What's Left of Us

  Parker asks directions and we run, hand in hand, through the empty halls.

  I hate the smell of hospitals. They all smell the same.

  Like illness.

  Stale death.

  And they’re always so bright. Like it’s trying to convince us that an angel is there to save those who come through its doors.

  I pray for an angel right now.

  Parker runs to the emergency check-in desk, demanding to know where Wendy is. I can tell the nurse is freaked out. She keeps asking him to calm down. Parker’s voice begins to rise and heads turn our way. I’ve never seen him like this. Then again, I’ve never had a reason to.

  I scan the crowd and finally see Ron. “Aundrea!”

  Parker’s head snaps toward Ron’s voice. Banging his hand on the counter, he pushes himself off. We meet halfway.

  “Where is she?”

  “Is the baby okay?”

  “What’s going on?”

  “What happened?”

  Ron can’t get a word in. He gestures for us to stop.

  I cling to Parker’s arm, bracing myself for the worst. Worse than hearing my cancer is back. Worse than learning that my heart condition has gotten worse. Worse than being told a friend has died.

  I close my eyes tightly, waiting—bracing myself.

  “She’s in surgery. She got into an accident on the freeway. Someone changing lanes wasn’t paying attention and sideswiped the car. She got pushed into the guardrail.”

  I fall against Parker. Surgery.

  “And the baby?” Parker pleads.

  “As far as I know, the baby is okay. They said she fractured her arm pretty bad and they had to put her under to put in a plate. The surgeon told me they’d have the best team in there monitoring the baby. Didn’t the nurse tell you this?” he looks really confused.

  The baby is okay. Tears stream down my cheeks.

  “No,” Parker’s voice cracks. “She wouldn’t tell me anything. Something about HIPAA.”

  “Shit,” Ron mumbles under his breath. “I told her to call and let you know what was going on and that the doctors said the baby was okay. I had to fill out paperwork and answer a bunch of questions from the staff, so I couldn’t call. She came over once I was done and said she made the call, so I didn’t think about it again. Hell, I’m sorry. I should have just called.”

  “It’s not your fault,” Parker says, patting his shoulder.

  “I tried to call you,” I squeak out.

  Ron looks over to me, apologetically and takes out his phone. “Shit, I’m so sorry.”

  “It’s okay. What’s important is she’s okay.”

  I see the tears forming in his eyes. “Yes.”

  We sit down and wait for an update on Wendy. On the baby. But no one comes.

  Thirty minutes pass.

  Then an hour.

  I’m sipping my second cup of nasty, too-strong coffee when someone finally comes.

  “Mr. Henderson?”

  “That’s me.”

  We all stand, anxious to hear the news.

  “I’m Dr. Jenson.” They shake hands and he looks over at us. “Is there somewhere we can talk in private?”

  “Actually, these are the parents of the baby.”

  He nods. “Okay. Well, Wendy has suffered a serious compound fracture to her left arm. I’ve set it using a permanent plate. She may have some permanent nerve damage, but we won’t know for sure until the cast comes off. Wendy’s also suffered a number of bumps and bruises, including a fractured rib. Other than that, though, she was remarkably lucky. Neither car was going very fast, which I’m certain is what saved her.”

  “And the baby?” I ask, hopeful.

  “The baby is doing fine.” I sigh in relief, falling against Parker. He holds onto me, squeezing, letting me know he’s right here. “There were no signs of distress when she was brought in, nor any during surgery. We had a team in there monitoring them the entire time. We’ll keep Wendy a few days to make sure everything is okay with the baby but, so far, there are no signs of any complications.”

  “Thank God,” I cry.

  “The nurse is about to take her back for an ultrasound. Would you like to be there, too?”

  We both nod, unable to speak, and follow Ron and the doctor. I know Ron must be anxious to see his wife.

  My life isn’t just mine anymore; I’m also living for someone else. I’ve been so focused on what will happen if I’m gone—on how those around me will respond and live—that I’ve never stopped to think how I’d feel if my child leaves me.

