“I should warn you”—I say as we head into the boxy shaped hospital with its open armed Jesus and army of volunteers that wear their hours served as a badge of honor worthy of the veterans in this state. “My family and I don’t always get along. I’m sort of the black sheep—tarred and feathered at that. So if anyone rubs you the wrong way, just know we’ll only be here for a few minutes.” I know all about the salvation that the minute hand has to offer. I’ve clock watched my way through more than one family get-together.
Jet’s eyes fill with pain as if my own hurt had bled through to his soul. There is nothing greater than having someone sympathize with you on a gut-wrenching level. This isn’t going to be easy, but I don’t want my own actions to affect my relationship with my brand new niece. One day, very far away, I’ll remind the tiny princess that I was holding her on her first day on Earth, whispering I love you into her ear even then.
“Stay as long as you need to.” Jet pulls me close and lands a gentle kiss to my temple. “And no matter what happens, what anyone says, know that I love you inside and out.” He pinches my chin with his fingers and has me meet up with his heavy gaze. “You are my heart, and I would die before I let anyone hurt you. Let my love be a shield for you. Use it. Hold it up and deflect anything less than goodness that people are willing to fling your way. We’re on the same team. We have each other. You are never going to be alone.”
From anyone else they would have sounded like cheap platitudes, but from Jet Madden they are gospel, words written on stone with the very finger of God.
I let those powerful statements wrap themselves around me like a second skin and wear them with pride.
We purchase a half dozen pink balloons and a precious pink teddy bear from the gift shop before taking the elevator up and landing ourselves in front of their room.
“Knock, knock!” I manage to manufacture the most-cheery voice possible, but a part of me is shaking in my WB bookstore Converse at what might transpire today. I haven’t faced anyone since news broke of my salacious senatorial secret. Suffice it to say, my parents have drilled modesty into my head since I was just about my new niece’s age, and, well, dancing at Stilettos may have gone against the grain.
The first thing I see when I step inside that room isn’t my brand spanking new niece or the happy new parents. It’s my mother and father’s surprised stares, the two of them locked in a joint look of disappointment. There are moments in life that solidify themselves over your mind, tattoo themselves on the inside of your heart and mind, and for me this is one of them.
“You came.” Mom straightens. Her brow rises as if amused on some level. My mother is an older version of me, blonde bob, bright eyes, but that smile I shed so easily always seems to lose its way on her own face. “I didn’t think you’d come.”
“Of course, I came. I wouldn’t miss this for the world. I visited both Staci and Tami when they were born. This is every bit as special.” I really didn’t have to say so much. My parents have never been too interested in the things I had to say. I was simply a girl. They had boys, important creatures they were molding into men, into lawyers, Pembrooke and Pembrooke would not, could not disappoint. It most certainly could not contain one ounce of estrogen. No. My talents were best relegated to the many assembly lines that reside in the many factories lying just outside of town.
Oddly, Dad looks as if he could be my mother’s brother—older brother, same wiry hair, same translucent disappointed eyes. Jet is probably wondering why the heck we’re not all lost in one big group hug, but we just don’t do affection in my family. That’s exactly why I crave both it and attention so damn much. I hate that all of those upright, uptight psychiatrists have me pegged so well. Dancing girl equals daddy issues. Shopaholic? Can’t get no satisfaction—on the parental front. It’s easy math. I get it. I’ve always understood it yet never quite knew how to go about fixing it.
“Hello, you!” a cheery voice calls from behind my father’s frame, and I step around to find Jen holding a tiny pink bundle. My brother, Jonas, is fast asleep next to her on a makeshift bed, but it’s the tiny pink bundle in Jen’s arms that has me gasping for air.
“Oh my! She’s so beautiful! Well done, Mama!”
Jonas rouses at the sound of my voice and offers a groggy-eyed smile. My brothers both received every recessive gene possible, dark hair, olive skin, sculpted features. Maybe that’s why my parents favor them. They see too much of themselves in me. Nelson and Jonas represent hope. I’m simply a mirrored version of where they’ve been, the deserted roads they’re traveling down. Both my mother and father have had hard lives, and as things are panning out, I might just have one, too.
I pull Jet in close. “Everyone—this is my boyfriend, Jet.” Jonas mumbles himself to life as soon as I say the wordboyfriend. My brothers have never been fans of the B word when it comes to their little sister. In that way they’re pretty sweet. “Jet, this is my sister-in-law, Jen, who has expertly given birth to the beautiful Emma Eden Rose.” I glance back at my parents, only to find their jaws slack. “This is my mom, Daisy. I’m her namesake and, well, her face-sake in the event you hadn’t noticed the resemblance. And this is my dad, Donald.” I meet up with Jet’s eyes as they bulge huge a moment after I give him that last piece of Disney-esque tidbit. All my life I’ve heard every joke in the book regarding those two and their interesting monikers.
“I thought he was an orderly.” Dad nods without so much as cracking a smile. His mouth gapes as he gawks at Jet’s intricately tattooed arms.
“Good Lord, are those real?” Mom gasps, inspecting Jet’s sleeves as if that cobra that vines around his elbow is about to leap off and bite the baby.
“They’re real.” Jet steps forward and offers to shake my father’s hand. “It’s nice to meet you. Congratulations on the grandbaby.”
Dad examines Jet’s hand as if it were covered with maggots and openly refuses to respond in kind.
Crap. I knew my parents were wildly rude, but, in all honesty, I thought that behavior was reserved just for me.
“I’m sorry.” I pull Jet’s hand toward me and shake my head in disbelief. “Jen, you have a beautiful baby. Nice job, Jonas.” I shoot my brother a halfhearted smile. “We’d better get going.”
“You just got here!” Jen motions me over. “At least hold her. You didn’t come all this way not to kiss the guest of honor.”
“You’re right.” Jen has always gone out of her way to be extra kind to me, and it’s always been appreciated.
Jonas hands me little Emma, and I melt on contact. She’s light as a feather, so perfectly beautiful I can’t help but tear up.
“Look at her.” I turn toward Jet, and my mother steps forward.
“Don’t you touch her!” she barks at him as if he were rabid. “She’s a newborn. Her immune system isn’t what it should be.”
“Oh, Mother.” I press a kiss to Emma’s tender forehead and whisper, “I love you” into her ear just as I promised myself I would. “Here you go.” I land the baby back in my brother’s arms, safe from this cold world, but mostly safe from my ridiculous parents. “Goodbye, Jonas.” His silence when it comes to the treatment I receive has always irked me. If you know something is wrong, and don’t do a thing about it, you’re just as culpable in my book. I offer Jen a quick hug and kiss to the cheek.
“We’re leaving now.” I don’t bother with goodbye as far as my parents are concerned. Instead, I interlace my fingers with Jet’s and head for the exit.
“Don’t be a stranger!” Jonas calls out.Too lateI want to shoot back. The entire lot of them will be lucky if they ever see my face again.
Mom follows us out into the hall with Dad staggering by her side.
