Page 141 of Things We Burn

Soon, my mother and Maisie left to prepare the house for our arrival—whatever that meant.

Though we were covered to stay another night at the hospital, the nurses informed us that both Mabel and I were cleared to go home whenever we wanted.

I thought of the uncomfortable hospital mattress, the cramped bathroom and the constant noise. I compared it to my expensive bedding, soft mattress, large shower and house that I’d never thought of as a home until that moment.

I made the choice to get discharged. Kane had second-guessed it, worrying about me, which seemed to be his new full-time job. But I was insistent. I’d made up my mind. Home, with my comforts, would help make me feel grounded. Right then, everything was different, even my body. It was the still round but significantly smaller bump at my stomach that shocked me the most.

I hadn’t been attached to being pregnant. I hadn’t liked the restrictions that came with it, that people treated me like there was something wrong with me. I’d thought I’d love the freedom of having my body back, but I felt a pang of grief, of emptiness. Never was Mabel safer than when she was tucked up inside me. Now she was in this loud, dangerous world. I was more than mindful that Kane was recognizable, that there were many people who might see him roaming the halls, holding his daughter and think to snap a photo. The mere thought filled me with panic.

Yes, home and safe in our little cottage in our little town was much more preferable.

I was secure in that decision as I gingerly got dressed into the easiest and most comfortable clothes I had. Even that took three times as long as it normally would’ve.

Kane put Mabel in the butterfly-print onesie Maisie had declared her ‘going home outfit.’ I hadn’t known such things existed. I would’ve left her in the hospital onesie and called it a day.

Still in our hospital room, Kane buckled her into the car seat—with the supervision of a nurse to ensure it was done correctly—doing it the same way he did everything thus far, with confidence and ease.

Mabel screamed bloody murder throughout the process, which had me horrified and panicked that he’d accidentally buckled a piece of her skin or bent one of her tiny limbs the wrong way.

The nurse informed me car seat screaming was par for the course, and once she was up and Kane was swinging the seat gently, Mabel quieted.

Kane smirked. “She doesn’t like to be strapped down and has to be constantly on the move. Who does that sound like?”

I smiled if only to mimic his ease, though I certainly didn’t feel it. Not only did Mabel’s crying do something primal and painful to my insides, but I did not feel at all calm. She was too small and her head lolled from side to side with a neck unable to support it. She was far too breakable. And I myself felt fragile, in pieces. Like a bunch of broken China inside a box. If you shook me, I’d rattle.

Then there was the issue that I could only take shuffled steps and had only just managed to walk with a straight spine.

We made the slow walk out of the hospital, the nurse following us to our car to ensure we installed the baby carrier into the base properly.

Then she just … left.

That was it. The last check, the last bit of help we’d get from the professionals. I stared after her as she disappeared through the doors of the hospital.

I had a sudden urge to run back—or shuffle painfully—then pound on the doors, begging to be let back in where the nurses were just a buzzer away. Because they knew things. Like Mabelchoking on spit up was just fine. Or that blood gushing from me and puddling on the floor was normal.

I needed their confident, calming and most importantly, educated reassurance.

“Got you, Chef,” Kane murmured, somehow having calmed the now sleeping baby and ready to help me into the backseat with her.

He didn’t question my choice of seat in the car. I deduced that the front seat was too far away from her; I needed to be within touching distance and there to ensure that she continued breathing.

Positional asphyxiation. I’d read about that. It could happen in soft beds, car seats, if the infant was sleeping in one for too long. Suddenly, the laundry list of dangers seemed suffocating and overwhelming.

Kane’s gentle yet firm grip on me, helping me into the backseat, was the only thing that calmed my suddenly frantic mind.

He kissed me gently on the head, reaching in to buckle me and gaze at Mabel for a handful of seconds before closing the door quietly.

I reached over to her amazingly tiny hands, and she snuffled in her sleep, holding my finger tightly in her fist.

My chest clenched at the power of such a small gesture.

“Ready, Chef?” Kane asked, eyes latching onto mine in the rearview mirror.

I felt rather than heard the meaning in those words. He wasn’t just asking if I was ready to leave the parking lot; it felt like he was asking if I was ready to leave our prior lives behind to start a new one.

No was the answer.

Absolutely not.

---