by J. L. Berg
“Angel—”
“Yeah?”
“You need to name him first.”
Her eyes went wide, and she stopped mid-aisle. “Oh. I guess we do. Well, hmm . . . what do you think we should name him? You seem to have all sorts of good names in that head of yours,” she replied with a knowing grin.
Yeah, that had been a good night.
“Harry?” I suggested, looking down at his wild mane.
Her face scrunched together, and she shook her head. “No, not that.”
She held the dog up, getting a good look at his tiny face. His little puppy-dog eyes met hers, and she giggled.
“We should name you after a famous book dog or something.”
“There are famous book dogs?” I questioned, leaning against the cart. This was going to take a while.
“Of course there are! Bull’s-Eye from Oliver Twist, Toto from The Wizard of Oz, even Clifford from, well, Clifford.”
“So, you want to name him Clifford?” I asked, looking at the little runt, thinking he didn’t resemble the gigantic red dog in the least.
“Well, no. But maybe something similar?”
I looked at our crazy-looking mop of a dog, trying to picture him as the hero of some classic tale.
“Sandy?” I suggested. “It’s not exactly from a book, but you love the musical, and he’s kind of a tiny version of the original. And we are New Yorkers after all.”
“That’s perfect!” she exclaimed. “He does look like Sandy!”
The tag was made, making Sandy’s name official. I loaded our loot into the back of the car, rolling my eyes at the amount of stuff required for one five-pound dog. I couldn’t even begin to imagine how much stuff we’d have to start gathering for the baby.
My stomach tightened when I realized neither of us had even talked about it yet.
No nursery had been discussed. No furniture or baby registry had been planned.
Nothing.
We’d decided as a team that we would celebrate everything—every ultrasound, every clean bill of health—and we had. A frame sat by the couch with the latest ultrasound proudly displayed, but it was as if we were unable to move past that point.
We talked about becoming parents all the time. We joked about the lack of sleep and the restless nights, yet neither of us were actually preparing for it.
What were we so scared of?
I awoke, the faint sound of crying ringing in my ears.
“Lailah, the baby is awake,” I whispered, reaching for her across the bed.
But she was nowhere to be found.
Tossing the sheets aside, I stumbled down the hall, covered in darkness, until I saw the sliver of light peeking out the door. Pushing it open with my hand, I stepped forward, following the urgent cries within.
The moonlight cast a light glow upon the crib, and as I looked down, it created almost an angelic halo on his light-blond hair.
“What’s the matter?” I asked, reaching down to scoop him up.
My fingers ran through his tiny locks as his light-blue eyes studied me. Bouncing him lightly like I’d done a hundred times, we walked back and forth in front of the window, watching the dark waves crashing into the shoreline in the distance.
Within minutes, he was calm once again, his eyes dropping heavily.
“Want to go see Mommy before you nod off again?” I asked, cradling him to my chest, as I walked down the hall in search of Lailah.
I checked the kitchen first, wondering if maybe she’d decided to grab a late snack, but found nothing. The living room was empty as well.
My heart fluttered as I checked the deck, only to find it bare. My feet carried me back down the hall, checking room after room, until I found myself standing at the foot of our bed, staring at the place where I’d started.
A silver picture frame caught my eye, and I walked toward the nightstand. Picking up the photo, I looked down, tears falling from my face as I stared at the last picture taken of her.
“She’s gone,” I choked out. “She’s gone.”
“Sir?” Someone shook me, startling me back to reality. “Sir, we’re about to land.”
I looked around, taking in my surroundings, as my heart pounded in my chest. The roar of the engine filled my ears as the sound of the landing gear moved into place.
It was just a dream.
Lailah is alive, I chanted. Lailah is fine.
The nightmares had started a few weeks ago, a by-product of too much stress. So far, Lailah hadn’t noticed when I’d gotten out of bed in the middle of the night to step out onto the deck for air. And I hadn’t bothered to tell her.
I still fully believed that the least amount of stress in her life was the way to go. So far, it had worked.
I looked out of the window as the plane closed in on New York. It had been less than two months since I was here, having flown back briefly to pack up things for our new home, but it still felt like eons.
California was like another world compared to New York, and while I’d grown up here, I found myself loving the slow, laid-back life of the beach more and more with each passing day. Unfortunately, my job was here. I didn’t know how to change that. I couldn’t ask our entire company to relocate just because I liked the beach.
I took a deep breath, trying to relax, as the pilot landed the plane. Within minutes, the flight attendants had the doors open, and I was walking through the airport toward the row of cabs lining the front. My brother, of course, had beat me to it, and as I walked toward baggage claim, I spotted a man dressed in a sharp suit and tie, holding a sign with my last name neatly printed on it.
Shaking my head, I greeted him.
“Isn’t this a little beneath you?” I grinned, actually glad to see him for a change.
Roman smirked before quickly turning the sign over.
Welcome home, jackass, it said.
“Now, that’s more like it.” I laughed.
We shook hands and headed out toward the front. The jet-black car he always had on standby was parked outside, and I quickly put my carryon in the trunk, not bothering to pester the driver with it. My brother fully embraced his wealthy lifestyle while I tended to use it only when it involved spoiling my wife.
