by CORY CYR
Whatever she needs. I spend several hours just staring at her. It seems like forever since I looked into her eyes. Saw her alert. I wonder how long it will be until she remembers everything. What’s going to happen when she finally remembers being pregnant? And it appears she has no recollection of our daughter. I can’t wait until she recalls everything so she can meet our son and see Holly. I’m grateful and relieved, though. I have no idea what I would have done if she’d forgotten me. I begin to ponder if she heard my stories. Will she remember anything of them? Did she hear my confessions and my fears?
* * *
The following days, Ryan progresses. Each day, her extremities show increased mobility and she appears more cognizant. I heard nothing but mild grunts and whispery garble when she first awakened, but today is different.
“Starbucks.” The words would be barely audible to anyone else. But I know my wife. I hear it.
I bolt out of my chair. “Say it again, baby.”
“Starbucks.” She speaks in a hoarse whisper.
I ring for Lynne and explain excitedly that my wife wants Starbucks. The respiratory therapist has removed the NPO sign. Aspiration is no longer a concern, so she can eat and drink what she wants. And out of everything—not me, not the kids—she asks for coffee?
“It’s normal, Shea. Her memory is returning in fragments. Did she have coffee in the car when the accident occurred?” I nod in confirmation. Even while she was pregnant, Ryan drank decaf. Coffee is a staple to my wife.
I bend my ear to Ryan’s mouth as she tries to speak. “How long… how long… no coffee?” she asks, her words distorted.
“A while, baby,” I reply, just happy to hear her voice.
“And I haven’t died yet?”
I don’t know whether to cringe or laugh. She has no idea what she’s gone through. What all of us endured. I shudder when I think about the last months. Her asking about coffee is a sign she’s remembering things, coming around.
My gorgeous wife couldn’t make it through a day without cafe mochas. I think she drank at least three a day. Personally, I never liked coffee until I spent my life in the hospital. Now I’ve acquired a taste for it.
She’s lost about fifteen pounds since giving birth, so I’m prepared to fatten her up—no matter how many cafe mochas it takes. I call Trina and place an order for Starbucks. Trina sounds giddy at the news that Ryan’s asking for one.
* * *
Two nights later, her screams wake me. She’s shaking and covered with a light sheen of sweat.
“What is it, baby?” I say, trying to calm her down. She starts to sob. Whatever woke her has terrified her. They’re giving her medication to keep her calm, so whatever dream this is, it’s bad. Her cries become desperate. I don’t know what to do. I’m just about to call for the nurse.
“My baby… my baby…” she screams as her hands cover her flat belly. Her sobs continue along with a moan.
Her cries cut through me like a knife. It’s been days since she woke up, and I was beginning to think she would never remember our children. Jesus, she has no idea she’s given birth. We were waiting until next week. Dr. Harper thought it better to have a physiologist talk to her now that she was beginning to piece things together. Seeing her in anguish right now, I know they’re wrong. I wish I had told her everything.
I push the nurse’s button three times.
“It’s okay, baby. Riley is fine. We have a son. He’s beautiful,” I say as I pull her hand to my lips and kiss it. I watch as her eyes soften and she gulps back a small sob. She scans my face, looking for acknowledgment I’m telling the truth. Should I show her the photograph of him?
The nurse arrives moments later.
“I know it’s late, but she isn’t going to go back to sleep without seeing her son,” I whisper to the nurse as I meet her at the door. “Can you maybe just go get him? She needs to hold him for a few minutes. Please. She finally remembers him.”
The nurse nods and leaves. It’s after eleven, and I’m sure my son is fast asleep, but it’s time he meets his mother. I watch as Ryan keeps rubbing her belly, trying to figure out what’s happened. She begins crying again.
“I don’t understand. Where’s my baby?”
It feels as though someone is literally squeezing my heart. I’m helpless. My words aren’t doing jack shit to comfort her. I’m afraid all the stress and anxiety will set back her recovery.
