Time had passed and seemingly healed all wounds, but this wasn’t how I wanted him to see me, a swollen mouth, a gash in my forehead sewn together with five stitches, mouth dry and eyes wet.
Clint’s dark chocolate skin gleamed. His head was a perfect oval shape for the new Mr. Clean look. A small diamond glistened in his earlobe. He maintained his doctor composure, reading the clipboard he’d carried in, “Mother, Venus Parson. Father…” He paused, taking a moment to smooth a hand across his razor-clean scalp.
I knew the father section wasn’t filled out, left blank. I touched my face, trying to figure out where the sudden throbbing was coming from.
“Eric, right?” He started to write.
“It’s with an A, Airic, but we didn’t work out.”
“So you’re not married?”
“No … yes, I’m married, not to Airic. I married Jake Parson. JP, the rapper.” I began to hum the tune then did my best with the main lyrics. “…your thick luscious lips and round juicy hips … c’mon baby I want a ride.” The look on Clint’s face made me realize how ridiculous it sounded. I reached out and touched Mya’s tiny foot through the blanket and decided to return to the subject at hand.
Clint moved to the side of the bed where Mya slept. “She’s going to be fine,” he reassured. “She’s beautiful, just like you.”
Even on morphine, I knew when I was being set up. I blushed in pain. Mya hardly looked like me; her fair skin and mass of silky ringlets were courtesy of Airic, my ex-fiancé.
Clint went back to his clipboard. “There’s a slight contusion on her upper spine. It’ll heal in about two weeks. She has to wear the brace until it does.” He stopped talking and looked down at me as if he wanted to say something important, maybe even profound but changed his mind. “I bet she’s a lot of fun.” He handed me the clipboard. “Go ahead and fill out where it’s highlighted and her birth date.” I could see him doing the nine-month math in his head. Trying to figure out if I was already pregnant the last time we saw each other.
I took the clipboard. I filled out the “father” section. Jake Parson, because he was the only father Mya would ever know. I signed my name on the consent form and handed the clipboard back to Clint.
“She’s been my life from the moment I knew I was pregnant.” For whatever reason, I needed Clint to know I was a good mother. I hadn’t used the baby’s Enfamil to mix a White Russian before noon or added a couple of Benadryl drops to Mya’s bottle to get her to fall asleep. I’d avoided many of the offenses I’d heard about from the other mommies in the playgroup, though I admit to giving their suggestions a bit of thought.
“The accident was awful. The guy came out of nowhere,” I said, trying to keep my focus on his eyes instead of on the perfect form of his lips.
“She’s going to be fine.” Clint broke the awkward silence. “So what about you? How’re you holding up?”
“My face hurts. My ribs hurt,” I said, wiping the stupid tear, then the second one steaming off my cheek. “I can’t feel anything in my leg except itchy-scratchy. This robe makes me feel overexposed, and my nurses were trained at the Sumo Wrestler Nursing Academy. Other than that, I’m fine.”
“Good, what I like to hear.”
I spat bubbles from laughter. The morphine left me a bit loose. I hoped I hadn’t given too much information, like Damn, he looked good. But hadn’t he always? Hadn’t he been the one that got away, at least in my mind?
“I’m the head of Pediatrics here. I’m on the advisory board, too,” he said, waiting for me to clap like a seal for his accomplishments.
“I guess Kaiser knows a good thing when they see it.”
“No, Jackson Memorial,” he corrected.
I sucked in all the available air in the room. “I’m at Jackson Memorial?”
Clint nodded his head up and down. “Jack the Ripper” was a well-known epithet in Los Angeles County. The hospital in the hood was known for doing more harm than good. Emergency victims left dying in the aisles. Doctors with good intentions but overworked with only half the pay. I swallowed hard.
He frowned, knowing what I was thinking. “Jackson was the only trauma center open. Trust me, you’re in good hands.”
“Ah-huh,” I said, looking for the nearest exit.
