by Wade, Ellie
“She likes cracking the eggs. It’s her favorite part.” She looks to Lindi, “You love the eggs, don’t you? You’re my official egg cracker.”
She smiles wide as Lindi claps for herself, flinging some egg goop onto the counter.
I can’t help but smile. “You know, I don’t even think I could crack an egg right, Mom.”
“Well, that’s because I wasn’t a good mom to you. I should have taught you how to cook and clean. I’m sorry. I’m going to be a better grandma.”
I give my mom a side hug. “You were an amazing mom. I don’t need to know how to do those things. I can hire people to help me.”
“Exactly my point,” my mom says with a roll of her eyes.
Loïc has been out of the hospital for a couple of weeks now. He’s still a little sore in places, but he’s doing well. Right after New Year’s, Georgia and Paige went back to their lives in Michigan, and my dad went back to Portland where he’s currently working. But my mom asked if she could stay and help. I was hesitant at first. I thought it might be weird, having my mom around twenty-four hours a day, but it’s actually been quite incredible. She’s been so helpful around the house while Loïc recovers. Lindi adores her grandma, and it’s been a great time for them to bond as well.
“All I’m saying is that the cookies are going to have some crunch to them now.” I watch as Lindi dumps in the capful of vanilla, but only a splash goes into the batter, as the majority is currently running down her arm.
“I picked most of the shells out. Any little pieces left will give the cookies texture, like adding nuts.”
“Eggshells and nuts are not the same.” I chuckle. I remember my current task at hand. “So, you really haven’t seen my purse anywhere?”
My mom assures me that she hasn’t, so I scour the rest of the rooms in the house. Walking into Lindi’s room, I feel silly that I didn’t check in here first, as she’s currently obsessed with all of my stuff—purses, makeup, and jewelry. She’s a little diva baby.
In the center of the floor, atop Lindi’s fluffy faux zebra fur rug, is my purse, and all its contents have been spread around. I gather my stuff and remove the items Lindi has put inside the bag, which include a purple plastic princess fork from her tea set, a sock, a giraffe figurine, a hair bow, and a can of soup.
How did this girl sneak a can of soup from the kitchen and into her room without anyone noticing? I laugh to myself.
I leave her items in a pile on the rug and throw my stuff back in, double-checking that I have my wallet and car keys.
“Lindi Blue”—I hold up my purse when I get back to the kitchen—“you took Mommy’s purse,” I say in a goofy voice.
Lindi laughs.
“You silly girl.” I tickle her belly.
“Well, it sounds like she needs a purse,” my mom says. “I can take her shopping for one.”
“She has, like, five, Mom. She has plenty.”
Loïc comes into the room, freshly showered and as gorgeous as ever. He gives me a quick kiss. “Ready?”
“I’m ready.”
He gives Lindi some love before heading out to the car.
“Mom, I’m serious. She has purses. Don’t take her out today. The roads are still a little slick from the snow last night.”
“I’m not going to take her out. Don’t worry. You go, have fun. We’re just going to have some girl time here.” Then, she directs her attention toward Lindi. “Plus, we don’t have to go out to buy stuff, do we? Tell your mommy that there’s always the internet.”
“Mom,” I half-laugh, half-whine. “We’re not spoiling her.”
“Really? So, five purses for a little girl who’s not yet two is normal?” she says with a smirk.
“Uh, yeah,” I say with an attitude reminiscent of my teenage days.
Mom laughs. “We’ll be fine. Drive safe,” she tells me.
As I’m leaving, I hear her tell Lindi, “Mommy needs to realize that rules don’t apply to grandmas. Right? Grandma is here to spoil her little Lin, isn’t she?”
All I can do is smile.
Almost an hour later, we’re pulling up to the VA hospital.
“I hate this,” I tell Loïc after we’ve gotten out of the car.
He takes my hand. “I know, but it’s important for you to forgive him and for him to see that you have. The guilt is eating him up, London. He’s so sorry, and he doesn’t need anything else to add to his plate of stuff that keeps him up at night. He’s trying to heal, and he needs this.”
