Right after putting Aleesa down for a nap, I went to my bed, only to have a familiar nightmare. One that always happened around the time of year Eloise had died.
Eloise sat on a bed with a light shining down on her. Her silky dark-brown hair swam to her shoulders, and she wore the pink nightgown that was her favorite. She looked really beautiful that day.
I realized after a while that she was in our bed, sitting right in the middle, with her back against the headboard. She held a baby swaddled in pink. I approached the bed, and she looked up at me, smiled, then offered me the baby.
“She’s all yours,” Eloise said.
I studied my baby’s face. My beautiful baby girl with the button nose and sandy curls. Her green eyes were just like Eloise’s.
I looked at Eloise again, but people were now surrounding her. Blood poured from between her legs, and when she saw this, she screamed. Someone took the baby from me, and I was torn between going to Eloise or making sure my baby was okay.
But Eloise made the decision for me. She pointed at our daughter, demanding that I go. Then she continued screaming.
Some time passed. I did not know where I went, only that I was taking care of our baby. Finally, I returned to the room to check on her, but Eloise and every single stranger was gone.
The only trace that my wife had ever been there was the massive bloodstain in the middle of the bed.
Ten
Javier
I probably should not have revealed so much to Octavia.
After that conversation with her during Aleesa’s stomachache, she looked at me with way too much sympathy in her eyes.
Or maybe it was pity.
I did not expect sympathy from anyone. I believed that life was just ... well,life. Shit happened, sometimes it was unfair, and there was nothing anyone could do about it. That did not mean you had to be content with the cards life dealt, though.
So many people say that as time passes, life gets easier after losing someone you love. That was not the case for me.
I was a solo father trying to raise a girl who would eventually become a young woman, and then an adult woman. I wanted her to become a person who was smart in her choices, strong, cautious, and resilient. But I was afraid that in doing so, I would strip away some of her softness.
Octavia said girls need their father, and I believed that, but in my opinion, they need their birthing parent most.
Why? Because they spend months growing inside their womb.
They are fed with nutrients from their bodies.
They are birthed by that parent through that odd combination of pain and love.
They are literally attached to that parent until the cord is cut.
Regarding Aleesa, my mother and my sister, Catalina, were around and helped me as much as they could, but my mother spent most of her time with my grandparents in Argentina, and my sister was a pretty popular painter in New York.
I appreciated both of them when they visited and took Aleesa under their wings. They taught Aleesa things I could not ... and so did Octavia. That was why I could not be fully irritated by her pity.
Still, I felt stupid for spilling my guts like that. It was unlike me and troubled me so much that my game was off in our second semifinal.
“You’ve got bags under your eyes, man,” Deke said during halftime.
“I’m fine,” I lied, waving him off. I lifted the hem of my jersey, using it to wipe away some of the sweat above my brow. The whistle blew when Vonny, one of our shooting guards and the team captain, fouled one of our opponents.
“Oh, come on,” Jacobi yelled, sitting left of me. “That’s bullshit and they know it.”
“Straight-up bullshit,” Deke grumbled. “Swear they’re out to get us this year.”
“Bishop!” Coach Harrison called. “Get in there. Vonny, sit for a sec! Cool off.”
