I sometimes think the writers of that song from Frozen that damn near every person on the world has heard more than once – “Let It Go” – were familiar with the Two Monks story. They introduced into the world an important Taoism in the guise of a catchy song: don’t hold onto negative thoughts and judgments from your past, because it will only damage your future.
As I’d listened to Amanda tell me why she hadn’t called me when she learned Tanner had leukemia, I began to realize I was very much carrying my anger at her previous behavior with me. I was holding on to it. I’d even started to redirect it toward Robby. I’d failed to see, or refused to see, how hard it had been for Amanda to admit she’d done the wrong thing and call me.
Her father’s disdain for me was another issue, but I wasn’t going to pile it on top of what we were already dealing with. Nor was I going to dwell on Robby and his Rolex and his obvious interest in Amanda, no matter how much I enjoyed a challenge.
Robby was an issue for another day. For now, it was time to let go of what I’d been carrying around about Amanda’s actions, and mine.
Now I’m not saying I’d completely moved on. Holy crap, it hurt like hell. She’d betrayed me, she’d betrayed my love for her, my trust in her. That was going to take a hell of a long time to recover from, a hell of a lot of resentment to deal with, to work through, but I recognized in that moment that I had to let it go. I had to own the decision. I did own that decision, the decision to move on, to forgive and not dwell on it any more.
Speaking of letting it go, I’m now going to take a moment for you to get that song out of your system. Go ahead. I’ll wait.
Feel better? Good.
Our fingers threaded together, Amanda and I left the cafeteria and made our way to Tanner’s room, stopping on the way to add me to his Partners-In-Care list. The fact I was only the fourth name on his list after Chase and Amanda’s parents made me feel . . . special. Stupid, I know, but that’s the way it was.
The feel of her palm against mine was nice. In my opinion, the word nice is a double-edged-sword. So many times it can be used as a passive-aggressive insult. Other times it perfectly describes a situation or sensation. Holding Amanda’s hand as we walked through the hospital, the connection of her palm with mine, the interlacing of our fingers . . . it was nice. Companionable without any overt sexual tension or expectation.
I wondered for a moment if this is what my parents felt on the few occasions I’d caught them walking hand in hand through our local shopping center, or along the beach. Two people in their fifties, who’d lived a life together, who were still living that life together with no plans to change the status quo.
A warm sense of happiness rolled through me at the idea, because the nice I was feeling right now was pretty bloody wonderful, and the thought of Mum and Dad feeling it as well made me happy.
It seemed I was back. Brendon Osmond. Back.
Even in the face of a possibility too traumatic to contemplate, I was okay. Amanda and I were going to be okay. Together. In whatever capacity that togetherness meant, we were going to be okay. I would make sure of that.
Tanner’s face split into a wide grin as we entered his room. The oxygen tube in his nose this evening was fluro blue. “Mommy!” he cried, wriggling about on Chase’s lap, whacking her on the cheek with Optimus Prime.
“There you are, my tough guy.” Amanda hurried to him, scooping him up from her sister’s lap and cuddling him with gusto. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”
He giggled again. “Here,” he answered before cupping her face in his small hands and giving her a smooching kiss. “Aunny Chase.”
I looked at Chase. Her electric-blue dreadlocks were pinned up on top of her hair like a whale’s spout, her lips were painted the same color. In one hand she held a Spiderman soft toy, in the other, her smartphone.
“We’ve been Instagramming, haven’t we, Tanner?” she said, smiling at her nephew.
Tanner nodded. He twisted in Amanda’s arms, giving me a curious look. My chest tightened a bit. Did he remember me?
Amanda shifted so she could look at me as well, and gave him a little jiggle on her hip. “Can you say g’day, Daddy?”
Tanner regarded me silently, one hand clutched into a fist in Amanda’s shirtfront. I smiled at him, even as my brain registered the ashen pallor of his skin and the bruises on his arms and legs that hadn’t been there that morning. I knew enough about leukemia – thanks to Hollywood and my mum’s addiction to television medical dramas – to know the bruises were a symptom of his condition, but at the sight of them my gut clenched and a heavy lump settled in my throat.