“Well, sorry if I’m still bitter that he almost killed my husband,” I say with a huff.
“He didn’t though, and we’re happier than ever. He deserves to find his happiness, too.”
“I know,” I say with a sigh.
Loïc and I have been over this time and time again. I feel like I have forgiven Tommy to an extent, but Loïc doesn’t think I have.
Fine, maybe he’s right.
We check into the psychiatric wing of the hospital.
“How long will Tommy be here?” I ask.
“As long as he needs to be.”
We walk through a common room, and I’m surprised. There are people here of all ages, mainly men. No one is eating checkers or throwing chairs. I’m sure there are some patients who are more aggressive in their behavior, but everyone I see looks so normal.
We head down the hall, away from the common room, and I whisper to Loïc, “They don’t look sick.”
“Yet some of them are the most sick,” Loïc says solemnly. “The mind is the scariest thing to break.”
“Yeah.” I nod knowingly. I’ve seen what Loïc’s been through—his nightmares, his panic attacks—yet he’s one of the lucky ones.
We reach Tommy’s room and find him sitting in his wheelchair, playing a video game.
“Hey, man,” Loïc greets him with one of those handshakes that is a mix between a shake and a high five. “You’ve met my wife, London.”
“Hi,” I say with a smile.
“Hi, ma’am,” Tommy replies.
“Oh, London’s fine.” I let out a small chuckle.
Tommy and Loïc talk video games for a while. I look around the room and am saddened to see nothing personal. It’s just an ordinary hospital room. Tommy’s been here for almost a month, yet he has nothing that gives clues to who he is—no pictures of family, nothing. It’s sad, and it makes my heart hurt for him. If I’d been in the hospital for a month, I’d have a roomful of goodies from all of my friends and family.
I spot an insulated Garth Brooks water bottle next to the lamp on the end table. I smile, knowing that he got it at the concert that Loïc took him to. Loïc really is all he has. My stomach drops when I think about how I gave Loïc grief every time he went to visit Tommy. I was just so angry with Tommy for almost killing my husband, and I was annoyed with Loïc for not hating him for it.
I mean, how can you not be angry with the person who shot you?
Yet Loïc’s never been mad at Tommy. Even right after he woke up from surgery in a great deal of pain, he still wasn’t upset with him.
I watch Loïc and Tommy joke back and forth. Tommy calls Loïc an old man after he apparently beats him at something on the video game. I really look at him. Tommy is this young man with no legs, scars up his arms, living in a hospital with no family to visit. On top of that mess, I know he has flashbacks of his experience overseas that haunt him every hour of every day.
Yet he’s here, with a smile on his face, playing games with my husband. Despite all the wrongs in his life, he’s not one of the twenty-two. He’s not one of the twenty-two soldiers who take their own lives every single day, and a large part of that is because of my husband, who has refused to give up on him. Loïc has been one of his only friends, his only family, and his strength, refusing to let him fall into the darkness.
And Loïc’s right. How can I not forgive him? I do. Of course I do. It’s impossible to be this close to him and not have your heart break. Because, though he’s smi
ling, there’s still so much sadness in his eyes. He’s here because he doesn’t trust himself to leave it.
How scary would that be? To not be able to trust your own mind?
It’s easy to take a healthy mind for granted, but for those who don’t have one, each day is a daunting battle.
After the guys are finished, we all head down to the cafeteria to grab some food.
“It’s Meatloaf Monday. You came on a good day,” Tommy says to me with obvious sarcasm and a smirk. “The salad bar is pretty decent though.”
We grab our food and take a seat.
“You seem really good, bud. Better than you have been in a long time,” Loïc says to Tommy.
“Thanks, man. Yeah, I finally got a doctor in this place who knows what he’s doing. The concoction that they have me on seems to be working at the moment—for the most part.”