  Wendy’s sleeping when we enter the room. Her face is a little bruised and her arm is in a cast. Ron goes to her side and kisses her. I start to cry when I see her stomach through the blankets. Parker pulls me into a hug, letting me cry into his chest.

  “I was so scared. So scared that we were going to be saying goodbye to someone we’ve never even met.”

  “Me too.”

  I’m shaking and Parker pulls me tighter against him.

  “It’s okay, babe. I got you. Let it out. Let it all out. They’re okay. Shh.”

  “Hi, guys,” Wendy’s scratchy voice announces that she’s awake.

  “Hi,” I say, stepping out of Parkers hold and closer to her. “Are you okay?”

  She smiles. “I’ve been better. I’m so sorry.” She starts to cry. “The last thing I want to do is to put your child in harm’s way. I vowed to protect this baby. I’m so sorry!”

  “We know you wouldn’t do anything to harm the baby. That accident wasn’t your fault,” Parker reassures.

  “I can’t imagine what you two must have gone through.”

  “What matters right now is that you both are okay,” I say, wrapping my arms around her.

  The nurse comes in with the monitor. “Shall we take a peek at the little peanut?”

  We nod and smile. Ron steps to the side, giving us more room.

  One second I’m looking at a blank screen and the next I’m looking at a tiny human moving its hands and kicking its legs.

  My heart stops. Literally, I can’t feel it beating. “Holy shit.” I’m in shock. I didn’t know what to expect. I’ve seen ultrasounds on TV, and pictures, but to see my baby—our baby—in person, and moving … it’s absolutely one of the most beautiful and rewarding things I’ve ever seen. Watching a stomach grow is one thing, but to actually see something you’ve created move is almost surreal.

  “Wow,” I breathe, squeezing Parker and Wendy’s hands. The nurse moves about, taking measurements and explaining everything she’s doing.

  “Mr. and Mrs. Jackson you have one strong and healthy baby.” My eyes mist over again. I watch the numbers bounce: 156, 158, 155, 160. Strong. That’s what our baby is.

  “Pretty cool, isn’t it?” Wendy speaks, looking between us and the screen.

  “Amazing,” we say together.

  “I’ll print photos for you also,” the nurse offers.

  “Thank you!”

  “Did you want to find out the sex?”

  “Can you?” I ask.

  “Fourteen weeks is the earliest. Wendy’s almost fifteen, so we could take a look, if you’d like.”

  “Yes,” Parker answers, swallowing.

  I stare at our baby. I’ve been so anxious to know, but now I’m not so sure.

  “Aundrea? You want to know, right?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “You don’t?”

  I shake my head.

  “But you hate surprises,” he says.

  I told him once that I hated them because, for me, they were never good. Parker’s made it a point to give me as many happy ones as he can, though, in an attempt to change my mind.

  “I used to. But I’m making new memories. I want to be surprised.”

  “Then let’s be surprised.” He grins at me and the nurse nods. Wendy tears up watching us.

  The nurse finishes and leaves us alone. Wendy starts to drift in and out of sleep. I reach for Parker’s
hand. I take our clasped hands and place them on top of the covers, over Wendy’s growing belly. Ron watches, but he remains quiet.

  “No matter what our fears are, or what happens in the future, this”—I gesture to her stomach—“is what’s left of us, Parker. He or she is a part of us, and no amount of fear will ever take that away. I will always be around, living through our child. And so will you.”

  A tear slides down his cheek. Leaning over Wendy’s sleeping form, he kisses my forehead, lingering longer than normal. With a loud sigh, he releases me, and I look into his sad yet hopeful eyes.

  “This baby is what’s left of us,” he repeats.

  “Yes.”

  “What’s left of you.”

  “And you. No matter what.”

  He holds my gaze, tears falling freely from both our eyes.

  “I hope he has your eyes.”

  “I hope her eyes match your Caribbean blue.” We both laugh lightly.

  My past shaped me into the person I am today. I’ve been given the gift of life: mine, Parker’s, and our child’s.

  I’m grateful for everything, including my fear. Sometimes we need those reminders to be fully awake.