“I know what people say, but it’s not true. This hospital is special.”
Understatement.
“All it took was one look at the babies in Neonatal, and I couldn’t walk away. Kandi was especially concerned. She thought my career was doomed once I signed on to a place like Jackson Memorial.”
The mere mention of Kandi’s name made my stomach boil. Kandi married Clint on the rebound after I’d kicked him to the curb. The curb was supposed to be temporary, teach him a lesson not to take advantage of the hand that fed him. A hard lesson that turned out to be mine. She wasted no time seducing Clint and carrying him off by his britches. She took him home, fed him a bunch of bullshit until he was stuffed, wiped his mouth, belched him, and said, there, there, you’ll not have to be bothered by that nasty Venus again.
I beat myself up about the fact that I let a good man go—a doctor, no less. But once I saw clearly, I knew Clint and I were never meant to be together. Didn’t mean I agreed with his choice. Kandi was a gold digger with long legs and big breasts and the determination of a long-distance track runner. She wanted Clint and she got him.
Victorious
“So you’re still together?” I asked, petrified that if he said no, I would jump up and cheer, bad leg and all. Not that I cared, really.
Clint looked down at his ring finger that held no band and then looked up, “Yeah, Vee, still together.” He sat on the edge of Mya’s bed, one leg on the vinyl floor for balance. “She was already mad about me coming to Los Angeles, then furious because I accepted this position. She said my name would be mud after working in a hospital like this. But she softened up after I brought her in, showed her the babies, same way I knew she would. She works here in the hospital in Administration but volunteers in my department. The babies need holding.”
I wanted to stand up and put my cast foot up his ass. Kandi was a gold digger. I didn’t care how many sick babies she swaddled during the day. Once a gold digger, always a gold digger. Instead, I smiled politely. “Do you guys have any children?” It had been only a couple of years since I’d last seen him, but Kandi could work pretty fast.
“No. Not yet. Soon, though.”
Finger in mouth, commence to hurl.
I looked over at Mya, who was sleeping. I held fast to the fact that I’d still won. Regardless of what Clint put me through in the past. I was victorious. I had a beautiful daughter. A wonderful husband. Forget the picket fence—I had an iron gate with the letters JP swooped through the center. Four bedrooms and a view of the water. So, ha!
Clint touched my shoulder. “I better get back to my rounds. Hey, you want to roll with me if you’re not too tired?”
I blinked. “Uh, no. I better get back downstairs. The nurses need to help me empty my bladder and supply me with more happy juice.”
“Please, just for a minute.”
I couldn’t resist him begging, even if it was for something that had so little to do with me. Clint rolled my wheelchair into the corridor. He pushed me while he talked about the babies in the neonatal ward. “You’ll see. Your heart is going to melt when you see them. You’ll understand,” he said as if he were the one in need of convincing.
The station was painted light pink with a forest mural traveling the length of the hallway. All the magical art couldn’t erase the stuffiness of disinfectant and fear. He helped me cover my face with a hospital mask, then opened a slightly upgraded cotton gown for me to stick my arms through.
“They just break your heart, don’t they? A lot of them are crack and meth babies, HIV positive, not to mention low birth weight. I never thought it would go on this long, generation after generation being affected by the same craziness that killed my father. You realize no
drug has wiped out an entire community the way these man-made amphetamines have?” He didn’t wait for my answer to his rhetorical question. He maneuvered me inside.
“How’s it going, Frieda?” He spoke to the nurse sitting at the desk.
“You know, same o’, same o’.” Frieda stood up and rubbed her eyes rimmed with dark circles. She sneered at me and rolled her eyes.
“This is an old friend. I’m just showing her what we do up here.”
Frieda’s disgust receded to mild annoyance. “Look like you took a fall or something.”
“A car accident,” I said, still wondering why she’d given me the evil eye only seconds before.
Peaked with exhaustion, she raised her voice when she thought of something positive: “Baby Gaines opened her eyes about an hour ago.”
