by L. D. Davis
End of Part One
Dear Luke,
I have rewritten this letter a dozen times already, but I feel there is no smooth way to lead up to what I have to say, so here it is: You are the father of a five month old, beautiful baby boy. His name is Lucas, in honor of his father, and he was born May 18th.
I didn’t tell you because I know you hate me, and my biggest fear is that you will hate my son, too. Maybe that fear is unreasonable, but I have had a very hard time getting past it.
I am in Chicago for a day or so, at the Fairmont, room 317. If you would like to meet your son, I will be here all day today.
I am sorry for keeping this from you, and I am sorry for forcing my mother to keep this from you. Please don’t be angry with her. It is my fault entirely.
Sincerely,
Emmy
Chapter Thirty
The letter was sent off first thing on a Friday morning through a carrier service. Luke had to sign for it, so that I would know it was received. He had signed for it an hour after I sent it.
I waited with jumbled nerves for the better part of the day. I didn’t leave the room at all and ordered room service if I was hungry. Lucas kept me grounded with his need for entertainment and diaper changes and other things babies needed and wanted. I was happy to oblige.
He was a good baby. He rarely cried, and was always happy. He talked a lot, and I pretended to understand what he was talking about. I was never without him, he was my whole life, and if Luke chose not to come, my baby would always have me.
By the time night fell upon us, I knew Luke wasn’t coming. I was sadder than I thought I would be about it. At ten o’clock that night, I went to bed feeling grief-stricken by Luke’s lack of response. I wanted to call my mother and tell her I told her so, but I didn’t really feel like talking to her. Somehow I found the resolve to go to sleep.
In the morning, I decided to get Lucas out of the room for a little while before making any plans to leave. We had been cooped up there all of the day before and even though it was cold out, the fresh air would be good for both of us. I bundled him up and we left for a morning of shopping.
Just after noon, when Lucas and I walked through the doors of the hotel, Luke appeared in front of us, holding a little stuffed whale. My heart caught in my throat when I saw him. He looked better than he did the last time I saw him and I was tempted to run to him, but I didn’t. I kept cool and slowly approached him.
He looked at me with a mixture of disdain, sadness, and awe for a moment before registering the smiling baby boy in my arms. He inhaled sharply and stared at Lucas with absolute wonder and astonishment. He couldn’t deny that he was his, he looked just like him. They both had the same shocking blue eyes. Lucas’s hair was dark blonde, but like his father’s it would darken over the years to a medium shade of brown with some natural blonde highlights. I had seen Luke’s baby pictures, and Lucas was the spitting image of what Luke had been as a baby.
Luke offered his son a finger and Lucas promptly started to put it in his mouth, but Luke pulled back, mumbling about dirty hands.
“You didn’t come,” I blurted out.
“Yeah, I’m sorry. I was out of town. My sister just happened to be in my apartment dropping off some things I left in her basement when the letter came. I didn’t read it until this morning when I got in.” He looked at me for approval, to see if I believed him.
“I understand,” I said, shifting Lucas from one arm to another.
“Can I hold him?”
“Of course,” I said and gingerly passed him his child and he passed me the stuffed animal. My heart lurched in my chest watching his face light up as he held Lucas. I felt such an overwhelming sense of guilt for keeping father and son apart that I had to try very hard not to collapse to the floor in a fetal position and cry. Maybe suck my thumb.
Instead, I suggested we go back to my room. I pushed the stroller and Luke carried Lucas.
Luke, apparently, was Super Dad. He talked to Lucas and answered when all he got was baby babble. He fed him, burped him, changed his diapers, got spit up on, held him, played with him on a blanket on the floor, and took picture after picture. When Lucas took a nap in the middle of the afternoon, Luke sat nearby, working on his laptop and making phone calls, virtually ignoring me and the conversation we needed to have. When he finished, he looked at me as if he just remembered I was there.
“You let your hair grow out,” was all he had time to say before Lucas was up from his nap and he was back to being father of the year. He was in his glory, but I was feeling funny about sharing my son’s attention.
It must have shown on my face, because after Lucas was down for the night, Luke looked apologetic.
“I’m sorry. I totally took over today.”
“I’m not used to sharing him,” I said, looking at my hands in my lap. I found it difficult to meet his eyes. My immense sense of guilt never faded, not even a little.
“I’m going to go pick up some dinner. We’ll talk when I get back.”
“Hold on,” I said and shuffled into the bedroom. I returned with a second key to the suite. “You can let yourself back in. I’m going to take a shower.”
When he took it from me, our hands touched, but he quickly pulled away and walked out the door. I exhaled for what must have been the first time since I first saw Luke in the hotel lobby. I checked on Lucas before getting into the shower, with the door open so I could hear him if he cried. I had such a long day, and my muscles ached from being so tense. I stayed in the shower much longer than I meant to. When I stepped into the bedroom, dripping wet in just a towel, I was startled to find Luke standing over Lucas watching him sleep.
“Sorry,” he said, glancing over at me. “I’m just…amazed. He’s perfect.”
“Yes, he is,” I agreed.