  To really see life.

  Six months later

  I wake up to the sound of Aundrea’s phone vibrating on the nightstand. It gets louder only to stop and start back up again. Tossing and turning, I will the noise to stop.

  The room goes quiet, aside from the sound of her peaceful breathing next to me. Squinting, I open my eyes. A little before 6:30. Fuck, it’s early.

  Aundrea’s hand curls into my side, the other resting on my waist. I smile at the warmth I feel coming off of her. Letting out an exhausted sigh, I rub the sleep from my eyes and turn around to take in my beautiful wife, who is sleeping soundly. Rubbing her back, I remember the first time I held her in my arms: the night we met. I didn’t want her to go, but I was afraid if I opened my mouth something idiotic would come out. So, instead, I did the gentlemanly thing. I covered her up with a blanket and wrapped her in my arms. It was never a one-night stand to me.

  The buzzing stars back up again, but this time it’s coming from my phone. Who the hell is calling this early?

  Sliding away from Aundrea, I reach blindly for my phone, then answer quickly when I see that it’s Wendy.

  “Parker! I’m sorry to keep calling, but it’s time.”

  “Time?” I look at the time, not registering what she’s saying.

  “The baby. It’s time for the baby!”

  “Shit! Okay, we’re on our way. Do we have time?”

  She laughs. “Yes, my contractions are only five minutes apart. We’re heading to the hospital as soon as they hit three minutes.”

  I practically fall out of bed, twisting myself in our sheets.

  “Parker?” Aundrea sits up.

  “Wendy called. It’s time.”

  “Time?”

  “Yes.”

  I flash her a grin and she runs over to me with the biggest smile on her face, any sleepiness obliterated by excitement.

  I pick her up and pull her into a hug.

  She kisses me once, then again.

  “Oh, my God! It’s time!” she says over and over again.

  Aundrea and I rush through the hospital. I’m practically dragging her on her toes, trying to help her keep up. We pass a security guard and run up the stairs. I expect Wendy to be in the back triage area, but when I give the nurse her name, we’re told she’s already in a room.

  Aundrea starts asking a bunch of questions. Her voice is calm, but her body language is anything but. She keeps running a hand through her hair and the normally bright hazel eyes that I love so much are clouded, looking everywhere.

  A nurse walks us to the room.

  “Wendy, I have two people who seem eager to see you.”

  Wendy is sitting on the side of the bed, her face scrunched, her hands on her stomach. Ron is standing behind her, rubbing her back and shoulders. Wendy requested in the contract that he be present for the birth and of course we agreed. Hell, I can use the extra testosterone in the room at a time like this.

  “Hey, guys,” she groans through clenched teeth.

  I step further into the room and Aundrea moves right in front of Wendy and kneeling down, asks if she needs anything.

  She shakes her head. After a few passing seconds, her breathing calms. She sits up taller, smiling. “Sorry. Worst time to enter.” She chuckles.

  “How far apart are the contractions?” Aundrea asks.

  “Two minutes. It’s moving quickly, but the baby is still a little high. I’m dilated to four centimeters and I’ve asked for an epidural.”

  “Good, drugs are good,” I speak up. I’m not opposed to any painkillers that can help Wendy. We left that up to her in our contract. Aundrea and I only wanted what would make her comfortable.

  “The contractions have been brutal, but they aren’t lasting very long,” Wendy says.

  I read somewhere that the pain of giving birth feels like breaking twenty bones at one time. I’m immensely thankful that someone is willing to endure that kind of pain to give someone else the gift of life. Watching Wendy’s contractions breaks me. It feels like someone is ripping out a piece of me.

  When another contraction comes, Aundrea takes her hand, coaching her through it. It makes me so proud to watch her take charge like that. Ron doesn’t say much, giving this moment to us, but he keeps his hand on Wendy’s back, gently rubbing the whole time.

  When the epidural finally arrives, we share the same look of relief. “One cocktail coming right up,” the anesthesiologist jokes.

