Unbroken

by Jasmine Carolina

  I have no words. I don’t even know what to say.

  This past week, all those days leading up to the wedding, so many scenarios went through my head. I wondered if she was having second thoughts about marrying me, if she was having a hard time seeing me hurt. Shit, every bad thought I could muster came to mind, and I never expected that this is what she was doing.

  Changing shit and rearranging shit and turning this house into the safe haven it once was.

  Her words have struck a chord.

  Yes, this place was my own personal version of Hell for the past six years. It has haunted me day in and day out, and given recent events, I never thought I would set foot in this place again. But my wife is the queen of forcing me to face my demons head on.

  Nothing about this place looks the same. And nothing about this place feels the same. It feels different. It feels safe again. It feels welcoming. I’ll never know if it’s because the danger of my father no longer lurks around every corner. I’ll never know if it’s because I’m here with the woman I love. I’ll never know if it’s because this woman makes me feel fearless.

  But I can never thank her enough for what she’s done here, for what she’s faced for me. This place holds demons for her, too. This was where she was attacked. This was where she found my almost lifeless body. This was where she soothed my sister after my sister murdered our father.

  And somehow, she faced those demons for me, for us, for the possibility of the happy ever after neither of us thought we would ever have.

  “Please say something, babe,” Sabrina says, wringing her hands together in front of her.

  I don’t even know what to say. I grab one of her hands and squeeze it tightly. “Show me what else you did.”

  Excited, and with a new pep in her step, she leads me upstairs, waiting patiently each time I start to struggle or falter.

  The first room I notice is my old one. There’s a bed in there now, which is something I didn’t think I’d ever see after I gave mine to Cason. It’s been years since this has looked like a normal room. Cason’s room has been turned into something of a guest room, and I can barely breathe, registering all the work this must have taken. And the money.

  She leads me to Dalis’s old bedroom next. There isn’t much to be seen here, because it’s been painted white, all the furniture has been removed, and a single rocking chair sits in the corner. I turn to face her, and she smiles tentatively.

  “I figured this could be the baby’s nursery. If you decide you’d like to live here,” she says.

  I nod, taking it all in.

  Finally, the last bedroom we approach is my parents’ old bedroom. There’s a California King in the center of the room, clearly new. The bedroom set that was once my mother’s is still here, repurposed and looking as good as new. On the table beside the bed is a picture, one I don’t think I’ve ever seen before.

  I grab the frame from it’s spot atop the table, staring down at it.

  It’s my mother. Her hair is long, falling backward as she laughs, the most beautiful smile I’ve ever seen lighting up her face. She holds a baby in her hands, high above her, and she’s looking up at the baby with an expression only a mother’s love can give. She looks so young, and I choke up a bit, realizing how much Dalis really does look like her. I can’t tell who the baby is. I don’t know if it’s me, or Cason, or Dalis. As babies, we were pretty much identical. So I do the only sensible thing in a moment like this.

  I open the back of the frame, pulling the picture out. It was my mother’s habit, writing on the back of pictures. Usually, there was a beautiful quote or inscription, and when I flip the picture over, clear as day, is her writing.

  Home is where Mommy is.

  Larissa, 17

  Brody, 6 months

  I can’t breathe. The weight of the emotions that course through me are so powerful, I can barely stand. I let myself fall onto the bed, elbows resting on my knees, holding the picture in my hands as I continue to stare down at it.

  “You don’t have to answer right now, Brody. I know this is sudden, and this probably isn’t what you expected,” Sabrina says quietly. “But I want you to know the option is here, if you choose to take it. And if you choose not to, we can always sell. I would understand completely, you know that.”

  I nod, opening my arms for her, and she comes. I wrap her up, and I hold her like I’ve never held anyone before.

  …

  THIS IS OUR LAST STOP before we head back to the apartment. I couldn’t help myself. After Sabrina’s surprise, I knew I had to come here. And once I told her what I wanted to do, she didn’t object. She was more than happy to accompany me here.

  True to my promise, I bring her flowers: lilies, with a few snapdragons. I know if she was here, she would love them.

  I spread a blanket out for Sabrina to sit on, because I know we’re likely going to be here for a little while. I kneel before her, raising my hand to trace the letters on her headstone.

  Larissa Greer Durham

  She is an object of beauty and strength. -Henry Van Dyke

  Sabrina smiles at me from her spot on her blanket, watching as I remember my mother with a heavy weight in my heart once more. I’ve never done this with an audience, not even with Dalis or Cason. But Sabrina is a different story entirely. She has seen me at my worst and she has seen me at my best. I don’t mind sharing this experience with her.

  I hand the flowers to Sabrina to hold, and she carefully takes them out of their wrapping. I prep the silver cup by filling it with water before sticking it back in the ground. When I turn to her, she hands the flowers to me, and I gently place them inside the cup. I fall back onto my heels, getting myself comfortable.

  I am about to speak, readying my words for what I need to say to my mother, but Sabrina beats me to it.

