And nothing.
I don’t want this. I really don’t. I don’t want to be here at all. I want to be home, and home isn’t Merrick’s place. Home is with Donovan.
Home is with Tilly, even if it is for the very worst.
Tilly was, unquestionably, the greatest fuck of my life. I’d give anything to return to that, even if I only ever got to experience the conversation overlooking the hotel lobby or the quiet moments between rounds when we held each other like that night was forever. And I love Donovan in a way no words could express. It actually makes me nauseous now to think of how my parents abandoned their son when I’m perpetually terrified that I’m going to screw something up and Tilly is going to steal him away from me in the middle of the night. Even though, in the middle of the night, I just kind of want Tilly to come clean and beg for forgiveness I’ll far more easily give her than I should.
I’m not cheating on anyone by being here. Even if I were, I’m the injured party. Tilly wronged me. That night, she lied to me when she said we didn’t need a condom. Then she stole and stole and stole from me, and now I’m teetering on my entire world very publicly collapsing under me because of her, so I deserve this.
I just don’t want it.
“Gotta take a leak, see ya later,” I tell the girl, probably the roughest rejection I’ve ever given anyone — seriously, if Ihaven’t been clear before, this is the sort of place where if I’d saidgotta take a leak, wanna watch,she’d probably agree — but the moment I know I don’t want this, the very concept of this theater starts to suffocateme.
Chapter 18
Tilly
I can’t sleep.
I don’t know why I’m so antsy tonight. Even with all the extra help I’ve gotten since Blaise pitched his fit that first day of training, I’m exhausted all the time.
I’ve seen Doc Keltner twice more since then. Both times, he’s reassured me that this time of year, most of his job is preventative care, which is a lot of arguing with men twice his size who look ready to body slam him or burst into tears the moment a kale leaf is waved in their faces. He’s all for something exciting and different. Like recovery from a major surgery, plus the usual postpartum issues. He says it’s like reliving his intern days, when he was debating which field he wanted to go into. He chose sports medicine, of course, but he says he had a soft spot for obstetrics, too.
“Both are healthy patients,” he explained. “Both are motivated to do the right thing. Both are trying to recover as quickly and effectively as possible, and neither is likely to ask for things that won’t help. Plus, babies? Who doesn’t love babies?”
Doc Keltner says my recovery is right on track now that we’ve taken care of that initial infection, and unfortunately, it’s simply new motherhood. I’ve been telling myself the silver lining here is I’m sleeping harder than I ever have before. But then tonight, I can’t sleep.
Because Blaise isn’t here.
He doesn’t come home at the same time every night, so I didn’t notice until it was after dark and I was already half asleep. And I didn’t want to text him, because it doesn’t matter that he hasn’t gotten home, but I ended up sneakily checking in on him through Joss.
He went home with Merrick, which made me feel sad and then entitled because it’s not like I thought this would last forever. And Joss, being the concerned friend that she is, may have let it slip that he was probably going to a sex club.
I laughed off her concern with a reminder that there’s nothing like that between us. He doesn’t even like me. But then I felt mad. And then even more entitled.
And on top of all that, I can’t sleep. I try laying Donovan down beside me, but that makes it even worse. The whole time the three of us shared the bed, I staved off all the lectures about the dangers of sharing the bed with him. I felt really proud of myself when we finally did move to the crib, so now that guilt is hitting me.
Donovan fusses like he knows he’s in danger. This is awful.
I settle him back into his crib so at least one of us will get some sleep before I return to tossing and turning. I count sheep but get stressed over where all the sheep come from and where they go. I attempt the breathing exercises from the time I got super into yoga. I try the visualization techniques an older patient taught me at the chemo center.
Then I remember she died. Same cancer as me, ovarian. It has one of the worst prognoses. They caught it early for me, so the odds are good that I’ll see at least five more years of this world.
But there’s a one in four chance I won’t see Donovan graduate from kindergarten. The odds are even worse for high school graduation.
And he won’t have a father because I never bothered to track John down despite the many times Emerson offered to fund the investigation. Donovan isn’t two months old yet, and now I’ve run off the man who decided to be his dad even though he hates me, no matter how hard I try to not be a nuisance.
Sometimes, I secretly hope Blaise will tell me he doesn’t hate me, he’s just embarrassed by me, and he’ll happily hold me forever and love me just as much as he loves Donovan if I just don’t tell anyone about us. I could do that.
I try the breathing exercises again to stave off the panic mounting inside over all the ways I’ve set my son up to fail.
It’s stupid, but what finally calms me down is turning the TV on and finding one of the anime Blaise watches. He always has the audio on at a low volume but in Japanese — no subtitles — so it’s just voices and occasional action sounds. The incomprehensible chatter and the gentle flickering of light are enough to have me dozing, and then I cave into mybaser instincts and scoot onto his side, burying my face into his pillow.
It’s so incredibly stupid and pathetic, but every night, when he’s breathing heavily enough I’m sure he’s sound asleep, I roll into him. He’s warm and feels good against me, and usually, he puts his arm over me. I sometimes pretend that he’s John, my John, whatever his real name was. I know so little about him, but they have roughly the same build, and in the middle of the night, when the fantasy really gets going, it’s so easy to imagine that we’re connecting the same way I connected with Donovan’s biological father.
Pathetic.
I do get some sleep in, but I’m mostly just dozing when the door opens. Donovan startles before I do, and Blaise’s soft, loving, “Shh, I’m home,” has me relaxing into the pillows.
