I pull him into me and reflect his pacifying, swaying motions. His arms are wrapped around my waist, his face buried into my shoulder. His shoulders vibrate as he relieves himself of all his strength.
“My heart stopped beating the moment we were told that hers had, and it hasn’t revived, Sam. Its hurts so Goddamn much, I want it to stop, too––believe me. But I keep going for you.”
“Shush. It’s okay. You do have the right, Hayden, you were her father. We have been through tough times before…but this is the toughest thing we will ever experience, and we need to do this together; if we do it separately it will tear us apart.” I kiss the top of his head, and for the first time since early hours Sunday morning, while I hold my strong, loving and desolate man in my arms as he finally gives in to his grief, I feel like the strongest one.
We sit on the cold tiling for minutes…hours? I don’t know; time never exists in the protective bubble that only we can create.
Staring vacantly at the bathroom door while Marvin Gaye continues to warble, I comb my fingertips through Hayden’s thick, silky hair as he snuggles up to me. The sounds of his uncontainable weeping have faded and the reassuring sound of silence distends upon us. After a few beats, the quietness of the eye of the storm is broken by Hayden’s throaty voice.
“Sam?” he sniffles.
I’m moored back from my absentmindedness. I crane my head toward him as he lays his head on my shoulder, his face concealed in the crook of my neck. “Yes, baby,” I kiss his head.
“Can we do something…?”
“What do you mean, babe?”
Lifting his head, he examines my expression. “Something to bring us…closure,” he asks teeming with curiosity.
I offer a sad smile. “That would be nice,” I concede.
Recovering the one and only item of baby clothing we have from my lap; he traces the print with his thumbs then pushes himself up.
“Come with me,” he mutters holding out his hand. I place my hand in his, and he leads me through the bedroom, down the hall to the living room.
Stood side-by-side at the media center, he opens a small draw. He pulls out a thick, white candle, matches, and two photographs each in a silver frame. The one of them reads, ‘baby’s first photo’ and has the sonogram print from our fifteen week scan. I remember Hayden’s completely awed expression when he saw and heard her heart beating on that day. The other photograph, I have no recollection of ever seeing, but upon close inspection, I see it was taken in Hayden’s office. The man sat in the executive chair is an older version of Hayden, his hair just as dark, but his eyes as blue as a summer sky. It’s Leonard, Hayden’s father, and he’s beaming with pride as Hayden stands at his side, his right elbow propped up on the head of the backrest.
With the white candle at the core, Hayden positions the frames at an angle on the upper shelf of the unit. It looks as if the frames represented an open book, the candle as its spine. He folds the fabric in half, the print remaining face-up, and places it at the front of the shelf.
“Are you sure about this?” he asks attentively, and all I can do is simply nod.
Striking a match, he lights the wick before flicking his wrist and extinguishing the flame.
Encircling my waist, he pulls me flush against his side. I peek up at him as he gazes down at me, his eyes wide and seeking confirmation. I nod and blink back my tears.
Hayden begins to speak as we regard the shrine before us. He speaks of how much we missed, yet how much we experienced during the weeks together; watching her grow as my body changed, how much we told her that she was loved, and that she really was our little miracle. He turns to face me, silently asking if there is anything I want to say, but I can’t find the words to express.
I faintly shake my head before focusing upon the mini shrine on the unit, San Francisco Bay peeking from behind.
“You’re with Gramps now, Rose…both of them, they will look after you until the time comes when Mommy and Daddy can come and take over. We love you, baby. This isn’t goodbye,”––he glances down at me and licks his lips––“this is a temporary parting. The time that escaped us will give itself to us again.” Reaching out with his right arm, he presses his fingertips on the top edge of his Dad’s photograph as he solicits his final uttering, “Dad, please…look after her for us…”
***
Inhaling deeply, I finally succumb to wakefulness. I stretch out my body in the vastness of my bed and certain bones click and crunch with the straining movement as I arch my back from the mattress.
Great, just what I need, a reminder of how old I’m getting and how much I have failed in my life.
The sun blazes through my bedroom window, before shying away behind a passing cloud. I briefly consider following its lead and shying away under the comforter for the remainder of the day. Unlike, Jessie, I detest birthdays, and today is the 7
th
of April and marks my twenty-fifth year. Twenty-five, yet internally…I feel fifty.
