Page 156 of Things We Burn

And then I’d struggle to stand over the weight of it all, over the failure I felt because I couldn’t fix her. Not with a change in my diet, not with all the natural remedies, not with medications I hesitated to use because she was just so tiny. Not with the special exercises, ways to hold her, massages. Not with the swaying swing nor the vibrating contraption for the bassinet.

“How do people do this?” I cried, juggling the baby because when I spoke, I paused slightly, and therefore, her sleeping form registered the change in movement and decided to rouse to inform me of how I’d fucked up.

I held my breath as she fought against the swaddle for a moment then settled. I kept holding my breath to see if she was really asleep. It seemed, for the moment, she was.

I braved looking back to Kane, breathing again. “Like, seriously. People walk around with children every day, and I’ve never given it much thought. I hate to admit it, but I never considered that being a parent made you overly strong or special in any way. Now I think every one of them needs a fucking medal for dealing with these creatures.” I gestured to the baby with only my eyes, every other part of my body dedicated to the specific combination of movements required to keep her asleep.

Kane smiled, and I loved him for that easy smile. I also wanted to punch him in the face for that smile.

“Don’t you know, baby?” he murmured, reaching to take Mabel from me. I chewed on my lip as she moved, whined and then curled into her Dad’s chest. “I’ve already got medals.” He started to sway like the expert he was.

“I would say go nap, but I understand now that you’re physically incapable,” he said. “So how about you go sit outside, breathe the sea air and have a glass of wine. Or tequila.”

I would’ve rolled my eyes at him if I hadn’t been so tired. “It’s ten in the morning.”

He blinked, a slow blink, him looking at the clock in confusion the only signifier that he might’ve been as frazzled as I was. “I could’ve sworn it was five in the evening at least,” he muttered. “Oh well. Time means nothing, so have the tequila. Or a cup of tea, if you want to be more traditional. I don’t judge. Just give yourself a break.”

I gnashed my teeth at his suggestion.

Now that my mother and sister were gone, there was always something to clean up, something to do. Endless amounts of laundry; Kane was always folding something.

I itched to do something productive, to cook something. But my limbs were leaden, and my brain could not think of a single thing to make.

“Chef,” Kane urged, and though I stilled liked it, sometimes the title felt like a taunt rather than an endearment. “Go outside. Breathe. I’ll let you know when she needs you.”

A look passed between us. One full of knowing, yearning, exhaustion and longing. I longed for Kane’s arms around me and for my body to be able to appreciate the touch.

I imprinted the image of him standing there, cradling an exceptionally tiny baby against his chest, etched with exhaustion but also unflinchingly handsome.

Blanche, as always, was pressed against her father’s legs, as close to the baby as she could get.

For another moment, I lingered. All I’d wanted was a moment to myself, yet now I hesitated to take it.

But eventually, I did, walking outside and staring at the wide-open ocean. I hadn’t considered myself to be a beach person before I moved there. In fact, with rising sea levels and hurricanes, I thought it would be prudent to be inland when and if I ever settled down somewhere. Not that I ever considered settling down.

But there, in that town, with the rush of the ocean soothing the edges of my frayed nerves just a tad, I couldn’t deny I understood the appeal.

We had our first fight.

It was inevitable.

We were both criminally sleep deprived, both in raw emotional states, both still dealing with traumas that we hadn’t properly dealt with.

I felt Kane’s prison sentence seeping from inside of him. When he looked panicked every time he was in a room with a closed door. If the house got too warm. Sometimes just a faraway look in his eyes when he was holding Mabel.

I didn’t know how to talk to him about it. I felt guilt over that. Felt responsible. And I wanted to fix him, just like I wanted to fix Mabel.

But that was impossible. People couldn’t be fixed. Especially not babies. She was an intelligent baby with big feelings and only one way to communicate. I knew that logically. Yet every time she cried, I couldn’t help but feel like it was an emergency, like I’d missed something.

My nerves were frayed, and though he seemed to be hiding it better than me, I knew Kane’s were too. Without my mother and Maisie, the house descended into a disorganized mess of diapers, wipes, burp cloths and coffee cups.

We were constantly behind.

“Maybe we should hire some help,” Kane suggested one afternoon.

I stared at him, from where I was folding a onesie. I didn’t know why it needed folding instead of shoving it into the drawer. It’s not like Mabel cared if it was wrinkly, and we barely went anywhere for other people to see. “No.”

He paused from where he was piling our plates from lunch, preparing to take them to the kitchen.

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