  “Hello, Mrs. Durham,” she says. “It’s nice to finally meet you. I wanted to thank you for everything. Thank you for bringing me Brody. Thank you for raising him to be such a wonderful man. I will never be able to thank you enough, but I’ll cherish you always, because you’re responsible for raising the man who changed my life forever.” She leans forward, kneeling beside me as she kisses her fingertips and presses them to my mother’s headstone. “We love you. And we wish you were here, always.”

  I hadn’t even realized I’d been holding my breath until Sabrina nods at me, giving me the go-ahead to speak.

  “Hi, Mom. I miss you every single day. Today, I married the woman of my dreams. You were right. She’s everything I ever could have hoped for, and so much more. I know this probably isn’t the life you planned for me, married and expecting a baby right out of high school. But I can promise you that this is more than I deserve, and I’m not going to take a single moment of our life together for granted. I have never felt more whole in my life. And it’s because of you. It’s because you told me, once upon a time, that the right girl was worth waiting for. Because you told me never to fall in love with someone who doesn’t care what my favorite song is.” I laugh a bit, and I shake my head. “Sabrina cares. She knows that, and so much more. Thank you for everything. I love you so much, Mom.”

  I press my fingers to her stone once again, but my mother and I, we have unfinished business.

  As soon as Sabrina and I finished our first dance as a married couple, Mama Quinn presented me with the letter that Mom wrote for me. I figured now is as good a time as any to read it. So I take the letter from my wife, slide my finger under the flap, pull the letter out, and read.

  To my son on his wedding day,

  Congratulations are in order, baby boy.

  You’re not my baby boy anymore. You are a man, a man who is about to start his own life, and his own family. Soon, your poor old Mom will be second to your wife, to your future children. And that’s okay. I know you won’t forget me.

  I know you’ll remember the days we camped out in the living room, making s’mores in front of the fireplace while Dad made fun of us. You’ll remembe
r the time we danced outside in the rain, and for the next week, we stayed in bed, both sick as dogs. You’ll remember the times the two of us went out for ice cream when you didn’t want to tell Dad what was wrong with you. You’ll remember all the small moments we shared, and those moments will help you shape your own with the family you are about to create.

  Don’t take a second of your life for granted, Brody. If this experience has taught me anything, it’s taught me that tomorrow isn’t promised. I would give anything for just a few more tomorrows.

  You have more days than I am likely to get. Don’t let them pass you by, because there will be a time in the future where tomorrow won’t come.

  Live for today. Life for the moment. There is no right time. There is no right moment. There is only right here, and right now, and who you spend your days with and who you spend your nights thinking about.

  Tell your wife you love her every chance you get. Dance in the rain even though you know you’re going to get sick from it. Try all the crazy foods you think you won’t like. Kiss her when she’s mad at you. Buy her flowers when you’re arguing, even if you don’t think you’ve done anything wrong. Go to a karaoke bar and sing at the top of your lungs because you know it’ll make her smile, even though we both know damn well you can’t carry a tune in a bucket with a lid on it. Hug her tightly every night. Watch her while she sleeps. Kiss her first thing in the morning, even when she thinks she has morning breath.

  Don’t put any of this off until tomorrow, next week, next month, next year, because you never know if any of those days are promised to the two of you.

  My biggest fear is that I’m going to miss it all. That I’m not going to be able to cry from the front row while you say, ‘I do’. That I’m not going to be able to argue with your new wife over where Thanksgiving and Christmas dinner is going to take place. That I’m not going to be able to try and talk you out of your baby names. That I’m not going to get to experience all the big moments with you, particularly this one, where my son’s heart gets placed into another woman’s hand for safekeeping.

  But that fear fades away when I look into your eyes, because I know you’re so much like me. You’re smart. You’re going to choose someone who will take good care of your heart. You’re going to choose someone who would have hugged me when I cried at your wedding. You’re going to choose someone who would argue back at me over where your holidays will be spent. You’re going to choose someone who would be strong-willed enough to not give a rat’s ass what I think of your baby names.

  You’re going to choose someone with as strong a will as yours, and for that reason alone, I am more than happy to leave your heart in the palm of her hands.

  You better not mess it up.

  Because that girl is going to stitch your heart back together until it’s no longer broken.

  I love you always, baby boy.

  -Mom

  EPILOGUE

  Two months later

  “YOU ARE SO BEAUTIFUL, SWEET GIRL,” I say, wrapping my arms around my wife and resting my hands over her slightly swollen belly. “I love you.”

  She grins, hairbrush in hand as she pulls her hair to the side to style. She winks at me in the mirror, and once her hair is how she wants it, she turns around to face my, arms around my neck. Everything about her is beautiful, from the smile she gives me as she gazes up at me, to the glint in her brown eyes that hasn’t died since the day we met, to the way she devours me with her gaze, to the way her belly presses against my body.

  “I love you more,” she says.

  “If you say so,” I tease, kissing her nose.