“So, why are you picking me up?” I asked as we settled into the backseat.
He reached into a mini cooler and handed me a bottle of water and grabbed another for himself.
“Well, it’s been a while since you’ve been around. Figured I’d give you an update before the meeting.”
I was silent for a moment, letting that sink in.
“I told you I could be an adult when I wanted to be,” he reminded me.
“I know,” I answered. “It’s just still hard to see.”
His hard eyes stared at me, unblinking.
“Thank you,” I responded, not knowing what else to say.
A quick nod was all the acknowledgement I got before he dived into business talk, his mouth moving so fast that I had a hard time keeping up.
I mostly listened, added my two cents here or there, but for the most part, he’d done a stellar job at preparing for our annual meeting. I was actually impressed.
The feeling intensified as the meeting began, and I watched him in action. He’d really gone all in, like he’d said he would, reviewing every aspect until he had it all down pat. There was no cutting corners, no loose ends. He was confident and composed as he spoke to the board, and for once, I believed he really could do it all.
I wasn’t a fool. This potential didn’t suddenly spring up from nowhere. He’d had it all along—well before I’d left for California.
So, why was he suddenly revealing it now?
If he’d been so capable in the past, why come to me, begging me to come back years ago? Why let the company fall to ruins? Why sit by and let me run the show while he played poster boy for a company he could clearly help lead side by side?
There were so many sides to the Roman puzzle, yet I couldn’t figure any of
them out.
We ended the annual meeting on a high note, everyone shaking hands, eager for the year ahead. All wished me and Lailah well with the pregnancy, knowing it was a risky one. I thanked everyone and promised to give any updates as they came along. After the room emptied, I turned to Roman, who was loosening his tie, as he flopped into a leather chair, exhausted.
“You did good,” I admitted.
“I know.” He grinned before taking a large gulp of water from the bottle in front of him.
“Why—” I began.
He cut me off, “You’d better get going. Mom is eager to see you.”
“You’re not coming?”
He shook his head. “No, I think I’ve had enough grown-up time for one day. Time to let off a bit of steam.” He stood, brushing past me but paused near the entrance. “Good to see you, Jude. Be good to Lailah,” he said before disappearing around the corner.
“I’ve missed you so much!” My mom burst into tears the moment the door opened. “Come in, come in!”
“Kind of hard when you’ve got me in a vise grip,” I said as her slender body held me tightly. My arms folded around her as I smiled.
“Sorry.” She laughed. “Just checking to make sure you’re really here.”
“It hasn’t been that long,” I said.
She stepped back, taking a good look at me. “It feels like an eternity. And look at that tan!”
I shrugged. “California weather, Mom—it can’t be beat. You should try it sometime.”
“Well, I don’t think I can pull off a tan like that anymore, but I sure wouldn’t mind the heat. And I would love to see my daughter-in-law. Tell me, how is she doing?”
She took my coat, and we made our way to the kitchen for drinks. The house felt huge and empty with just Mom in it these days. When I was younger, it had been full of laughter and staff. There never seemed to be a room that wasn’t occupied by someone. Now, it just felt drafty and cold. I hated the idea of her spending the rest of her life out here, isolated from everyone. I understood the reasoning. It was our family home, and it had to be preserved, but certainly, other arrangements could be made.
“She’s doing great—besides a bit of heartburn,” I answered. “She’s really good Mom.”
“You sound surprised.”
“Honestly, I am.”
“Why?” she asked, grabbing a Coke from the fridge—the classic kind from the bottle. I’d loved them when I was a child, and ever since, she’d always have them waiting for me whenever I came to visit.
“You’re waiting for the anvil to drop?” she asked, knowing my answer.
“Yeah. I know that sounds bad, but I just keep expecting something bad to happen. I’ve spent hours researching on the Internet. I mean, something has to go wrong, right? So, I just sit around, sucking in my breath, waiting for it to happen.”
“And how does Lailah feel about this?” she asked, opening the refrigerator to pull out a casserole she’d made for dinner.
I watched her peel off the layer of plastic wrap off the top and walk it to the oven. Seeing her do such domestic tasks was still so foreign to me. She’d learned to fend for herself so much in the last few years as Dad had grown sick, and they’d cut back staff to hide his illness. Watching her and Molly put together Christmas dinner had been like seeing a rare bird in flight. It wasn’t that I didn’t think she could cook. I’d just never seen it.
“I don’t know. I feel like we’re just skimming the surface with our conversations. Neither one of us are willing to delve too deep into the future—too scared by the possibilities and the what-ifs. I’m trying to stay positive, trying to keep things as calm and tranquil for her and the baby as possible . . . but here”—I pointed to my temple—“it’s an endless loop of nightmares. I can’t stop them. I wake up, drenched in sweat, trembling, night after night. I can’t stop thinking about what might go wrong, what could go wrong. Jesus, Mom, I could lose her. I could lose them both.” Every emotion I’d kept bottled up for months spilled out of me.