The nurse returns with a sleeping bundle as she hands me my son, then goes over to raise Ryan’s bed. He’s swaddled in blankets and she’s covered his head with the baby cap Trina made. I pad over to her with Riley in my arms.
“This is our son, baby,” I say as I lay him in her arms. “You gave me a beautiful boy.”
Her eyes light up a bright green as she inspects Riley. He stays fast asleep even as she pulls off his socks to count his toes. I have to swallow a sob when I see them together. I’d come to believe this day would never happen. I pull a chair close to the bed as I nod to the nurse. I will call her when the visit is over.
“He’s so tiny” Ryan says in a hushed voice.
“He’s a preemie, babe, but he’s in perfect health. When you’re better, we can take him home.” I have no intention of telling her about the complications he had at birth or the fact that he’d be coming home before her. There would be plenty of time to go over that. My big hand glides over Riley’s tiny fingers as we sit together.
“Holly…”
“She’s fine. Trina has her. She’s in great hands. Once they move you to rehab, you’ll get to see her. I promise.”
“But I need to see both my babies.”
“Ry, I don’t want her seeing you like this. She’s too little. As far as she knows, you’ve been sleeping. Is that okay with you?”
“Have I been sleeping? For how long?”
“Someone will be here tomorrow to explain everything. I think it’s better if we wait for him. Is that okay with you?” I ask, fearing what her response might be.
She nods as she continues her examination of our son. I think she wants to make sure he’s perfect and has all his digits. Once Holly is allowed to see Ryan, we’ll be a complete family. Dr. Harper told me she would need physical therapy for at least eight weeks, maybe longer. My wife’s determination to be home with her family is strong. I have no doubts she’ll surpass her goals and come back to us just as she was.
She surprised all of us. Ryan survived a brain injury. She gave me a perfect son. Awoke from a coma, and now appears to be on the road to a full recovery. She’s truly on the mend. In my melancholy stupor, I had a hard time believing this day would ever come. Every day, she’s getting healthier. She’s remembering more and more. She has accepted the car accident, the coma, and how she gave birth. In a few months, we’ll be back to normal. Life is good.
~32~
As the weeks continue to go by, Ryan continues to progress every day. Her memory is intact as well as her speech and hand movements. She’s starting physical therapy tomorrow. Up until now, she’s only been doing leg and arm exercises from bed to keep the muscles from atrophying. They need to get her walking on her own. Currently, it’s either a wheelchair or sitting up in an ortho chair. Once they finally moved her to the PT facility, Trina started bringing up Holly. My daughter seemed frightened at first, but eventually, I think she understood. My sister talked to her and tried to explain the best she could to a toddler. Trina has her during the day still. I thought it would be too traumatic to have her start again with the nanny. Holly always had a nanny part-time and her mother the rest of the time. So for now, this seems to work. Trina and she love each other. I feel it’s a better fit.
I went back to work. Not because I had to, but because I felt it was time. I was attempting to bring normalcy back to all of us. I go to the hospital before work and a few hours after, then go and get Holly so we can have father-daughter bonding time. I have greater respect for women. My daughter knows exactly how to manipulate me to get what she wants.
Snacks. Television. Not going to bed. It is exhausting. I have no idea how Ryan did it.
Riley will be coming home in one week. Quinn’s mother is going to help. Thank God for her, because I’m scared. He’s so small and fragile. My little man. Doris will come over before I leave for work and stay with him until I pick up Holly. The scheduling is a bitch, but I’m grateful for the help. I also have Trina on speed dial. I’m not so much a man that I can’t admit I don’t know what I’m doing. I can’t wait until the day Ryan comes home.
I get to the hospital at six in the evening. Most nights, she’s awake either watching television or trying to read. I’m thankful for the time together. Today, I sneak into her room quietly. The look on my wife’s face tells me all I need to know. She’s pissed.
“What is it, baby?” I ask as I scoot my chair close to her. I watch as she reaches into the drawer next to her.
