“Dry birth.” The nurse squints into me with the face of a beetle.
I shrink in the bed with my bare bottom cool against the sheet, the thin hospital gown rising in all sorts of unflattering directions.
“Dry birth?” I look to Kat in a panic. I need to get out of here—as in out of my body.
I make wild eyes at Kat, signaling her to do something.
“It doesn’t sound comfortable.” She shakes her head, devoid of her smartass superpowers at the moment.
This is all affecting me on a disturbingly horrific level. It’s all real—there’s no turning back. This baby has to pass through my so-called birth canal, i.e. my very narrow vagina. It’s no wonder television portrays birth like some scene out of a horror movie with nothing but blood curdling screams and bodily fluids soaking the sheets—because it happens to be factual. I do want the screaming and the blood, but I want all of it to belong to Mitch. Suddenly knocking me up seems like a horrible act of cruelty, and he’s responsible in the worst way.
“I changed my mind,” I say it so cool it almost sounds plausible. “I’m not doing this.”
Kat and the beetle share a laugh in light of my newfound misfortune.
“You’re going to do fine,” Kat squawks with no real evidence. “You’re not in pain now are you?” It comes out accusatory, and I suddenly feel the need to shove her face in the urine filled bedpan.
I glare at her.
Kat is mistakenly convinced I can do this without the aid of high power pharmaceuticals. She’s gone over the ramifications of a drug-induced delivery at least a dozen times these past few months and twice on the way to the hospital. Of course, I foolishly agreed before I was enlightened to the magnificent amount of torture my body was capable of inflicting. And, now, I rather look forward to having a blessed-by-narcotics birthing experience. If anything, this builds a strong case for Colton and his self-medicating. I might join him in the effort should I survive the trauma.
“Here comes another one.” The beetle tracks her finger over the tiny monitor in an upward motion.
My entire person seizes with panic.
“I think I need something to take the edge off.” Like a bullet, but I decide to leave assault weapons out of the equation for now.
“I’ll get you some water.” Kat springs up trying to escape the room, but I snatch her by the wrist.
“What did you say?” That Kat even thinks for a minute something as docile as water could cure this misery proves how useless she’s going to be through this entire experience. “You are not leaving.” My stomach tightens at an accelerated rate. “Drugs!” It rips from my lungs like a battle cry. “Strong fucking drugs!”
Kat lets out a little laugh, and I sear her with a look. I haven’t taken slitting her throat off the table just yet.
“Oh God.” I squeeze her hand as though the ceiling were about to crash in. It’s like a vise is tightening around my waist at Mach five. “I can’t do this.” I scream, high and shrill like a whistle.
“Breathe!” she commands.
Breathing. Panting. Surreal moments stroke by filled with delirium. Finally it gives, and I’m filled with dread at the thought of having another one. I wish I could go back in time and smack Mitch at the thought of ever pointing his penis in my direction.
A visual of Mitch writhing over me infiltrates my thoughts, warms my heart, heals the emotional and physical pain like liniment if only for a moment.
“Will they get much harder?” I ask the nurse as she thumbs through my chart. Her wiry hair sprays out every which way.
“Could be.” She purses her lips, doesn’t bother to look up. “You’re only at three centimeters. This is just the beginning.”
“Three?” I sit up in horror. “That’s like seven away from ten.” It’s a bad time to prove I’m good at simple math. “I need to see somebody about an epidural.” I spit it out so fast I can practically see the words dart around the room.
“You need to be at four to have one.” She strides to the door. “I’ll send someone in about an hour or two.”
“What?” I dig my fingernails into the fleshy part of Kat’s hand. “I can’t deal with this for another hour. Get my phone.”
“You want me to get your drug dealer on the line?” She mocks.
“Yes,” I hiss, reaching past her and diving into my purse.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” She holds up her hands and backs away. “Who you gonna call? Vagina busters?”
“You are a real fucking comedian, you know that?” I fumble until I manage to dial Colt.