“Serious? That’s cool.” Clint rolled me near the incubator with the name Gaines scribbled on a small white placard. The tiny brown infant lay listless with tubes traveling in and out of her body. I looked around and realized there were at least eight babies exactly like her, slackened bodies, tubes, and tape over their tiny faces.
He put on gloves and reached inside with both hands though the infant was barely the size of one of his palms. “Hey baby girl, you opened your eyes today? I want to see those pretty brown eyes. You going to open them for me?” The tiny little girl lay quiet.
“Clint, I better get back to my room.”
He acted like he didn’t hear me. “When she gets better, she’s going into a foster home. Her mother is doing ten years for grand theft.”
I bit my lip, trying to contain the eruption of emotion I was feeling. “Clint, I better go.”
He faced me after gently putting the baby back in her sleeping position. “I’ll walk you out.”
I was in a hurry to get out of there. The thought of Mya being born that way … any child for that matter, sent a chill down my spine. I wiped my face and tried to get my composure. I managed to get to the elevator and push the button.
Clint caught up with me. “I shouldn’t have scared you off like that.” He reached out and touched the tear sliding down my cheek. He stuck his hands in his Dockers pant pockets as if realizing he had no business touching me.
“You didn’t scare me.”
“Then it was Frieda, right? She thought you were one of the mothers. She’s old school. Her philosophy is just say no. Don’t do drugs and don’t sell your body on the street. Babies wouldn’t be born this way if the mothers treated themselves with some respect. Frieda and me debate about it all the time. I tell her it’s not that simple. Don’t blame the victims.”
“I guess you’re both right,” I said, still angling for an escape.
“So will you come back in?”
“Clint, no, really. I’m tired. Been a rough day, broken bones and all.”
“You still think all doctors are the anti-Christ?”
“I never said all doctors. Only you.”
“You still feel that way about me?”
“No. You’ve done good.”
“So have you,” he said, rocking on his heels. “Besides the battle scar, you look well. I like your hair. You let it grow back. I like it.”
During our breakup, it was part of my burgeoning self-discovery: instead of washing that man right out of my hair, I mowed him down entirely, right down to the root. Clint was not impressed, to say the least. So I knew he was just being polite. My current look was matted up in the back from lying down, giving me an “ode to Jimi Hendrix” style.
“So what’ve you been up to? Still trying to take over the world?” he asked, not even close to saying good-bye.
“I’ve got the best job in the west: wife and mother. I stay at home taking care of Mya.”
“So you’re happy?” He questioned my sincerity.
“Absolutely,” I said with a straight face, though lately the little voice on my shoulder was screaming for me to get out and start working again. I wasn’t the stay-at-home type. I had too much energy. I needed to feel a certain amount of success and accomplishment. Cleaning up spills and picking up toys didn’t quite do it forme.
“Well, if you get restless, I know of a position here at the hospital, something right up your alley—public relations. All the attention this place is getting, if someone doesn’t step in soon, we’re going to get crucified.”
“I’ll spread the word, see if I know anyone.”
“Come on, V. It has your name written all over it. Nobody else has got your skills.”
“Thanks for saying that, but no, really, taking care of my family is serious work. I’ll see you, Clint.” I waved a baby bye-bye and took the first elevator smoking.
Dr. Ex-Love
Even with the happy juice, sleep didn’t come easy. I awoke to Jake kissing me on the forehead. He’d replaced the cheap standard-issue carnation with a healthy long-stemmed rose along with a Starbucks coffee and a bagged croissant.
“How was your night? You get some rest?”
I struggled to push myself up on my elbows.
He stroked my unruly hair and pushed it behind my head like a second pillow. “I spoke with Mya’s doctor,” he said. “She’s going to be fine.”
“Her doctor?” I pictured Jake unknowingly buddying up to Clint.