“What the fuck is this, Shea? What did you do?” she hisses as she waves a piece of paper at me.
I have no idea what she’s talking about. I reach for the paper, and she snatches her hand back.
“How could you do this? You’re a bastard. Just because your upbringing sucked doesn’t give you the right. I hate you right now,” she spits out with an angry stare
I blanch at her words. The love of my life just declared she hates me. I grab the paper out her flailing hands. My eyes glaze over, then go wide with recognition. Oh my God. In my grief and then unexpected happiness, I’ve forgotten about this. Would she believe me if I tell her I wasn’t in my right mind?
“I…” I stammer. I have no excuse. Not one she’ll forgive. I hang my head in shame.
“You gave away our children? You wrote them off? You only wanted them if you had me? God, I could fucking kill you right now. What the hell were you thinking? Our babies, they are not a package deal. You don’t just get them if you get me too.” She screams. “I was right all along. You’re too young. You don’t get it, do you, Shea? I needed you to be there for them if I wasn’t.”
“Let me explain. You have no idea—”
She cut me off before I could finish.
“I. Don’t. Care. Shea. You were going to abandon our children. Jesus, you are a fucking child. How could I have ever expected you to step up to the plate, you selfish prick? I truly despise you and I will NEVER forgive you. EVER,” she shrieks as she grabs the paper from me.
Her face is so red with rage and the look she gives me—I know I have to leave. My entire body is shaking and my feet seem unable to move. I utterly fucked up. She hates me. Even as she throws the paper in my face, I know.
I’d forgotten all about it. I had gone to a lawyer during a particularly dismal time while she was in the coma. I was so depressed and despondent. I know I shouldn’t have done it. But I went to a friend who happened to be an attorney and had the paperwork for guardianship drawn up just in case. I had thirty days to cancel the paperwork, and I’d forgotten. The truth is I had no fucking faith. I had too much self-doubt. I was afraid. Ryan isn’t the only one who hates me right now. I despise myself. All I wanted was for my children to be loved and protected. I wanted Trina and Quinn to raise them if anything happened to Ryan.
She’s right. I am a selfish prick. I would love to come up with a million reasons why I did it, but there will never be a good enough one for abandonment. I was scared—terrified Ryan wouldn’t survive. And if she died, I was as good as dead. I would have never been a fit parent. If I could take it back, I would. Why did this have to happen now? Every single time something positive happens, there’s always someone waiting to pull out the rug.
I can stand here and blame everyone else, give every meager excuse in the world, but in truth, I did this. And I have no way out. I have no defense. At least not one Ryan will ever understand or accept. She no longer trusts me. We spent a long time after what happened with Garrison talking about trust. It was paramount to our relationship. I’d destroyed it all. She survived a brain injury and a coma, but what I’d done—I wasn’t sure she’d be able to survive this.
“Shea. I’ve called Trina. She will be taking care of both of MY children until I come home. I think it’s only fitting since you planned to give our children to her anyway.” I start to speak. “Do not say a fucking word. Just listen. Pack your shit and get out of my house. I’ve already told Trina you are NOT to see the kids, and if you fucking try, I will slap you with a restraining order. We are done. Please just go and never come back.”
I back away as she begins to cry. A cold fear of emptiness runs through my veins as she bars me from her life. She doesn’t want me anymore. I struggle with my emotions as I move toward the door. I can still hear her sobs as I close it behind me. I’m stunned. I almost can’t contemplate what she just said to me. I know I’m to blame. Everything she said has merit. When she needed me to be strong, I was weak. I wasn’t there for her and the kids. I hadn’t told anyone about the guardianship because I knew it was wrong, and the guilt ate away at me until I blocked it out. I’d given up on Ryan and chose to discard my children.
I should have stopped it, but I’d ignored it, and now the ramifications of my actions have come back to haunt me. I was so overjoyed about Ryan’s recovery; I’d completely neglected what I had done. I was too interested in Ryan’s current state to worry about my actions in her absence. I did what I always do and just erased it. And I prayed she would remember only the positive stories and any of my dark confessions would fade from her memory.