“I’m at the hospital,” I pant into the phone with disregard for hello. “I’m having the baby.” I say “baby” like it’s a disease. “Bring whatever illegal shit you have and get the hell down here now. I’m dying, Colt. I’m going to die if you don’t do this for me.” I take in a controlled breath trying to stave off the tears. “If you ever loved Mitch, you will do this—”
Kat snatches the phone away before I have a chance to threaten his life appropriately. “She’s not dying. They’re giving her drugs.”
“In an hour!” I shout in distress.
Kat drops my cell in her pocket safely out of reach.
“You are going to have a baby one day.” I fix a venomous look at my sister who I suddenly hate with all of my mortality. “It is going to hurt like hellfire. You will beg for something to make it all go away. And I’ll make damn sure you don’t get so much as an aspirin.”
Kat belts out a laugh. “We’ll see about that.” She points to the needle rising on the monitor. “Now breathe.”
Time warbles by in a delirious pain-induced frenzy—a haze of polemic cramps— the tearing and burning of muscles and tissue—the splitting of my entire existence. I close my eyes and try to will myself out of my body—beg for God to take me. I have no desire to see this through. A current of agony rails over me, unrivaled by anything I’ve ever felt before. My entire body is in revolt. This was the pain Mitch put me through when he died, and just when I thought he was incapable of giving me more, here I am.
Voices ignite in the room. A flash of white uniforms, Kat appears, then disappears.
Mitch strides over. He leans in and tries to comfort me.
“Mitch.” I take his hand. It’s so cold. I pull it over my forehead and hold it there. “Help me. Help me die,” I give it in a fevered whisper. I pull him down until his face is over mine, securing him by the back of the neck and cry out in pain.
“It’s okay. The nurse is here,” he whispers as his hot breath rakes across my face. “She wants to check you. I’ll be right back.”
“No! You’re not leaving.” I wrangle him closer and whimper. “Please, God, don’t leave.”
“Lee, it’s me, Colt.” He pulls away so I can see his face, but all I can see is the outline of the man I love, the one that put the baby in me to begin with.
“Colt?” I don’t bother hiding my disappointment.
Someone props my legs back and a cool hand tracks up my thighs.
The pain ratchets up again. Molten lava burns through my belly. Every nerve inside me is so horrifically alive, it’s sublime on a hysterical level.
I pull him in hard and sob into his neck like the night I lost my parents, the night I lost Mitch.
“Don’t die, Colt,” I whisper.
“I’m good.” He picks up my hands and threads our fingers—bumps his nose against mine until the nurse extricates her hand from my bowels.
“You’re at nine!” She gives a single clap. “You’ve been working very hard, young lady.”
“When’s the anesthesiologist coming?” No sense in flooding myself with temporary relief.
I see the needle on the monitor shoot up again.
Temporary relief, my ass.
“Oh, hon.” She comes around and lays the cool of her hand across my forehead. “It’s too late for that.”
“What?” I bat her arm away.
“We don’t administer epidurals this late
in the game. I’ll be back in five minutes. I’m going to call the doctor.”
Janice waves from the corner of the room, and I shoot her a hard look. She gave birth to Mitch who was attached to the reproductive organ which got me into this mess to begin with, so I’m livid with her by proxy.
A sharp blinding pain ignites. It immobilizes my thoughts, paralyzes my body, my vocal cords. I gouge into Colton’s hand and squeeze my eyes shut.
I hate you, Mitch.
I hate you, Mitch Townsend.
Lights burst overhead like a nuclear explosion. An entire herd of people sweep into the room. My feet are strapped into position, and my gown lay open down the front exposing my breasts, my wide girth just below.
I can’t see the show over the round of my belly. Kat must sense this. She mobilizes and adjusts the pillows until I’m propped up. I catch Dr. Kines in snatches, seated at the base of the bed. The cold shock of her hand inspires another heartfelt contraction from Satan himself, and I give a harrowing cry with wild abandon. I scream so loud I’m sure I’ve rattled Mitch’s bones at the cemetery where they’ve buried his questionable remains. I want him to feel my agony—I hope it interrupts his harp lessons or his rotation on the spit. See all the pain you’ve caused? I want to roar until I’m seated next to him in oblivion.