Cancer sucks. Cancer in kids? That more than sucks. The only bruises any kid should bear are the bruises of discovering the joy of running and climbing and adventuring.
Pulling a steadying breath, I stepped deeper into his room. “G’day, buddy,” I said, deliberately keeping my voice low and calm. “Remember me?”
He grinned. Was it my voice that he recognized? My very Australian accent? “Oppimus! Tuck!”
I laughed. Hey, it was a start. “Yep. Optimus.”
He patted Amanda on the cheek and smiled at her. “Oppimus da!”
She burst out laughing. “He’s that good, eh?” She flicked a grin at me. “Hear that, Daddy? You’ve made the Optimus grade.”
Tanner wriggled in her arms, trying to show me the toy in his hand. He clocked Amanda on the back of the head a good one in his efforts, the dull thunk of the collision of skull and plastic robot making her chuckle out an oww.
“Da,” Tanner said, finally getting Optimus over Amanda’s shoulder. His arm and the toy got snagged in his oxygen tube and, for a moment, my heart stopped as a frustrated frown creased his forehead and he grabbed the blue tube with his free hand. “No tube. No.”
“Hey hey hey.” Amanda circled his wrist with gentle fingers and jiggled him on her hip again. “Slow down, tough guy.”
I moved closer, tapping Tanner’s shoulder with a soft touch before helping him get his hand – and Optimus – free of the tube. “There we go,” I said, as he grinned up at me.
“Da! Tuck!” he crowed, waving the robot about in such as way Amanda had to dodge another blow. “Tuck.”
“Y’know, sis,” Chase said from where she stood behind us, “he’s never shared Optimus with Robby.”
I looked at her. For some reason, her statement made my heart pound faster.
She arched a pierced eyebrow at me, blue lips twitching. “Maybe the Wonder from Down Under isn’t that bad after all.”
Pulling a face of mock disbelief, I pressed my palm to my chest with an obvious thud. “Did you just compliment me, Chase?”
She rolled her eyes. “That’s it. I’m outta here.”
I grinned. She narrowed her eyes at the three of us standing there together, and then, without a word of warning, raised her phone and snapped off a photo.
“You going to Instagram that?” I asked.
She shrugged. “Dunno. Maybe. Depends. Can you say hashtag Happy Ever After?”
My breath caught in my throat. I turned to Amanda and Tanner, gazed at them for a second, and then turned back to Chase. “Hashtag Happy Ever After.”
A smile stretched her lips. When Chase wasn’t snarky with the world, her smile could – as the song goes – light up New York City after dark. “Consider it Instagrammed, Daddy.”
“Da,” Tanner echoed, grabbing at the sleeve of my shirt.
My own grin splitting my face, I turned back to Tanner. “That’s me.”
He pulled my sleeve again.
Amanda laughed. “I think he wants you to take him.”
I agreed. Sliding my arms under his armpits, I took his weight and repositioned him onto my hip.
“I’m just going to walk Chase out,” Amanda murmured, her hand on my biceps. Damn it, I liked the way it felt there. It was . . . nice. “Fill her in on the results.”
I don’t know if she kept her voice low so her sister c
ouldn’t hear, or if she didn’t want to crack the happiness of the room with the bleakness of my failed match. Whatever the reason, I nodded and held Tanner closer. “No worries.”
Australians say no worries a lot. It’s a bizarre term to use sometimes, because often we say no worries when all the worries of the world are crushing down on us.
Amanda regarded me for a lingering second, and then, hand still on my biceps, reached up onto her tiptoes and brushed her lips over mine. “Thank you,” she whispered.
“Eww,” Chase complained, although there wasn’t a hint of disdain in her voice.
Tanner snagged his mother’s hair and pulled her to his face for his own kiss.
“C’mon, sis,” she said with a laugh, extracting herself from his grip. “I need a coffee. You can buy me one on your way out.”
“What?” Chase responded, voice comically louder as she walked past, head shaking, eyes wide. “I didn’t hear you. Sorry, I’m deaf.”