Now I was back in the darkness. Empty and without hope. The only difference was I did this. I manufactured this event. This was my fault. Ryan was right. What was I thinking when I decided to discard our children? I wanted for them better than I had. I didn’t want to be just the “sperm donor.” I wanted to be a father. And in my pessimistic mind, I knew I couldn’t. I honestly had been thinking of Holly and Riley. There was no way I could be the person they needed me to be if I lost Ryan. She was too integral to my livelihood. I’m not whole. My survival stems from hers.
I need time to sort this out. I have no idea what I should do. Talking to her is futile. She’s too angry and disappointed. I deserve her wrath. The first thing I plan to do is nullify that guardianship. Trina and Quinn weren’t even aware of what I’d done. Fucking lawyer had sent everyone involved copies. I’m sure mine was waiting at the home I no longer had. Ryan got the document today, which meant Trina would too. She would kill me. My sister would rip me to shreds. I really fucked up.
My mother’s house had been sold years ago, and I’d been exiled from Trina and Quinn’s. I could still stay at our house I suppose, because Ryan wouldn’t know at least for a while. I knew that wasn’t a wise plan, because once my sister knew about the guardianship, it would be team Ryan all the way. I would have no allies. Though Trina liked to stay neutral, when she heard about this, she too would never forgive me. The truth is it’s even hard for me to forgive myself.
~33~
Ryan
“What the hell, Ryan? What’s all the urgency?” Trina says as she races into my room. I placed a call to her thirty minutes ago. Hysterical. I told her to come immediately.
I silently hand her the document. I watch as her eyes scan it inch by inch. I see her brow furrow and her lip begin to twitch. Her face reflects utter confusion. “Oh my God, what is this, Ryan?”
“So you didn’t know?” I ask defensively, piercing her with a cold stare. Our relationship would be beyond repair if she knew about this and had gone along with the plan.
“What? Huh? Of course I didn’t know. I don’t even understand what this is.”
“Ask your goddamn brother. Ask him about giving away our children because he’s too much of an immature asshole to care for them.”
“Wait a minute. Andrew loves his kids. If he did this, I didn’t know about it, but…” Trina stops in the middle of her sentence. She’s out of words.
“Don’t you dare defend him. I’m sorry you and Quinn can’t have children, but you don’t get
mine. Got it?” I realize how hateful I sound as the words echo in the room. I’m taking it out on my sister. I should be grateful. If it weren’t for her, Holly wouldn’t have had a mother while I’d been here. Since she obviously hadn’t had a father. Jesus, I sound bitter and mean.
“I apologize, Trina. I shouldn’t have said that after everything you’ve done for me. Please forgive me. I’m just upset. I really am sorry,” I whisper as I reach out my arms for her. She sits on the bed.
“I’m trying not to defend Andrew, but he became someone I didn’t know after the accident. God, Ryan, he never left your side. I had to beg him and threaten him to shower and eat. It was almost as if you died and he wanted to follow.” Trina’s eyes begin to tear up.
“He went through so much in his life only to finally get the one thing he always wished for: you. I believe the thought of losing you was too much for him. It might have pushed him over the edge. I was hoping he would talk to someone. He’s been worried about being a good father for a while. He never talked to me about it, but Quinn and he would have conversations. I don’t think he believed he would be capable without you. I know it’s no excuse, and I believe with all my heart that Andrew wasn’t giving away your kids. He did it out of pain, grief, and love. Jesus, he didn’t know what he was doing. He didn’t think he’d be worthy—to raise your children.”
I begin to sob. I’ve been asleep for months, but I’m tired. I feel physically drained. Emotionally fatigued. I don’t want to be the only grownup in this marriage. I didn’t think I could get past him abandoning our children, even if it was to my sister. I’m sure his intentions made sense in his warped idea of right and wrong. I don’t know if I could raise the kids and him too. Frankly, I need him to man up.