I vaguely hear the sound of giggling and shushing beyond my bedroom door. I can’t stifle a giggle at the expense of my best friend, her boyfriend and my very understanding fiancé as I listen to them muttering conspiratorially in the hallway.
My very understanding fiancé;
understanding is an understatement. He has been a saint these last few weeks. Despite the fact we finally united and grieved together after our loss, I haven’t been the same Samantha he fell in love with.
He tries to be intimate––not sexually, he acknowledges and appreciates that I am not ready to offer my body in that way––but it’s the smaller things: kissing, cuddling, even holding hands, and a part of me is wondering whether my inability to accede to it, is because I’m scared that it will lead to sex, or if I am too nervous. I’m too apprehensive to instigate even the most infinitesimal amount of affection, because I feel as though I am no longer focusing on what has happened. I feel like I would be moving on, and I can’t move on. I can’t forget her.
Hayden has been urging us to do more things as a couple, spending more time for just us, date nights and trips to the movies…the ballet. I had forgotten that I told him how passionate I was for the ballet. He surprised me with tickets to watch the beautifully haunting masterpiece, Giselle. I wanted to kiss him and hold him all night when we returned to his apartment, but I was too scared for so many reasons: too nervous, too wary, what if he wanted more? What if I wanted more? What if I relinquish my body to him and I get pregnant again? I don’t want anything to mar what I
did
have, and the future we
could
have had with, Rose. I don’t want anything to risk pushing her at the back of my mind.
My body was a sustaining life-force and now it has no purpose. Through the haze of guilt, I can’t imagine even opening myself up, permitting my body to be used for sexual gratification, even if it is an act of love. My body was reserved for my offspring.
And I failed.
A degree of amusement pushes my sorrowful thoughts aside, as I listen to my loved ones and their measly attempt of being inconspicuous. I shake my head as I haul myself into a seated position, wrapping the comforter around my body and tucking it securely under my arms.
“I can hear you, you know.”
The door swings wide open, hitting the wall behind it and I am instantly bombarded by renditions of, “Happy Birthday.”
Ever the excited grown-child she is, Jessie bounds into the room, leaps onto me knocking me onto the cold, ruffled, vacant space of Hayden’s side of the bed, and smothers my face with unsophisticated kisses.
“Get off me,” I admonish playfully while swatting her away. Eventually she uncovers my body, regains a little self-control and perches herself in the center of my bed with her legs crossed.
“Happy Birthday, beautiful,” Hayden murmurs with a shy smile and kisses my cheek before filling the vacant space to the right of me, once more.
I offer a fleeting smile. “You all look ridiculous,” I mutter, swallowing back a chuckle as I observe the three people surrounding me with their pointy party hats adorning their heads. I jump out of my skin as Matt blows harshly into a party-blower.
I shake my head unimpressed and feel the creases of my brow deepening.
“You guys. I hate birthdays at the best of times; I’m really not in the mood,” I shrug.
Matt hands Jessie a box tied with pink ribbon. Her eyes twinkle with mirth. “Not in the mood for presents?” She cajoles with a broadened grin, placing it in my lap.
I glimpse down at the medium size package. “I’m not in the mood for anything, really.”
My attention falls upon Hayden, who is softly caressing my right arm. The degree of cautiousness he exudes from just this simple, innocent touch weighs and pierces my heart. I motion a reassuring smile, vaguely nodding my head as I accede to his gesture of profound tenderness.
Admiring Jessie’s tenacity of coercion, I finally open my gift. I gasp as I observe the beige Prada purse sitting peacefully inside the box.
“It’s from the both of us.” Jess gauges my reaction with a smile.
“Oh, my, God, you guys. This is, too much.”
She tucks a strand of hair behind my ear, a brilliant, heartfelt smile on her face. “No, it’s not. Happy Birthday, sweetie,” and kisses my forehead.
“Thank you, both.”
“My turn,” Hayden says, and pulls a small gift-wrapped cube from behind him. “Happy Birthday, beautiful.” Handing me the box, he places a kiss on my cheek.
Careful not to rip the paper, I open the gift. A pale blue Tiffany & Co box sits in the middle of my hand. “Hayden, you didn’t have to.”