A heartbeat later, it was just me and Tanner.
“So . . .” I asked, pulling a melodramatic confused face. “What are we going to do?”
He mimicked my expression, shrugging. “Tuck?”
Laughing, I moved to the bed and sat in the middle of it – me cross-legged, Tanner resting in the hollow the position made. I don’t know how much time passed as we played with Optimus, but they were gloriously wonderful minutes. Tanner spoke to me at length about the robot – and by at length, I’m pretty certain you’re aware the words tuck and Oppimus featured often, also the occasional Pime (translation: Prime), more than one Da, and a lot of Mommies.
It was when he started to squirm about and then became very still, I realized I was about to get my first experience with one of the more . . . sensory aspects of being a parent.
“Pooey,” Tanner complained, twisting in my lap to frown up at me.
A distinct smell followed his irritated declaration.
“Pooey, da.”
I sat frozen for a moment. “Really?”
Confession time. I’ve never changed a dirty nappy, or diaper, as they call them over here. I’ve never changed a nappy, period. I was struck immobile by the very thought. Glancing at the door, I wondered where Amanda was. Laugh all you want, but panic had kicked in.
Tanner patted me on the chest, his frown now one of distress. “Pooey, da,” he repeated.
“Err . . .” I answered back.
Twisting about on his bed, I looked for the buzzer to call the nurse and pushed it. Pushed it hard.
“Pooey,” Tanner stressed, now trying to pull at the back of his PJ pants.
I’d just climbed from the bed, Tanner on my hip, his rather full nappy mashing against me, when a nurse strode in the room. She was familiar. A part of me was dismayed it wasn’t Carla. The rest of me was relieved I’d been saved.
“Everything okay?” she asked.
“G’day,” I said, giving her a sheepish grin. “I think Tanner’s filled his nappy.”
She frowned. “His what?”
“Diaper,” I blurted, remembering where I was. “Sorry. I’m Australian.”
“Ahh,” she said. I couldn’t miss the amusement in her eyes. Whether it was at my predicament or at my unnecessary declaration of nationality, I didn’t know. “Let me get you what you need.”
She pivoted on her heel, went to a cupboard in the corner of the room and withdrew a folded disposable nappy, a packet of baby wipes and a bottle of what looked like lotion.
“Pooey,” Tanner reiterated on my hip.
I stared at the nurse as she moved from the cupboard to a baby change table I’d never noticed before.
“There you go.” She placed the items on its surface and offered me a smile.
I didn’t move. Oh boy . . .
Her smile grew wider. I swear I saw a flash of mischief in her expression. It hit me why she looked familiar. She was the very first nurse I ever met here – Julie, I think Amanda had introduced her as, the nurse who looked after Tanner when Amanda wasn’t there.
Tanner continued to pat my hip. “Pooey. Pooey.”
The air hung heavy with the smell of . . . well, you know what it smelled like, I’m sure.
“Ever changed a diaper before?” Julie asked, eyes twinkling.
I shook my head, relief rushing through me. Hey, ask me to cold bench-press two-hundred kilograms and I’m gravy.
Julie raised her eyebrows and patted the change-table mattress. “Then this will be your first.”
Whatever the expression was that filled my face, it made Julie laugh. Tanner joined in.
I pouted at him. “Hey, no fair.”
He giggled and squirmed on my hip some more.
“Yeah, you work that into all the creases and cracks, buddy,” I admonished with a chuckle.
Julie laughed. “He’s just making sure your first time is memorable. Ready?”
A sense of dread rolled over me. I stared at the change table, took a deep breath – holy crap, was that a bad idea – and walked over to it. The whole process wasn’t pretty. But I think I did myself proud. Despite the fact Tanner decided to urinate, mid-change, as I was wiping at the toxic waste clinging to his butt and groin, his aim exquisitely on target with my cheek, it wasn’t the abject disaster I feared it would be. I gagged all the way through it. And laughed. And winced. And cowered. Julie, helpful to the nth degree, pointed out every bit I missed, offering words of encouragement the whole time, even as she tried desperately not to laugh at me.
Tanner thought it a riot.