“That’s great.” Loïc gives him a smile.
Tommy directs his attention toward me. “Listen, London, I just want you to know how very sorry I am. I truly didn’t mean to hurt Loïc. He’s been so…” His voice cracks slightly, and he clears his throat that’s full of emotion.
“I know.”
He doesn’t have to tell me what Loïc means to him because I can see it.
“I know it was an accident, and I forgive you. I truly do. Please don’t spend another second beating yourself up over it. It’s okay,” I reassure him. “You mean a lot to Loïc, and though I’m sure we all could have lived our lives without that incident, at the same time, it got you to this place where you feel better than you’ve felt in a long time. I guess it was just part of our collective journey.”
I look to Loïc, and he gives me a proud wink and a grin.
Tommy scoffs, “Yeah, I guess. I just wish my journey didn’t consist of me shooting my best friend.”
“All that matters is that you’re still here,” Loïc says, “so I can still beat your ass in Mario Kart.”
We spend a couple of more hours hanging out with Tommy before we head home.
“That’s the most I’ve heard him talk in two years,” Loïc tells me when we’re back in the truck.
“He must be getting the help he needs.”
“Yeah, this is good.” Loïc nods. “The right meds and therapies change everything. I think he’s going to be okay. Don’t you?” Loïc asks, hope filling his beautiful blues.
“He’s going to be okay,” I say with confidence, praying that I’m right.
Loïc
“We are but two imperfect people, yet when we’re together, our flaws vanish. When we’re together, we’re whole.”
—Loïc Berkeley
The end credits of Trolls play, and Lindi rolls around on the floor, dancing to the music. She does this every time a movie ends. I think her favorite part of any movie is its ending credits. I’m sure I’m biased, but I swear, she’s a gifted dancer. I see no difference between her moves and the contemporary dancers on the dancing show London forces me to watch with her every summer.
London snuggles into my side, a blanket over our legs, as we watch Lindi. Our Saturday mornings are typically spent cuddled up on the couch, watching a movie. I think Lindi has chosen Trolls the past nine out of ten weeks, but I don’t mind. It’s actually funny, and it has great songs for a kid flick.
Yet again, life is kind of perfect in the Berkeley house. Lindi turned two a couple of weeks ago and was celebrated for days by family and friends, all thanks to London’s simple, low-key birthday-party planning skills. I tease her, but I don’t care if she goes all out with Lindi. It makes London happy, her family happy, and most importantly, Lindi happy.
I’ve accepted the fact that my daughter is going to live a privileged life, and I’m okay with it because I know we’ll still raise her to be a kind and compassionate person. She already is really. She’s the sweetest little girl, and I can’t imagine loving her more.
“We should go for a hike,” I suggest, looking out the window at the gorgeous early-summer day.
“Not yet. I’m too tired. I need another cup of coffee first,” London protests. “Lin’s two-year molars are coming in. She kept me up a lot last night.”
“Why didn’t you wake me? You know I’d have helped you.”
“I know. I loved cuddling with her though. Honestly, I didn’t wake you for selfish reasons. But that doesn’t mean I’m not tired this morning.”
“All right.” I move London’s legs off of me and stand from the couch. “Cinnamon-vanilla creamer?”
“Yes, please,” she says with a yawn.
I return a minute later with her coffee.
Lindi pulls at my shorts.
“What is it, Lin?”
She points to the TV where the credits have finished rolling, and the movie is back on the opening screen.
“Do you want to dance some more?”
She says, “Yes,” and starts jumping up and down with excitement.
“Okay.” I laugh. “Let me play the soundtrack for you.”
I put on the soundtrack, and Lindi is immediately in her dancing world, flipping onto the ground and kicking up her leg to the beat.
“You need to get our girl into dance class,” I say as I sit back down next to London.
“I know. She has to be three to enroll in any of the dance studios around here,” she says with an air of annoyance.
“Really?”