  She leans up on her tiptoes and kisses me gently. I twine my fingers in her hair, momentarily getting lost in the feel of her, the feel of her lips on mine, of her body pressed against me, of her love for me showing with every touch, every kiss, every embrace.

  I love this woman.

  In every meaning of the word, I love her. I love her more than I have ever loved anyone in this world. And I can honestly say that I’ve never been happier.

  After two months of marriage, I still can’t believe she’s mine. Legally, eternally, in every way possible. When I see my mother’s rings on her finger, I think of all the fighting and pain it took us to get her. And when she smiles at me, I think of the fact that there was a point in time where I thought she hated me, and I’m reminded of how far we’ve come since then. Then, I look at her abdomen, growing every day with our child, and I am reminded of all the love we share, and how that love is going to bring a new life into the world.

  “I wanted to talk to you about something before we head out for our appointment,” she says, and she averts her gaze.

  Today is her twenty week ultrasound appointment, and she’s been counting down the days. She’s anxious to find out our baby’s sex, and she thinks I can’t tell. Every time we’re in a Wal-Mart or walking through the Galleria, she sees something she’d like to get for the baby, but I’ve been adamant on not buying anything until we know what we’re having. And don’t even get me started on Ana. Ever since she found out Sabrina is pregnant, she’s been picking little things up at every store she goes to. She’s worse than Sabrina. But it’s Sabrina I have to live with. She’s dying to go crazy and shop, I know it.

  I also know about the stash of baby clothes and toys she has hidden in a box at the bottom of the hallway closet.

  She can’t get anything past me, even if she tried.

  “What’s on your mind, Dove?” I ask.

  She takes a seat, and she gestures for me to do the same. I sit in the computer chair and lean back, crossing my ankle over my leg. She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear and takes a deep breath.

  “I wanted to talk to you about…names. I know you wanted to wait, but I’ve had one on my mind ever since I found out I was pregnant. I want to run it by you.”

  She sounds cautious, but I don’t know why. I only wanted to wait to discuss all this because after all we’ve been through, I didn’t want to be premature and start planning anything until she was safely out of her first trimester. We still haven’t told anyone besides Nickayla, Cason and Dalis, and Sabrina’s family, and the whole name thing has been last on my list of things to do.

  “Okay. What is it?”

  She closes her eyes. “I want you to have an open mind, okay? I’ve been playing around with our mothers’ names…I wanted a way to honor them all. I realize now that my mother wasn’t selfish in what she did, and she never would have left us if that wasn’t the only option she saw at the time. And Ana…well, Ana has been the only real mother I’ve known, and I know exactly what your mom meant to you. So I’ve been playing around and I came to a conclusion.” She pauses. “If the baby is a boy, you can choose his name. But if the baby is a girl—and I will not budge on this—I want to name her Clarissa.” She pauses again, trying to gauge my mood from the look on my face. “Clarissa Anastasia.”

  I cannot breathe.

  I love this woman so much. Every day since I was released from the hospital, I’ve been sharing more and more about my mother with her. She knows how much Mom meant to me, and how much it hurt to lose her both times. But the fact that she thought to consider my mother’s name as a potential name for our child? That’s amazing.

  She’s amazing.

  She’s so amazing and I doubt she even knows it.

  I step out of the computer chair and drop to my knees before my wife. I place a hand gingerly on each knee, spreading them slowly and positioning myself between her legs. I grab the hemline of her shirt and press a tender kiss to her small baby bump.

  “If it’s a girl, Clarissa Anastasia,” I agree, getting choked up. The thought she put into a girl’s name is incredible. I couldn’t have picked a better name for our potential daughter if I tried. Little does she know, I put some thought into this, too. I just never divulged anything to her. “If it’s a boy, Brennan Michael.”

  Brennan is a name I just thought sounded cool. Michael is where all
the thought got put in. Michael is my maternal grandfather’s name. I was named after him because he and Mom were incredibly close. And after spending time with him since being released from the hospital, I decided I wanted his name to live on. It just seems appropriate to me.

  I look up at her for approval, and she nods. I pull her to her feet, cradling her head and kissing her once more. Her hands come up to tangle in my hair, and she moans into my mouth. Momentarily, I lose myself in her. Our marriage has been amazing thus far, and the sex…well, it’s been phenomenal. Ever since the morning sickness finally passed, my girl has been completely insatiable.

  Not that I’m complaining.

  Well, not usually anyway.

  Today I am, because I’m excited to find out what we’re having just as she is.

  I don’t want to spend another second without knowing what we’re having. Because I have to admit, I kind of want to go crazy with her. Especially since I have things lined up with Henry to start building the nursery. I want everything to be perfect, and I want to surprise her. And I can’t do that if I don’t know whether to buy pink or blue.

  “Come on,” I say, pulling away from her. It’s much too soon, I see, from the look on her face. “If we get started now, we’re going to be late.”

  She gives me a look that says, Would that be so bad?

  Yes, yes it would. Because if I have to spend one more day with her chomping at the bit to find out what we’re having, I’m going to go insane. We’re making this appointment, and we’re going to make it there on time.