He looked for a moment longer and disappeared into the living room. I dressed in a tee shirt and pajama bottoms quickly, and brushed the tangles out of my hair. I found Luke seated on the couch with a few cartons of Chinese food on the coffee table. He handed me a carton. I didn’t have to peek to know that it was Chicken Lo Mein. It had always been my favorite, and he remembered.
My body knew it was time to eat, but my mind and emotions were playing tricks on me. I sat as far away on the couch from Luke as possible, picking at my food with my chopsticks, never actually taking a bite.
“I’m conflicted, Emmy,” Luke said after a few minutes. I gave up trying to eat and put the container on the table and waited for the onslaught of angry words.
“I am so angry with you for keeping this from me,” he continued. “But at the same time, I understand how you must have felt, I think. I could never hate Lucas, even if…” He didn’t finish his sentence and looked away from me, but I knew what he was going to say.
“You mean even if you hate me,” I said.
He inhaled slowly and let it out even slower.
“I don’t hate you,” he said softly. “But I haven’t forgotten what happened. I’m not going to lie and say that it’s okay or that it doesn’t still bother me. It’s been over a year and I still get bitter about it.”
I squeezed myself so far into the corner of the couch, it may have looked like the couch was eating me. He was speaking in a soft tone, but his face was bitter and his eyes were hard.
“I still blame myself, too. I had this inflated idea of who you were and misjudged. It’s not entirely your fault that you didn’t live up to my expectations.”
What he was saying to me was cruel. If I was at all the woman I used to think I was, I would have stood up to him and defended myself, but I had no defense, because he was right. Luke was only reinforcing some of the very thoughts I’d had for over a year.
“You do love Lucas, though,” he continued after a moment of staring at his General Tso’s. “You’re a good mother, I will give you that.”
I nodded as a thank you, but said nothing.
He looked at me for what seemed like an eternity. I wa
s staring at a wall across the room, but I could feel his eyes on me.
“Anyway,” he sighed, and finally looked away. “I have to put the past behind me, for Lucas’s sake. I want to be part of his life. I just started my own firm, so I’m not really in a position to do too much traveling right now. I don’t know anything about your situation.” He paused before hesitantly asking the next question. “Do you have your job to get back to in Philly…or anyone…waiting?”
My eyes widened and I shook my head. “I haven’t been in Philly since January. My family packed up the house and sold it.”
“You loved that house.”
I shrugged. “Whatever sentiment I had attached to that house was obliterated.”
He looked like he wanted to ask about it, but didn’t. “You say your family packed up—where were you?”
“The French countryside.”
“Is that where you live?”
“Oh, no. I’ve been stateside since a month before Lucas was born. I’m not really tied down anywhere.”
“No boyfriends or anything?”
“If you’re wondering about Kyle Sterling, I haven’t seen him since I left Philly.”
“I was curious, but it wasn’t just about him.”
“I’m completely single,” I said darkly.
“I’ve been thinking about this most of the day.”
“Thinking about what?”
“I want you and Lucas to move in with me.”
I shifted uncomfortably. I wasn’t expecting any suggestions like that. I wasn’t sure what to expect really, but I never imagined that. We only just reunited—if you want to call it a reunion—just that morning. He was still unapologetically bitter, hurt, and angry. How was this going to play out?
Sensing my discomfort, Luke tried to argue his point. “It will be good for Lucas to have his parents raising him together, at least at first. It gives him the best of both worlds, and just developmentally speaking, he will do well to have us both there at once. We’ll both be able to participate in the everyday little things that parents get to experience with a child. I don’t want to miss anything,” he said with emphasis, balling his hands into fists and looking at me with pleading eyes.
“What if you start seeing someone?” I didn’t include myself, because I didn’t see it happening. Single, white female. Forever.
“I’m not seeing anyone, not really. That’s a bridge we’ll have to cross when we get to it.”
I hated that analogy. Who came up with it and why the hell can’t you go around or under the bridge instead? Or turn and go back the way you came?
“You won’t have to worry about anything,” he continued. “I’ll take care of the bills, buying the diapers and whatever either of you need.”
“That won’t be an issue. I can take care of me and Lucas.”
“Then take care of yourself if you insist, but I want to take care of my son.”
I sighed. Things would be awkward for a while, and there was no predicting how we were going to interact. It wouldn’t be worth it to raise a child in a hostile household, but I felt no negativity towards Luke, and he said that he was going to put the past behind him. Moving in with him was probably the least I could do.
“How big is your apartment?” I asked. “Lucas needs a crib, and some other things.”
“It’s only a one bedroom, but you and Lucas can have my room. I’ll take the couch. We can look for a bigger place later. Does this mean you’ll do it?”
I nodded slowly.
Luke breathed a sigh of relief and actually smiled at me. I tried to smile back, but couldn’t quite pull it off.
***
We went on our first “family” shopping trip the following day, in search of a crib, a pack and play, toys, and more. Luke stayed up half the night before finding the safest equipment and the best rated toys and the cutest clothes. I couldn’t meet his enthusiasm, though, and I really did try.
