Page 166 of Unspoken Words
Laughing, I looped my arm under hers and held her handbag in my free hand. “You went four times last night.”
“Four? I only counted three.”
“Yeah, I think you may have slept through one.”
She giggled. “Lucky my unconscious self knows where the loo is.”
“Yeah, lucky.”
We stopped at the toilets on the ground floor of the hospital, and I waited outside, watching as patients, staff, and visitors rushed by. A cleaner pushed a cart along, sweeping every few steps, and a young boy—possibly eight years old—also waited with his father maybe a metre or two away. I smiled at him, and he covered his mouth and laughed in return.Weird kid.
Thinking that maybe I had some of this morning’s fried egg on my chin, I wiped my face and glanced in the mirrored panelling on the concrete pylon behind me, noticing the large, red, and rather feminine accessory dangling from my arm.He’s laughing at Ellie’s handbag.
Proud, and slightly bored, I slung it over my shoulder and modelled it for him, angling my hip and pointing my toes. He cracked up laughing, which prompted his dad to turn my way, busting my antics.
“Suits you,” Ellie said, as she waddled toward me. “Red’s definitely your colour.”
“I know. You look good on me.”
She stopped and leaned up on her tippy toes, lips pursed, so I gave her the kiss she sought. “All done?”
“You’re gonna be the best father. I mean, you already are, but you’re gonna be the best father for Christina. As long as she has you, she has everything she needs.”
Her words hit me right in the chest. They were beautiful, but they also spoke something she hadn’t said, something I didn’t want to hear.
“Where’d that come from?” I asked.
“Nowhere. I just want you to know what an amazing dad you are and are gonna be.”
“As amazing as you, I hope.”
She smiled but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “I’m not going to be a dad.”
My eyebrow rose.
“Whaaaat? I’m not.”
I let that one go. “Ready to head upstairs?”
“Yep. Let’s do this.”
*
Ellie didn’t leavehospital thatday. Both Dr Goodman and Dr Webb felt it best she be readmitted and monitored for the final weeks of her pregnancy, and if I were to be completely honest, I was relieved with the decision. No matter what Ellie thought, in her condition, hospital was the best place for her and Christina.
“I hate this place,” she whined, as she made her way back to the bed, her skin pale, her cheeks sunken like shallow dishes. I followed closely behind, making sure she didn’t get tangled in her IV.
“I know, baby. But it’s better to be safe than sorry. There’s too much at stake.”
“You make it sound like I’m playing a game of poker,” she snapped. “I’m not. I know what’s at stake. More than any of you.”
For the past few days, she’d been miserable and bitter, and it pained me to see how much of a toll it was taking on her physically and mentally.
“I know that, Ell—”
“No, you don’t. Don’t you think I don’t know that I could drop dead at any second? That I might not survive our daughter’s birth?” She reached for her blankets and pulled them over her legs, avoiding eye contact as she wiped a tear that had fallen to her cheek.
It was the first time she’d spoken out loud about her fears, and it took me by surprise and, yet, it didn’t. We needed to talk about them, together. We needed to talk about all our fears. It was time.
