Or maybe that’s what he’s afraid of.
My brother, Parker, slides in for a hug that leaves me smelling like masculine cologne. “You look tired,” he says, which is college code forwere you knocking boots?
“Brooks just gets under my skin, acting like he was good for me and that I should just forgive and forget.”
“Promise me you won’t get back with him. I’d rather you be with Matt than that cheating asshole,” Parker says, knowing how it feels to be cheated on.
“Don’t worry, that will never happen.”
“Good.”
Matt keeps his distance but brings me a water bottle and peanut M&M’s. I don’t remember ever telling him they’re my favorite, but somehow, he knows. Or he just got lucky. “Here. But after the baby is born, you’re getting something healthy.”
My head jerks back. Does he think I’m pregnant? Then I realize he’s talking about Greyson’s baby. “Sure thing, Coach.” I wink.
He shakes his head, drops his chin, and I’m willing to bet he’s smiling inside.
An hour stretches, then two. We pass time in true O’Ryan fashion, competing. Witt, Parker, Dad, and I play Uno. J.D. and Matt dissect football players on the iPad. Birdie writes lyrics in a notebook. Then the door swings wide, and Greyson appears, hair in six directions, eyes shining like summertime.
“We have a little girl,” he says, and the whole room exhales at once. My dad pretends it’s allergies causing the tears. J.D. attempts cool and fails, glassy-eyed in two seconds.
Greyson lets out a ragged laugh. “She’s perfect,” he says. “Sutton’s perfect. I’m… I don’t have words.”
“You never do,” I say, which is a lie; Greyson is a fountain. He pulls me into a hug anyway, and I feel the tremor in his arms.
“Follow me.”
We get a glimpse through glass—a tiny hat, even tinier fingers, Sutton’s exhausted smile, Paulina bouncing, our family doubled by joy.
Once Greyson, Sutton, Paulina, and their new baby girl are settled in their hospital room, we take turns going in. “Have you named her yet?” I ask.
Greyson says, “Not yet. We wanted to talk to everyone about it.” He grabs his phone, texts in the family group chat, and soon the whole O’Ryan clan is in the room, swooning over their baby girl.
Sutton’s holding the baby; Greyson and Paulina sit on each side of her. With tears in his eyes, he holds Sutton’s hand and she urges him on. “We want your permission to use Mom’s name.”
The room falls silent. Dad covers his mouth, and I don’t know whether anyone is happy or mad. “Unbelievable,” Witt says, shocked, and storms out of the room. For a moment, we all stare at each other. Dad says, “I’ll go after him.”
“No, let me,” I say, and before I know it, Parker is following me following Witt.
Parker puts his hand on my shoulder. When we see Witt sitting slumped in a waiting room chair, we sit on each side of him. He’s sensitive about Mom since she died giving birth to him. I place my hand on his knee. “Hey, what’s wrong?”
Witt pinches the bridge of his nose, his eyes glimmering with tears, and softly bangs his head against the wall. Parkersays, “Bro, we know babies are hard on you, but you have to get over this.”
Witt lifts his head slowly and peers into Parker’s eyes, and it’s clear he has something to say, but instead he bites his bottom lip.
“Witt, what Parker means is that we all miss Mom, but we have to live with the hand life deals us.”
He scoffs. “Miss Mom… I don’t miss her. I didn’t even know her. How can I miss someone I didn’t know?”
But he does miss her. Her blood pumped through him. Her food fed and hydrated him.
Tonight isn’t the night to take a deep dive into his feelings about our mom and what happened. He carries enough guilt to build a football stadium—or at least we think he does. Witt says a few sentences a day to any of us, and that’s it. “Why did you storm out? You don’t want them to name their beautiful baby after Mom? Because I think it’s wonderful.”
“She was your mom. You all decide whether you want her name to be used.”
“Our mom.”
“Whatever. Just go in there and say I was just being a dick.”