“Push with the next one,” she instructs.
It takes four steady pushes before I feel a bustle of pressure unlock, and a baby slithers out covered in a coat of blood and slime, landing safe in the waiting doctor’s arms. She places the startled being onto my chest, and it turns beet red while letting out a bloodcurdling cry, makes me feel like an amateur at the lingual effort I put in only moments before.
“It’s a girl!” Colton shouts. He leans in and delivers a hot kiss to my forehead.
A girl.
She’s so sweet—a little bleating lamb, perfect in every way.
And I start to cry.
The nurse bathes my brand new baby girl and hands her back swaddled like a cloud with nothing but her tiny face blinking in confusion. Janice and Kat each take turns holding her before passing her back to me.
I’m so sore. No stitches. It just feels like a semi backed into my hind-end.
I unwrap her from the blanket and take in her perfect form, touch her fingers, her toes. She’s so light I hardly notice her heft as she lies in my arms. I gaze at her tiny features—a drop of a nose, dark navy eyes. It feels good to bathe in her beauty.
A tall figure moves in the doorway. Max.
My heart sings at the sight of him. I wish it were him beside me—not Kat—not Colt with his impossible reflection of Mitch.
“We don’t want any,” Colton quips.
“Yes, we do.” I bite down a grin and wave him in. “Look what I did.” I position her toward him.
Colt sticks his chest into Max. “Dude, we’re fucking having a family moment.”
“Hey!” Janice crosses her hands like a referee. “Do not use that language in front of my granddaughter. You got that? Max is welcome, as long as Lee says so.”
“Janice,” I whisper above the sleeping angel in my arms, “why don’t you take Colton downstairs to get something to eat.” I shoot Kat a look that demands she join the involuntary feast.
Janice and Kat drift out of the room without prompting, but Colt remains in a hard stance with his arms crossed tight like an ape waiting to pounce. I’m sure Mitch would be proud—cheer him on even.
“Colton please,” I beg. “I’m so exhausted I can’t do this with you.”
“I’ll be around,” he says storming out the door, good and pissed for Mitch.
“I’m so sorry.” My voice breaks as I motion Max to my side. “You’re more than welcome to be here.” Tears blur my vision. Damn hormones. I wipe my face into my shoulder before continuing. “I want you here.” I confess as he presses a quick kiss to the top of my head.
“Congratulations,” he says, not taking his eyes off her. “She’s absolutely gorgeous.” He marvels.
“I wanted to call you.” I let the tears fall this time in lieu of an apology.
“It’s okay.” He leans in and continues to take in the beautiful pink being glowing between us. “I’ve been here a couple of hours.” His dimples depress as he takes her in. “I hung out in the waiting room. Good news travels fast.” He offers a heartfelt smile that says I love you more than words could ever say. “Look at her, Lee. You have a real angel on your hands.”
“You want to hold her?” I offer her up to his waiting arms and he takes her, precious as blown glass.
“God—she’s light as a feather.” He presses a kiss to her nose. “Hey you—what’s your name?”
“She doesn’t have one.” My heart sinks for a moment at my first failure as a parent. She’s been here almost an hour with no moniker to call her own.
“You’ve gotta name her. Everyone’s got a name.” Max blinks over at me with those solid steel eyes.
I pushed this moment so far out of my mind. Even when I tried to think up names I couldn’t.
“I thought maybe if it was a boy…” I stop short of saying Mitch out loud. It’s too painful to even go there. “I guess I wasn’t really expecting a girl.” Lame, but true.
“Hmm.” He looks down at her in earnest. “She doesn’t quite look like a Mitch.” Max leans in against my shoulder and holds her between us like an offering. “How about Stella?”
“Stella?”
“Yeah, you know, from the play.”
In high school Mitch and I were in A Street Car Named Desire. He called me Stella for months. The entire school did.
“Stella—I like it.” A spike of enthusiasm fills me. I’m in love with the idea of gifting her such a special name. “Hello, Stella,” I say as he cradles her close to me.
“Hello, beautiful Stella,” he whispers.