  Wendy sits on the edge of the bed and bends forward, clutching a pillow. We’re asked to stand off to the side. When a needle the size of my foot gets pulled out, Aundrea closes her eyes.

  “That looks like the needle used for my bone marrow transplant,” she says shakily.

  I pull her into my side. “This isn’t the same thing, babe.”

  “I know, but I wish I could take it all away for her.” I rub my hand along her lower back, soothing her.

  “All right, you’ll feel a little pressure here and then warmth from your waist down. You may feel tingling in your legs and toes,” the anesthesiologist says to Wendy. “Okay, it’s all done. I’m just going to tape this in place. It will take about thirty minutes until you feel the full effect.”

  Aundrea helps Wendy get comfortable again. The nurse readjusts the straps that help monitor the baby’s heartbeat and Wendy’s contractions, then Aundrea and I step out while she puts in a catheter. We’re both more than happy to oblige.

  “Is there a place to get something to drink?” I ask one of the nurses.

  “Yes. There’s a vending machine in the waiting room and the cafeteria is in the basement.”

  “How are you doing?” I ask Aundrea as we walk to the vending machine.

  “Good. Nervous. Excited.”

  “Me too. I can’t believe it’s finally here.” All I want is to be a good father and give my children everything they need. I want nothing but the best for them. I want Wendy to have a safe and easy delivery, and us to welcome a healthy baby. I stop in the middle of the hallway, and kiss Aundrea. I put my hands on top of hers, rubbing my thumbs gently along her cold fingers.

  “I love you.”

  “I love you more, handsome.”

  “You and me. Don’t forget that.”

  After getting water, we walk back to Wendy. She’s almost asleep when we enter. I try not to make a sound, but I accidentally squeeze the plastic bottle and the crunching sound startles Wendy.

  “I’m so sorry,” I say quietly.

  “Don’t worry about it. You’re okay.”

  “Do you need anything?”

  “I can only have ice chips going forward, so maybe some of those?”

  “Sure, I’ll go find some.”

  I give Aundrea a wink as I pass by. As I leave the room, I hear Wendy say, “You two are so cute.”
I stop, waiting for Aundrea’s reply. I can almost sense the blush creeping over her face.

  “Thank you.”

  “I love that he winks at you.”

  “Me too.”

  I smile and walk away. I’ll have to remember to wink more often.

  When I approach the room, Aundrea’s voice echoes out into the hallway.

  “Cocky.”

  “Cocky?” I ask, raising an eyebrow. “Who’s cocky?” Aundrea gives Wendy an “I told you so look” which makes me laugh. “I knew you were talking about me while I was gone.”

  Wendy looks at Aundrea and she shakes her head, smirking. “We don’t always talk about you, Parker.”

  “Nonsense. I’m always on your mind.”

  Three hours later, the nurse comes into the room. “I’m going to do an exam, okay?”

  “Yeah.” Wendy looks exhausted and I feel bad there isn’t more I can do for her. I stand up to give the nurse more room, glancing at Aundrea.

  “Well, you’re at ten and the baby’s head is right here! I’m going to go page the doctor. Looks like someone will be pushing any minute.”

  My heart speeds up. Aundrea takes my hand and I look over to her. “Ready, handsome?”

  “More than ready.” I’ve been waiting for this moment. To hold our baby in my arms.

  I give her a kiss, then one more for good measure.

  Two nurses return, one pushing a small table with the baby bed under a large light.

  When the doctor comes in, he’s all smiles. “Are we ready to meet the little one?”

  “You have no idea,” we say together.

  Aundrea and I stand on one side of Wendy and Ron stands on the other, taking her hand. Aundrea rubs her arm, speaking words of encouragement.

  The nurse coaches Wendy on a couple practice pushes. I’m not sure what a practice push is exactly. It’s either you’re pushing, or you’re not. When she tells her she’s doing a great job, I do the same.

  Wendy wasn’t lying when she said she had fast deliveries. After only two full sets of pushes the doctor tells her she’s starting to crown.

  “I-is it supposed to look like that?” Aundrea asks with surprise. It takes everything in me not laugh. Everyone else does.