Jack asked me some questions and I explained the caesarian section process, how it felt, what recovery was like.
He asked, “Was it crazy when they handed him to you?”
I smiled even though I tried not to for Jack’s sake. Talking about this was wildly courageous of him, and I was doing my best not to say or do anything that might make it harder for him to swallow. “It was unreal. I was so happy, but terrified. I knew I’d be taking a baby home alone and I was—I felt my inadequacies.”
“You’ve done an incredible job.”
“Thank you.”
“So, what did you crave while pregnant?”
The shift to a lighter question eased some of the tension in my legs. “Um, that’s an easy question! I was a very typical pregnant lady. Ice cream.”
“Is that why Kacey is an ice cweam monstah?”
Jack’s imitation of Kacey’s “r” made me laugh.
Really laugh.
I gasped for a breath. “Yeah, guess so.” We laughed for a few minutes about Kacey’s various antics. It warmed my heart how much Jack already learned about our son, how in tune he was with him.
He asked, “Do you have any pictures you could show me of him as a baby?”
Poor Jack. He deserved so much more than old pictures.
I took a pained breath. “I have a few. Mostly in a scrapbook I left at Chris’ house.”
“Oh. What’s his last name?”
I squinted. Why would he need that information? “Bernstein.”
A firefly lit up a few feet away.
I said, “It’s like completely dark. Sorry for talking so long.”
“Don’t apologize.”
“Hopefully, it was a decent enough distraction.”
He stood and we slowly walked back to the house. He crossed his thick arms over his chest. His words were taut, forced out. “There was a shooting today in a bad neighborhood.”
“Oh no.”
“One of the victims was—a little boy. Looked a smidge older than Kacey.”
My fingers reached over and slipped into the crook of his elbow.
“The image sticking with me is the parents.” I looked over but couldn’t see much of his expression in the darkness. “If it had happened in April, it wouldn’t have bothered me like it did today.”
In April. Meaning, before he knew he was a parent.
“I kept thinking of Kacey, and how I’d feel if I lost him and—and I hardly even know him.”
We stopped at the back door and he faced me, uncrossing his arms. My heart squeezed with compassion. It was so easy to focus on only what I’d been through. What I’d lost. But Jack’s life was anything but pain free. He was still trying to grapple with unexpected fatherhood. Desperate to comfort him, my fingers moved, sliding down into his hand without permission.
“Thank you for telling me.” I squeezed.
“I’m trying to practice.” He squeezed back.