I pull him in by the neck and touch my cheek to his. Max feels good, warm and comforting—safe. We watch this precious alien being together, and it feels like we’re forming a family.
Mitch
Isolation—a dark cave-like dwelling with a four-by-six-inch window near the ceiling. No bed. A hole in the floor emits a raucous odor. Every evening a small tray of rice along with a bed of loose noodles makes its way under the door—water in a bowl like a dog.
Doubt I would tell Lee if I could. I’m not really interested in sharing the subhuman creature I’ve become.
My father used to say, no matter what you’re doing, bring passion to the table. A dull laugh rattles from me at my father’s advice, his back of the cereal box motto. I wonder if he meant here, too. Bring the passion to the isolation chamber—marinate in the solitude of it all.
I shake all thoughts of my father away. Instead, I dream of Mono Bay—the entire hillside charred and smoking. I look for Lee, my mother, my brother, but they’re all gone—nothing but ashes raining from a kettle-black sky.
Each night greets me with blinding darkness—the kind that makes you squeeze your lids tight just to see a burst of red firing off in your skull. I miss the colors, the vibrancy of life. I lose myself for hours imagining life with Lee as though time had never stopped for us. I imagine her giving birth—her face lost in tears and sweat. A beautiful baby comes, but I don’t know what gender it is. I don’t know its name.
Sometimes I pretend it’s a boy, other times a girl. Sometimes I splice it in two entities, one of each. Lee and I are so happy in our Technicolor world. I make love to Lee night after night—such a wonderful, rich, full life. I wonder who’s living it. Has Colton manned up? She was with Colt for a while. She felt something once. She could do it again. I try not to make a habit of imagining Lee with my older, less cerebrally inclined brother, but it comes to me in jags—them holding hands, sharing a stolen kiss, the delivery room, their wedding day—him rolling on top of her in bed—that one I can’t turn off. Like some bad pornographic nightmare, images of Lee with her legs hiked over his shoulders hack away at my subconscious.
; I punch my fist into the concrete.
A burst of tears come to the pity party.
I hate Colton.
I love Colton. It’s me I hate for being so damn stupid.
Max Shepherd’s face pops up uninvited—his sharpened canines, his brimming wide smile.
Colton is welcome to Lee as long as it’s not Max.
There’s no way in hell Colton would let Max weasel his way into her life. If there’s one thing I can count on, it’s that.
Two Months later
Max
The sky is washed a lavender blue as I pull in behind Lee’s car and head on up the walk. Mitch’s truck is parked high on the driveway, collecting enough dust to qualify as a self-burial. You’d think Colt would take it, sell it—do something so it doesn’t sit here like some morbid reminder that the owner is never coming back.
I worked all day at Townsend, sweating it out in the fields with the ranch hands just to give them the feel that someone is actually in charge. I’ve had Shepherd on autopilot for the last few weeks, and its still pounding Townsend in the profit department.
I give a gentle knock. Lee knows I’m coming over, but I hate the thought of waking the baby.
The door flies open, and Lee’s beautiful face brims with a smile. Her hair whips around, glassy and pale as milk.
“Flowers!” She beams. Lee always beams. Her hair is long and flowing with a mirror shine. Her smile radiates a glow that could outfit a nuclear warhead.
“They’re not for you.” I pull them back playfully. “Its Stella’s two month birthday.”
“Should’ve figured.” She makes a face before batting her lashes at me. “It’s Stella’s world, I’m just living in it.” Lee takes the bouquet and offers a quick embrace. Her hand leaves a hot impression over my shoulder as I inhale her scent. Lee holds the fragrance of lilacs all on her own.
We cross over the dark walnut floors I had installed a couple months ago as a gift. I gave her some commemoration-of-Mitch and out-of-friendship bullshit because I knew she wouldn’t accept me paying for it on my own. I meant it, though. Mitch didn’t deserve to die like that, and I’m sure he’s spitting nails in hell, or wherever he’s landed, knowing I’m here hovering over Lee like a shadow. I can’t stop, though. I love her and Stella as if they were my own family.
The Solitude of Passion Page 7
