Page 34 of A Me and You Thing
And that’s the huge, gaping hole no one can fix for me.
I know the Grandma Gang will descend upon us on a regular basis. I’ll have plenty of help. Why should I worry? Why should I despair?
Despair. That about sums it up. It’s an ugly word. I hate it. Actually, I hate everything right now. EVERYTHING. I’m pissed at the universe for dealing me a rotten hand.
The only thing holding me together is my baby girls. They are my lifeline, my solace, and I’m hanging onto them so tightly it hurts. If I’m not careful I’m going to suffocate them with love until they demand to break free of my grasp.
When I enter the nursery, I know immediately that nothing is wrong. Physically, at least. Neither want the warm bottles I made for them and their diapers are dry.
I can’t give them what they want.
I sit in the rocking chair with one baby perched in each arm and I rock them back to sleep. Together, we’re a bundle of sadness, yearning for the one person who can make everything right.
I don’t try to pretend everything is fine. It’s clear I’m a drowning man without a life vest.
Everyone knows it. Everyone accepts it. No one tries to change it or fix it.
It’s unfixable. Non-returnable. Unredeemable.
This is the new normal.
I expel a breath of frustration. At some point, I need to go back to work. My crew has taken over the whale watching charters for the time being. But the aquarium has started to call, wondering when I’ll return. I guess they figure two weeks is a sufficient amount of time to mourn.
Not by a long shot. This is not something I’ll suddenly recover from. No, this a wound that will never heal, a lifetime scar.
I have no idea how I’ll manage. I can hardly stand the thought of leaving my babies with strangers. The Grandma Gang can’t do it full time. It’s too much for them. They’ll still continue to help, though. They’re the only reason I see myself surviving.
I figure I don’t need to know all the answers right now. I’m taking life one step at a time, one moment at a time. That’s all I can do because each moment is downright excruciating. Everyone tells me the pain will lessen with time.
They’re all liars.
If I hear one more person mumble a platitude designed to make me feel better, I’m going to punch their smug little face.
Except, I know they’re trying to make me feel better, and I appreciate the attempt. The thing is, there are no words to make this better. Quinn is gone. That’s the cold, hard truth.
My job is to learn to live without her. Frankly, it’s an impossible feat. It will never happen. There will always be a gash in my heart, and there’s no remedy for the pain.
None.
I want my money back. This is not what I signed up for, not part of the plan. My life was supposed to include Quinn. That was the deal.
At least I have our daughters, my saving grace, and the only reason I’m holding myself together. But in the end, it all boils down to one simple concept.
I don’t want this.
But it’s mine.
Chapter Eleven
Sawyer
THE DOORBELL CHIMES just as I’m about to put Jordyn and Josie in their pajamas. They’re wrapped in warm towels, their hair still wet from the bath. I pick them up, one in each arm and make a mad dash for the door. I strain to turn the doorknob, then kick the door open with my foot.
“Is this how you greet all of your guests?”
“Hey, Bree. What are you doing here?”
I should be used to unexpected guests by now. Over the last six weeks, the constant stream of people who stop by to see if I need any “help” has become an annoyance. I try my best to feel thankful. They mean well. I know it will die down as time goes by, and I’ll miss it. But, honestly, it overwhelms me. I want everyone to leave me alone. Let me catch my breath. Lick my wounds. Curse the universe.