“Okay not her doctor. The doctor here, currently, now, how’s that? I know how much you and Mya like Dr. Wang.”
“Wong.” I corrected.
He handed me a get-well card. I opened the yellow envelope and pulled out a giant-faced sun. Inside was a bouquet of happy-face flowers. Sunshine and rain make the flowers grow, hope you are well soon.
I surfed all the signatures. JP Wear employees. Scribbles on top of more scribbles of names I didn’t recognize. At one point I knew everyone. I worked for Jake, where we’d first met. I was in charge of marketing, changing the kiddie-wear image of JP Wear. Then I realized Mya was growing so fast without me. I wanted to be a full-time mommy. Jake conveniently agreed. I could still do marketing and reports from home, which eventually phased out to a discussion or two over dinner while Mya pulled on my bottom lip as she nursed.
The door of my hospital room pushed open with a rush.
“How’s the crash survivor doing this morning?” Clint entered, looking highly respectable. He didn’t see Jake standing off to the side. “Hope you got some rest.”
Jake stepped forward and stuck his hand out for a firm shake. “Oh, hey, Dr. Fairchild, she’s doing well. This is my wife, Venus. You know, mother of Mya, upstairs.” He pointed up, then gave it some thought. “You’re Pediatrics. Covering a lot of ground, aren’t you?”
“Right. Yes.” Clint and I stared at each other, waiting for who would say something first. “So you’re doing okay?” he asked.
“Great!” I spouted like a shaken bottle of soda water. “When can Mya go home?”
“Tomorrow, free and clear, except for the brace.”
“Great,” I said again with less fizz.
Clint nodded. “Great, then. Okay, then, take care.” He made his way to the door for a quick exit. He waved one last time then left the door swinging.
“Okay, then. Bye-bye,” my voice cracked.
Jake stood silent, arms crossed over his wide torso. He immediately sensed something not quite right. He turned to me, then back to the swinging door. “Something I need to know?”
When we first got together, Jake used to go straight into his educated gangsta mode; how you gone play me—wassup’I’m outta here, and then do the magic disappearing act. But here he stood, no threat of disappearing. His hands soft, his nails manicured. A well-dressed, well-liked urban clothing entrepreneur with the patience of a Dalai Lama.
“Something you need to know?” I repeated the question with a question, giving myself a moment to think. “Clint.” I figured one name ought to do it, like Cher, Prince, or Brandy. From the look on his face, one word wasn’t enough. “I told you about Clint, honey. Dr. Ex, my ex, the puppy instead of the engagement
ring. Remember?”
“I see.” A brick landing on his chest. “Why didn’t you just say so? Why’d you let me make a fool of myself introducing you two like you’d never laid eyes on each other?”
“I didn’t know what to say, I’m sorry. I saw him last night for the first time in a couple of years. I had no idea he was here, I had no idea I was here … at Jackson Memorial.” I sneered. “Why didn’t you move me and Mya? Gawd, this place is an accident waiting to happen.” I was working hard at shifting the blame. It seemed to be working.
Until.
“I’m sure having your ex-live-in-doctor-lover-boyfriend at your bedside made it all better.”
“Please don’t be like that. I’m sorry.” I held my arms up for the group hug that would include Clint, though he’d left the room minutes ago. I dropped my tired arms to my side and covered my face. “I’m sorry. I should have said something right away.”
“Yeah, you should have. Don’t disrespect me like that, Venus.”
“I’m sorry,” I said, leaning forward, arms stretched out. He finally acquiesced, coming to my level. He did the one-arm stiffy around my shoulder. Finally, the group hug with Clint still between us present and accounted for.
Checkup
A couple of weeks passed. I hobbled into the patient room, pushing the stroller for Mya’s follow-up appointment with Dr. Wong. Me being on crutches and Mya in a back brace made my mother-load twice as heavy. Dr. Wong, petite, spry, and full of energy, came in immediately gushing about Mya having a fan.
Nappily Married Page 3