Luke wanted to go visit his family for dinner so they could meet Lucas, but I didn’t want to go. I was terrified of the reactions I would get for keeping something so sacred from them. I didn’t say it out loud, but Luke figured it out from my nervous fidgeting.
“They’re going to be fine,” he insisted. “No one is going to be nasty. They’re not like that.”
Because I’d lost the will to fight for myself a long time ago, I didn’t object any further. As it turned out, Luke was right anyway. Dinner was at Lorraine’s, with the whole family in attendance, ten kids between the three siblings, two spouses, Luke’s mom, me and the family dog.
Even though I was greeted as a member of the family, and Lena picked up talking to me as if no time had lapsed between us, and no one excluded me from conversations—except maybe Luke, I still felt like an outsider and a traitor. Lucas was passed from one person to another, each person ecstatic to hold him and in some cases even tearful. He laughed in only a way a baby can laugh, inciting smiles and excitement. I felt like a tool for not only keeping this good family from my son, but for not letting him get to know them from day one.
I was so overwhelmed by the treatment I was receiving and for basically being rewarded for my own despicable behavior, halfway through dinner I excused myself and locked myself in an upstairs bathroom. I sat on the edge of the tub and folded over until my head was between my knees. I don’t know how long I stayed like that before there was a knock on the door and Lena called my name.
“Just a minute,” I said, trying to find the motivation to get up.
The door swung open, and Lena leaned against the frame.
“You okay?”
“How do you know I wasn’t on the toilet?” I asked.
“So what if you were? Honey, we’ve had our private parts spread wide open for the world to see while trying to push out miniature human beings, and at the same time, emptying our bladders and colon. Seeing you on the toilet would have been nothing.”
I felt my mouth hanging open. “No wonder my mother likes you so much. You have some strong similarities.”
“Are you having a moment?”
“If I was, you’ve just taken it from me.”
“You look upset.”
“I might be,” I admitted.
“Why? Everything is going so nicely.”
“Maybe I feel like I…” I almost spilled my guts to Lena, which maybe wouldn’t have been a bad thing in another life, when her brother and I were together and in love.
“Emmy, what’s done is done. No one is punishing you for it, and you can’t punish yourself. Come on,” she held out her hand and waved me on. “Mom made apple pie specifically for you.”
I looked at her hand. “The same apple pie she made before?” I asked.
“The same.”
“I could have eaten that whole pie by myself,” I murmured. I stood up, took her hand, and followed her back downstairs.
***
Luke told me to make myself at home. I felt more at home at Lena’s than I did in the apartment I was sharing with my baby’s daddy. Unless Lucas was directly involved, Luke steered clear of me, and I steered clear of him. He left for work around eight every morning and was back by six most nights. Sometimes he would come home long enough to eat dinner and spend time with Lucas, but once the baby was in bed, he would return to the office.
We moved through the apartment in silence when Lucas was asleep, not because we didn’t want to wake him, but because Luke was still struggling with forgiving me. As for me, I felt like I was intruding on his life, even when Lucas was at the center of attention. I slunk around with my head and ears down, and my tail between my legs, trying to stay out of his way, trying to go unnoticed until me or my breast milk were needed.
I made myself useful, cooking dinner every night, keeping up the housework, and doing laundry. Luke always thanked me as if I was the help.
One day I was sick with a cold and didn’t get around to cooking. Lucas and I were knocked out on the couch when Luke came in. I was startled awake w
hen Luke took Lucas from my arms to put him to bed. When he came out, I was up and groggily picking up the living room.
“I’m sorry I didn’t cook dinner tonight,” I said.
“It’s okay. Don’t worry about it.”
He loosened his tie and sat down on the couch.
“I can make you something.”
“I’m fine, thank you.”
After I finished picking up, I offered once more to make him dinner.
“I said no!” he snapped. “My god, it’s not like you’re my wife, Emmy.
I stood in front of the bedroom door frozen for a moment. I knew he was right, but it was harshly said.
“Okay then,” I said softly and left him alone.
***
As Chicago announced the impending changing of seasons with wind and snow and short days and long nights, there was little improvement between Luke and me. I was on the verge of screaming or crying or eating a whole apple pie every day. To make matters worse, Lucas was calling Luke “Dah-Dah” and had not even tried “Ma.”
“He doesn’t even know what he’s saying,” Luke had said dismissively.
“He looks right at you when he says it.”
“Dah-Dah,” Lucas agreed, looking right at his Dah-Dah.
One day in early January, things unexpectedly shifted.
Luke came home from the office and swept Lucas into his arms as he always did. Usually, he didn’t even acknowledge me until I put his dinner on the table. Then I would get a sincere, but curt thank you. If there was nothing to share about the baby, or any important news for either of us to share, I’d take Lucas from his father and bathe him and get him into his pajamas. While Luke read a book to him and put him to bed, I cleaned the kitchen, or went grocery shopping, or did laundry. If Luke went back to work, I watched television in the living room for a little while, but if he didn’t go back to work, I retreated into the bedroom where I would lie in bed, clutching my pillow, staring into darkness, as I burrowed further and further into a depression.