Thank God I’ve got quick reflexes, because he did his best to roll onto his stomach and scramble off the table as I was attempting to fasten his new, clean nappy, giggling the whole way of course. I snared him by the ankle with a gentle hand, returned him to his back and arched an eyebrow at him, adjusting his oxygen tube beside him. “You’re not making this easy, buddy.”
He wriggled and grinned. “Pooey.”
“Hey,” I grinned back. “I wasn’t that bad.”
“You did well,’ Julie agreed, bestowing on me the kind of smile I’ve seen proud grandparents give when a grandchild stops picking their nose when asked.
I know it sounds ridiculous, but I felt like I’d conquered the world. Still felt that way, even as I stood in the small bathroom, washing my hands and cleaning my cheek of wee.
It wasn’t until I was helping Tanner back into his PJ bottoms, him standing on the change table holding my shoulders, Julie supporting his back with a steady hand, that it registered with me just how thin he was. Toddlers’ legs are meant to be chubby. Tanner’s legs . . .
A dull sadness crept through me and, swallowing, I looked up and brushed a shaking finger down the length of his little nose. “I’m not going to fail you again, Tanner,” I said, my voice barely more than a croak. “Now I’m here, I’ll do whatever it takes to make sure you’re here as well. We’re both here for the long run, buddy. The long run.” I nudged his forehead with mine, my throat suddenly very thick. “Okay?”
Small hands tapped my shoulders. “’Sokay.”
“It’s okay by me, too,” Amanda said behind me.
I straightened from Tanner, shooting her a look over my shoulder. “You missed the fun.” I felt shaky. My voice sure as hell sounded that way.
Crossing the room to us, Amanda gave me a warm smile. “Seems that way.” She touched her fingers to the small of my back, and traced them up my spine. It was a caress she’d given me almost every day we’d been together in Australia, a connection of nerves and senses that had always filled me with elemental joy. “So, Julie, how’d he do?”
Julie bestowed another one of those grandmotherly proud smiles on me. “Very well. His technique is interesting . . . and he needs to learn how to duck, but he did well.”
Amanda pressed a hand to her mouth, her eyes dancing. “Did Tanner . . . Did you . . .”
I grimaced, and then laughed. “Yep. Right on the cheek.”
“Pee!” Tanner crowed enthusiastical
ly.
“Well,” said Julie, rubbing her hands together, “seeing as the crisis is dealt with, I shall get back to the desk. Tanner, take care of your mommy and daddy for me, okay?”
He patted my shoulder again. “Da ’sokay.”
Julie smiled at me. “That he is.” And she left us.
Still supporting Tanner on the change table, I shot Amanda a quick smile. I felt nervous.
“Very okay,” she whispered, tracing my spine again with her fingers.
Pulse crazy wild, I lowered my face to hers and kissed her. A soft, gentle kiss that promised her I was never going anywhere. She answered with a softer groan, her fingers skimming my jaw. In that touch, her own promise.
“Mommy,” Tanner said, a second before he grabbed a fistful of my hair and tugged.
I pulled away from Amanda, a little, and gave him a grin. “Okay, okay, I get the point.”
He looked at me for a stern moment and then said, “Cookie?”
Amanda let out a wobbly chuckle, scooped him from the table and hugged him. “Let’s see what we can do about that, hmm?”
Three cookies later Parker Waters entered. I was licking chocolate and crumbs from my fingers when he wandered it. Honestly, I don’t remember the last time I’d actually eaten a cookie, let alone one full of chocolate chips. Damn, it tasted good.
“Pa!’ Tanner greeted Parker. “Cookie!”
Parker dropped himself into the biggest chair and leaned his elbows on his knees. “Chocolate chip?”
Tanner nodded.
Parker looked around the room, melodramatic confusion on his face. His glasses, I was happy to see, were no longer askew. “And I missed them?”
Tanner sighed. “’Sokay.”
“Y’know what,” Parker said to him. “It is okay. How about you, Superman? Are you okay?”
Tanner giggled, leaning back into my chest as he did so.
Unforgettable (Always Book 2) Page 18
