"This isn't about me," he repeated.
Nick stepped away, leaving me staring at the door. It was just a door, pressed wood and plate glass, and yet it was the threshold between then and now. It was the barrier I'd erected to keep me safe, but it'd long outlived its purpose. I couldn't exist around the door anymore, and I couldn't pretend it wasn't sheltering all the awful remnants of my childhood. This division allowed me to hold years of abuse and self-inflicted agony close, and push away the one man who tried to love me in spite of it.
So I shoved the door wide open because fuck all of that.
Shannon was sitting up on the bed, a tiny little bundle of baby in her arms. She stared at me, stunned at first but then curious, like she was trying to figure out who could've brought me here. I lifted my hands up and let them fall back to my sides, hoping that was enough of an explanation.
Her hair was tied in a neat ponytail and she was wearing a purple and white cardigan over a camisole, and there was no way either one were hospital-issued. Only my sister would give birth and then immediately change back into her own clothes. I wouldn't be surprised if she'd brought her own sheets and blankets, too.
Will was leaning close to them both, his thick arm around Shannon's shoulders and his fingers stroking the baby's cheek. He was infatuated with them both, and it shone from him like the flashing neon lights of Vegas. He caught my eye, and his smile dimmed before he turned back to Shannon. "I'm so proud of you, peanut."
He pressed a kiss to Froggie's forehead, and then Shannon's, and whispered something in her ear. She nodded, still staring at me. I couldn't determine whether it was "Yeah, throw her out on her fool ass" or "Yeah, she can stay but put security on standby."
Will stepped away from the bed, eyeing me with a bit of skepticism. He paused in front of me, his gaze narrowed and his lips pursed as if he was searching for the right words, but then he glanced back to Shannon and Froggie. Something passed between them, and Will's shoulders relaxed by small degrees. The door whispered shut behind him as he left, and with him went all the words I'd planned to say. Entire monologues of apology and congratulations evaporated on my tongue. I couldn't utter a single sound, and we couldn't look away from each other. A blurry silence grew between us, burst only by the baby's gurgles and hums.
"She's beautiful," I finally said. It'd never been so difficult to form two words in my life. "Look at that hair."
Shannon smiled down at the baby. "Just like her father," she murmured. "Arrived in the middle of the night. Snuck right out. And blonde." She looked up from the baby, and beckoned me to her side. "Come see her."
She was asking me to step closer to the gurney, but a soft, needy part of me was drawn to them both. Right then, it was clear as day that I'd let years and years build up between us like thick calcium deposits that required a chisel and hammer to dislodge. I'd done that, just like everyone had said. Nick, Patrick, Matt. Even Sam and Riley, in their own peculiar ways. They'd all said it, and they were right. I'd missed so much, and I'd miss even more if I didn't end this now.
I dropped my bag and coat, and stepped out of my boots, and though it was still possible that she'd have her husband throw me out of this hospital, I wedged beside my sister on the bed.
"Is it okay that I'm here?" I asked. An unbidden whimper caught in my throat as I dropped my head beside hers on the pillow.
"Of courseit's all right," she cried. "Why wouldn't it be?"
She reached for me with her free hand and squeezed my forearm. Tears were glistening in her eyes, eyes that were a mirror image of mine, and I fell the fuck apart. I was bawling, shivering and sobbing on her shoulder as a flood of half-formed words spilled out. There was a mess of "I'm sorry" and "I fucked up" and lots of nonsensical babble between my blubbering and hiccupping. Shannon was crying, too, and between us, the baby's pale hair was soaked.
"Stop it," she snapped, her words too watery to keep the sharp edge she preferred. "Enough with the fucking apologies."
"What is wrong with you? Why can't you take a goddamn apology?" I asked. "I'm here, and I came as soon as I heard you were in labor, and I'm trying to do the right thing."
Shannon ran the back of her hand over her cheeks and blinked through her tears. "How many apologies am I supposed to accept? I've been sitting here for ten minutes now, telling you it's okay and it's fine, and you're still saying it."
"I'm sorry," I said. I wiped a stray drop that had landed on the baby's forehead. "Oh, fuck. Now I'm apologizing for apologizing. Just sit there and listen without legislating everything I say."
"All right, all right," Shannon muttered.
She pulled me closer, and I wrapped my arm around her and Froggie. We started crying all over again. At one point, Will walked in, stared at us for a beat, and then made a beeline for the door. We stayed there, our heads bowed together while the tears fell. There was nothing more to say today, not right now, not with a beautiful blonde baby snuggled between us.
"I was hoping you'd come," Shannon whispered. "Thank you. I know your work is very busy, and I—I appreciate it."
When it didn't seem that there was a tear left in my body, I sniffled and replied, "Of course I'm here. You're not allowed to have a baby without me. Actually, I'm kinda pissed that you didn't wait a couple more hours until I got here. Couldn't you have crossed your legs or something?"
She swatted my shoulder. "That's not how it works," she said. "When you're five days past your due date and your water breaks while you're waiting in line for your chocolate croissant at Tatte, I'll be over here, remindingyouto crossyourlegs."
"The simple answer to that question wasno," I said. "Have you picked out a name yet?"
"Abigael Judith," she said, her voice thick. "For Mom, and Will's mother, Judy. She stayed with me in the delivery room, and she helped me through it. I love Will, but I couldn't have done this without Judy." She laughed, smiling down at the sleeping baby. "Is that okay with you? That we're thinking of naming her Abigael?"
There was a rusty old confrontational part of me that wanted to ask why it would be a problem, or remind her that I didn't know our mother at all so I couldn't possibly object. I didn't own that name, and I barely owned any memories of the woman.
Once again—fuck that.
"It's perfect," I said. I reached to the bedside table, grabbing a handful of tissues to mop up the rivers we'd cried. "But don't call her AJ, okay?"
"Maybe Abby, but never AJ," Shannon breathed. "Mom hated nicknames. She didn't believe in naming us one thing but calling us something else."