“Open it,” he insists. I obey and flip up the lid.
My mouth falls open. A white gold heart locket stares back at me, a solitary diamond in the core sparkles and glimmers in the light. Enraptured by its stunning simplicity, I murmur on an outward breath, “Hayden, I love it.
“Open it,” he reprises again.
Holding the heart in my left hand, I press my right, thumbnail into the indentation. It opens easily. Gasping, my heart ceases in my chest as I gaze upon a cut and shaped photograph of my scan print. It’s breathtaking and so sentimental.
“Hayden…” words fail me, and without warning, my heart jolts and beats incessantly at an entirely different rhythm.
He seizes the necklace out of my hands, while I gather and lift my hair up as he secures the clasp around my neck. Once fastened, I release my hair, allowing it to tumble down my back. Overcome with appreciation that I now have her close to my heart, I push myself up onto my knees, and in an act that I have near enough found impossible to fulfil lately, I enfold my arms around his neck. Pressing my upper body against his black, cashmere V-neck sweater, I breathe him in deeply, he smells of Dior and Hayden.
My body screams for me to reconnect with my man––the man who has shown nothing but bountiful patience and understanding. But my mind and my heart are telling me different. Even the mere contemplation fills me with a sense of betrayal.
“I love you, Samantha.”
He still loves me? How can he love me when I don’t love myself? Why does this man still want to have a future with me after I failed in keeping his baby safe? I pull away and frame his face with my hands, gazing raptly into his concerned, benevolent, chocolate eyes. His stubble is prickly and feels strange beneath my touch.
It’s been so long.
“And I love you.”
Striving to rise over the difficulty in front of me, yet push aside the tiny part of me that craves to lean in and feel his mouth on mine, I hold my breath and compel myself to brush my thumb pad over his soft, pink lips. His eyes brighten with the contact. Endeavoring to regain my composure, I close my eyes, and shakily remove my hands from the warmth of his skin.
“Hey––” fluttering my eyes, I’m met with Hayden’s intense regard. My body shudders, my vision hazes’ and causes his features to swim. I blink and alleviate the build-up of moisture threatening to spill from my eyes.
I am immediately warmed as he gazes up at me with an encouraging smile and a supportive glint in his eyes. “We will get there, I promise,” he whispers, before pulling me into his arms once again.
Drawing myself away from the warmth of his body, I unfold my legs from beneath me and sit on the bed.
“So what does the birthday girl want to do today?” he probes.
I peer up at Jessie; a ghost of a shrewd smile kisses her lips.
“I was going to go to the beach.” Hayden’s eyes flare quizzically. “It’s a ritual I have. I go to Ocean Beach every year; I have done since I was a kid.”
The awkward silence of the room is penetrated as he slaps his hands onto his legs and rubs his dark, denim-clad thighs up and down assuredly. “Okay, to the beach it is then.”
“Do you want some coffee, sweetie?” Jess interrupts and I can tell it is to afford a reason to dismiss both her and Matt and give Hayden and me some privacy.
I nod. “Thank you, Jess.”
Within an instant, she’s floundering off the bed. She playfully swats Matt’s behind while inclining her head to the door, silently telling him to leaves us. He follows obediently like a well-trained puppy.
“Actually, Hayden, please don’t take this personally,” I frown and choke on my words. Stock-still, I study my knotted fingers which lay anxiously in my lap. “It’s something that I have done on my own for so long and it…” I sigh, “It’s something I need to do on my own, for my own reasons.”
Feeling somewhat awkward and guilty, I gingerly lift my head to face him. I’m under his dark, empathetic scrutiny. I notice the corners of his mouth quirk slightly.
“I can sympathize with that, beautiful.” In the periphery of my vision, I see him raise his hand a fraction to place it on my leg? Arm? Face? I don’t know, but he thinks better of it, and sombrely lowers it back onto his thigh, sighing greatly in the process. “I’ll drive you, and I’ll wait in the car until you are ready to come back.”
I concede.
The mattress shifts as he hauls himself up and rounds the foot of the bed. His normal warm, dark, passionate eyes are a long ago memory. He chances a brief glance at me, the forlorn look of dejection filling his sweet, rich depths. He glances down at the floor and fidgets with the corner of his thumb nail.