“Yeah, isn’t that dumb? The first class she can do is ballet, but it’s only for ages three and up. Something about not being able to follow directions until then.” London shrugs.
“And they’re going to be following directions better at three?” I ask.
“I know, right? Whatever. Until then, she can just give us private recitals here after every movie.”
“Sounds good.”
The song “True Colors” comes on, and Lindi runs over to us with tears in her eyes. “Poppy kye.”
“Yes, this is when Poppy cried,” London says to Lindi, talking about the pink princess troll in the movie. “It’s okay because then she sang with her friend and felt all better, remember?”
“Poppy happy?” Lindi asks.
“Yes, she’s happy now.”
“Happy now,” Lindi repeats before taking off to dance again.
“She’s such a sensitive soul,” I say.
“She really is. She’s so in tune with other people’s feelings.”
“That is a good quality to have,” I tell London.
“Yeah, I think it is.”
London sips her coffee, and we watch our daughter dance.
“So, I’ve been thinking about something,” London says.
“What’s that?”
She sets her empty coffee cup on the table and turns to look at me. “I want to try to have another baby.”
My body immediately fills with dread—not because I don’t want another child, but because I don’t want to lose London again.
“I can already tell what you’re thinking, and I promise, it will be different this time. We’ll do everything we can, and if it happens, great. If not, then hopefully, we’ll be led toward another path, like adoption. I don’t want to adopt again from Africa. That’d require lots of time that we’d have to spend away from Lindi because we couldn’t bring her there since it’s not safe yet. But there are plenty of children in this country who need a home. You know?”
“Yeah,” I agree cautiously. “It worries me.”
“I know. It worries me, too. But then I look at her, and I think she’s enough. She’s more than enough. So, if it doesn’t happen, I’ll be okay. I already have the perfect baby. I just want to try to give her a sibling. She deserves a chance to grow up with a built-in best friend.”
“And if we can’t give her that?”
“Then, I’ll be her best friend. I kind of hope I am regardless,” London admits with a smile. “I’m a cool mom. She’ll want to hang with me, right?”
“Right.” I grin. “London, we’re a year older. Chanc
es are, the in vitro might not go well. And we got lucky with our adoption with Lindi. Those don’t always go well either. They can take a long time. Sometimes, they fall through, and you could lose the child you fell in love with. It could be a long, stressful road. Are you sure you want to go through that?”
A smile comes to her lips. “I am. I’m not the same person I was before. I’m stronger. I won’t fall apart.” She cups my cheek in her palm and stares up at me. “It won’t be like last time. I know it won’t, Loïc. I feel it.”
My beautiful wife captures me with her gaze, and I melt. “Okay then. I say, we do it.”
London shrieks and jumps into my lap, hugging me tight.
Lindi runs over to us. “Mommy, kay?”
“Mommy’s okay, baby. Mommy’s happy.”
“Mommy, happy,” Lindi says with a nod before running back off to dance.
“This will be so great,” London exclaims as I hold her in my arms. “I love being a mom. I feel that we were meant to love more kids. I can picture Lindi in the future, getting ready for prom while her little sister excitedly watches her. I see kickball tournaments in our backyard, and our son sliding into home base while you run slower than you can, so you’ll just miss tagging him out. I see parties with a big family and lots of love. So much love, Loïc. That’s our future. I know it.” Her words break as her eyes fill with tears.
“That sounds wonderful, babe.” I lean in to kiss her. Her lips are wet and taste salty from the several tears that have now fallen. “I love your dream, and I want that dream, too. Sometimes though, what we want and what we get are two different things.”
I love my wife. She’s fierce in a way that few people are. She will stand up against anything that she feels is wrong. She’s loyal and kind. She sees what she wants, and she gets it. She always has. Yet we’ve both seen that some things are out of her control. I know what it’s like when she wants something so badly, but it’s just out of her reach, and there’s nothing she can do about it. I’ve watched her spirit die, and honestly, out of everything I’ve been through in my life, that, for me, was one of the hardest to witness.
