you are here working on this, and I know you want to find a way back to your girl. I think when you first got here, you understood it was the only way you could repair your marriage, but I see you with Jolie and Reagan. You love them both, and one reason is because you don’t have the trauma or the responsibility you have with Aspen. I think once that fear subsides, the gates of love will be opened to Aspen, and nothing, and I mean nothing, will keep you from her.”

Her words fill me with hope, and I smile at the idea that I’ll be the mother I remember I wanted to be. In the past four months, I’ve opened to the idea of what my life was like as a pregnant soon-to-be mom, and I can almost visualize myself doing those things for Aspen as Jolie does for Reagan.

“I see by the smile on your face that our visualization exercises are working. The images you’re playing through your mind show in your smile.”

For months, Grace has had me share with her images of what it would be like if I was with Aspen by myself, and after the first couple of weeks of anxiety attacks taking me over, Grace worked with me to understand this was all pretend, but the more I could see myself as a mom, the more I would desire it. “You want to share what you are seeing, Emma?”

“We are on the floor, and I’m helping her put the little shaped blocks through the right part of the sorter. Do you know what I’m talking about? My sisters, when they were toddlers, loved them. Well, Jane did. It is funny. Looking back at their personalities, Jane is very analytical, and she’d spend hours with it. My other sister, Jane’s twin Lila, was too busy to sit down and do something so tedious. Now, as adult women, that is still Jane’s temperament, and Lila is still too busy for the more tedious tasks in life.” I smile, thinking of my sisters. “I wonder if the baby will show any signs that I can look back on when she’s an adult woman and say, ‘Yep, she was always like that,’ as I’ve just done with Jane and Lila.”

I can’t read Grace’s face right now. Not that I normally can, but as her lips turn, forming a little smile, I only ask, “What?”

“That is a very acute question you asked. You are thinking about her future, something even a month ago you never brought up. Your mind is opening to her, little by little, Emma. You may not realize it because you are too busy thinking of everything you are doing wrong, so when you do something right, you miss it. We need not worry about what you’re not doing. I mean, pushing you to see Aspen this weekend is something I feel you needed a push for, but YOU stopped beating yourself up and worked toward opening yourself up more.”

* * *

I’m reading In The Unlikely Event by Judy Blume that Justine sent me in a care package. I am stuffing my mouth with a pack of Nutter Butters she also packed, when a knock on the door startles me. It must be Anders letting me know Tyler and the baby are here. Planning to tell him I’ll be at the main office in five minutes after I brush my teeth, I swing the door open and come face to face with a baby that looks like a clone of my baby pictures. Ty places his finger on his lips to let me know she’s sleeping. Walking in without a word, he takes our girl and places her on my bed. When she whines, he sits next to her and rubs her back as she settles on her stomach. I had always thought babies were not supposed to sleep on their belly, but he’s much more the pro here than I am. Once she falls back to sleep and I marvel at his paternal skills, he turns to me and gives me a small hug, but he looks in bad shape.

“You okay?” I instantly caress his forehead.

“Hey, babe, you are a sight for sore eyes. It’s the damnedest thing. We got on the plane, and at our connection in Seattle, Aspen started feeling warm. She puked on the plane, but then I started feeling sick, like I have the same bug, which makes sense if Aspen is sick.”

Since Jolie has moved into the family quarters with Reagan, I don’t have a roommate. “Here, go crawl up in this bed and rest for now.”

“Okay, I’m so sorry. All I want to do is hold you in my arms. But first, Anders is bringing her port-a-crib. She will sleep better in it, and I’ll sleep better with her in it. I know we weren’t going to stay here, but I have no energy. He was going to put us in another room, though.”

“No, I want you close. Don’t worry,” I say these words so fluidly that I am surprised I mean them, but I do. However, anxiety takes hold of me as I start to think of the worst-case scenarios here. I want to offer to help with the baby, but I wouldn’t know what to do with her as a healthy baby, let alone her sick.

“Ah, sweetheart.” He wraps me in the Tyler Hunter signature embrace, and I melt. “This is not what I had envisioned for the three of us.” He places a kiss on my cheek when a little knock on the door breaks our intimate moment. Opening it, Anders stands in front of me with Tyler’s bag, a Pack ’n Play, and some Gatorade.

After he drops it off, Tyler undresses to just his boxers. He’s sweating profusely. “What can I help with, Ty?” I ask.

“In my bag are some pjs for Aspen. Can you grab the lightest pair and the liquid Tylenol on the side and a clean pacifier?” He’s proficient, knowing exactly what this little one of ours needs. When I turn around with the items, the crib is erected, and he’s attempting to put a sheet on the crib mattress, but he’s shaking.

“Lie down. I can do this for you.” I grab the sheet and bend over the plastic slats of the crib, barely getting these tight fucking sheets to fit. He’s laughing at me. “This is a bitch,” I reply, and he only nods his head in agreement. “Do you want me to help you with Aspen?” I offer, but I’m shaking on the inside that I may have to do something.

“She has a bottle in her diaper bag. Can you take some of that Gatorade and dilute it with half water? I’ll rock her back to sleep.”

Looking around, I say, “I don’t have a rocking chair.”

“I know, Ems. I’ll make do.” Turning the baby around, he quickly puts a new diaper on her and strips her of the clothes she has had on, putting her new pajamas on her quickly. When I give him the bottle with the diluted Gatorade, he asks me to measure out a half teaspoon of Tylenol. I give it to him, and she takes it quickly. Sitting on the one chair I have in my room, he pulls his body back and forth in a rocking motion, making himself the chair our baby needs. I’m in awe of all he can do and try not to feel ill-equipped as a mother. “Now she may throw this up, or she may not. I’m trying to get something in her system, so don’t freak out if you hear her vomiting. Just wake me up.” He stands up and slips her on her back. She instantly goes back to sleep.

“Ty, honey, I don’t care if I get sick. I want to move the beds together so I can feel you next to me.” Thankfully, pushing the spare bed next to the bed I sleep on doesn’t make very much sound, and the baby stays asleep. I crawl under the sheets in the bed closest to the wall, and Tyler crawls in next to me, holding me.

* * *

It almost feels right until three hours later. The baby wakes up crying, and I don’t mean whimpering, I mean, screaming bloody murder. Ty gets to her before I even stir and puts her between him and myself, but that doesn’t seem to appease her. As he stands to walk with her, he lays her down quickly. “Don’t let her roll off,” he says, dashing to the bathroom. When I hear him violently vomiting, Aspen stops crying, staring at me.

I’m completely frozen, unable to say a word to her. My throat constricts, and I start to sweat as though I’m now sick. She fusses, a little at first, then she fusses more and more until her face is completely red. Again, I can’t move at all. I’m frozen in my tracks. Ty hurries out of the bathroom, making a beeline to Aspen.

“Shit, Emma, she’s a baby. She won’t bite. She needs to be held, and I was in there puking. What is wrong with you?” I know he’s not feeling well and being sick has never been a strong point of his.

“Ty, don’t yell at me. I don’t know what I’m doing!”

Scooping up Aspen, he places her over his shoulder where she instantly finds the crook of his neck. All I can think is, you have the right idea, baby girl. I like that spot, too. I try not to focus on Ty’s harsh words because there is truth to them. It is just another reminder that I am a failure at this mothering thing.

Eventually, Ty and Aspen make their way to the bed, where they both fall asleep, and I grab an extra pillow and blanket to sleep on the floor. I hear Ty calling for me, “Ems, there is room. Crawl into bed with us. Please.” I act as if I’m already asleep. I can’t do that, not after I couldn’t handle the small task of picking up a sick baby.