She rushed forward, dinner forgotten, and held me. I purged every worry, every single fear, in the tears that fell onto her shoulders as I clung to her.
Her tears meshed with mine. “Oh, my dear sweet boy. You’ll never lose them. They’re tied to you forever—whether it’s in this life or the next. But I know a thing or two about that girl you married. She’s a fighter, Jude. She might look small, but her heart is ten times the size of most. She’ll battle to the death for this life she’s worked so hard to achieve.”
I nodded, knowing she was right.
Lailah was a fighter, strong and willing to stand her ground against any foe—even death.
“You’re right, Mom. I’m not giving her enough credit. And I’m jumping to conclusions. We’re nearly to five months now, and she’s had nothing but good news from the doctor. I just can’t stop worrying.” I shook my head against her shoulder.
“It’s normal,” she soothed. “When I was pregnant with you, your father insisted I call the office three times a day to check in.”
“Did you?” I asked.
“No.” She laughed. “But then, he got sneaky and started having the staff do it for me without my knowledge.” Her eyes became glassy as she looked down toward the floor. “He was always one step ahead of me.”
“He loved you, more than anything.”
“I know he did,” she answered, smiling. “Let’s get this dinner made.” She quickly swiped the tears from her face, moving toward the refrigerator to pull out items for a salad.
I jumped to my feet to help her. Within a few minutes, we were both chopping vegetables and tossing them into a large bowl when my phone rang.
Wiping my hands on a dish towel, I pulled my cell out of my pocket and saw Molly’s number flashing on the screen.
“Hello?” I answered, my stomach already clenching.
“Jude,” she said, “you need to come home.”
Her voice sounded serious, concerned, frightened.
“Molly, what is it? What happened?”
“It’s Lailah. She’s in the hospital.”
The phone fell from my hand.
The anvil had dropped, and all my fears rushed back to haunt me.
DEAR JOURNAL,
Hey, old friend.
Long time, no talk. No write maybe? Well, anyway, it’s been a while.
I guess I shouldn’t feel bad. You aren’t real. But you were there when I needed you.
A friend when there weren’t any. A gentle listener when I needed to purge everything in my anxious soul.
Yet I do feel bad—that is, for abandoning you.
As life moved on and the world expanded beyond the tiny scope of this hospital, I kind of forgot about the great friendship I’d developed within the pages of this journal—and the many before it.
Long before pudding or placeholders, you were my rock, the only comfort I knew beyond family. You held me together when all I wanted to do was fall apart.
When nurses or patients left the hospital over the years, promising to write and keep in touch, I never held any ill will toward them when the letters or the calls began to cease. I knew life was better outside these walls—or at least, I hoped it was. It had to be. Because what else would I be fighting for?
Turns out, it is everything and more.
Love, laughter, passion, frustration, and the freedom to experience a hundred other emotions in a single minute.
The greatest solace and strength of my life.
Now, I know what I’m fighting for, and I’ve never been more scared, which is why I’m turning to you—my original confidant and friend. Because as much as I love my husband and family, I could never tell them how terrified I am, how every single fear I’ve imagined took one step closer into reality tonight.
I’ve allowed myself to dream, to hope, to plan.
As Jude’s plane was touching down in New York, I was enjoying a cup of herbal tea on the deck, relaxing with my feet up, thinking how
wonderful the sun felt on my skin.
I’d made it nearly halfway through my second trimester without a single issue.
Life was good.
Deciding a little walk might do some good, I grabbed Sandy’s leash and headed for the beach. He excitedly jumped up and down the moment my fingers brushed the canvas. The darn thing wasn’t even in my hands yet, and somehow, he knew a walk was going to happen.
We took a long leisurely stroll down the beach, waving at runners and happy children playing in the sand. On our way home, I stopped at the mailbox and picked up the mail.
That’s when I saw it—a baby catalog.
Somehow, the people in mail land had figured out the impending arrival of our child before I was barely bulging out of my pre-pregnancy jeans.
How did they do that?
I stared at the catalog like it was filled with kryptonite and battery acid as Sandy and I made our way into the house. Setting it down on the counter, I gave him treats and water and made myself a snack, looking at it the entire time out of the corner of my eye.
And then, I swear it moved.
I gripped the counter, shaking my head a little, trying to dislodge any cobwebs or bats . . . because I mean, things were getting a little freaky.
By this time, I was sure I was going crazy.
Maybe I already have. I am a full-grown woman writing in a journal.
Anyway, moving on.
The catalog continued to stare at me through dinner until I finally caved.
Snatching it off the counter, I decided I would just peek.
It couldn’t hurt just to see what was out there in the world of babies, right?
So, I opened it, just a little, and immediately, I was sucked in.
Suddenly, I found myself standing at the door of the empty bedroom adjacent from ours, mentally measuring walls for crib space, looking at the windows for types of curtains, and even picking out color palettes.
I’d gone from zero to sixty in the blink of an eye, and it actually felt good.
I wondered what I had been so scared of.
My hand dropped down to my round little belly, the tiny flutter I’d grown accustomed to making its presence known. I smiled, remembering the first time I’d felt it.
