Sometimes I think about what I’d say to him if I ever run into him, and I always decide I’d ask one question and one question only: why?
Nothing else matters.
Heading inside, I make my way to my apartment and unload my groceries with shaky arms that tell me I need to incorporate push-ups into my daily routine.
The buzz of my phone in my purse fills my quiet apartment as I place the last item in a cupboard, and when I retrieve it, Tierney’s name flashes on the screen.
“Hey,” I answer, cradling the phone on my shoulder as I reach for a stack of mail I’ve yet to sort. “What’s up?”
“Love, it’s Josh.” Tierney’s husband is on the other end, his voice breathy and his words hurried. “Tierney’s in labor and we’re en route to Lenox Hill, but we don’t have time to stop at home and grab her overnight bag.”
She wasn’t due for two more weeks … I bet she’s freaking the hell out right now.
“I’m on it,” I say. Tierney’s voice is muffled in the background, but I can hear her rhythmic panting followed by the distinct sound of a woman in severe pain. My uterus cringes in sympathy. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
Ordering an Uber, I collect my keys and wallet and book it to the lobby to wait for my ride. Tierney lives in the Upper West Side, so we zag across the city before zipping back to 77th where the driver deposits me at the main entrance of the hospital also known as “The Lenox Hilton.” At least that’s what Tierney told me after she toured birthing suites that came complete with private chefs.
I locate the maternity ward and drop her bag off at the front desk, texting Tierney and Josh’s phones to know it’s there, and then I find a spot in the waiting room and grab a Better Homes and Gardens magazine from a stack on the table beside me. It was either that, Hi-Lites, or Country Living.
I’m halfway finished with an article on how to roast rutabagas the proper way when Josh bursts through the waiting room doors in scrubs, a delirious smile on his face. Scanning the waiting room, he finally finds me.
“It’s a boy!” he says.
“Holy shit, she had the baby already?” I rise from my chair, feeling as dazed as Josh looks. Though I shouldn’t be surprised, Tierney’s as impatient as they come. It’s only fitting that her firstborn child is too.
Josh makes his way toward me and I give him a congratulatory hug. He hasn’t stopped beaming since he burst through those doors.
“We thought she was going to be delivering in the lobby. Barely made it up here in time,” he says with a soft chuckle, though I can only imagine how terrified he was at the time. “They’re still cleaning him up, but I’ll come back and get you in a few so you can meet him.”
“Can’t wait.”
“This is for sure your kid,” I say. Holden Joshua Castle is the spitting image of his mother. “Dramatic entrance. Full head of auburn hair. Loud voice. Loves to sleep.”
Tierney watches as I cradle her baby in my arms and sway back and forth, soaking in his sweet perfection. Baby Holden rests in my arms, sleeping with his little hands tucked against his face, not a care in the world. He’s completely in the moment, as he should be. He doesn’t care where he came from. He’s not worried about where he’s going (yet). He’s just here. With us.
Studying his button nose and rosy lips and chubby cheeks, I see more than a newborn baby. I see a new beginning. I decide right here, right now that as soon as I leave this room, I’m only focusing on the things that matter, things that make my life better.
Nothing else is worthy of my time or energy.
I promise to live in the moment and embrace it.
I promise to be present so I can experience life in real time and not in flashback reels in my mind as I lie in bed at night thinking of all the ways I could’ve handled things differently.
“Love?” Tierney asks.
I glance up from Holden. “Yeah?”
“Can I have my baby back?”
Chuckling, I carry him back to the hospital bed, back to Tierney’s warm embrace, teary eyes, and swollen face.
“What kind of parents do you think you’ll be?” I ask when Josh comes back from making calls.
Tierney shrugs, her gaze still glued to her baby like she can’t believe he’s real. “The kind that wing it?”
“We didn’t read a single baby book,” Josh says. “Didn’t take a single class.”
“Am I supposed to be impressed by that or concerned for the welfare of the child?” I tease. The two of them are the most laidback couple I’ve ever met. They won’t be helicopter parents who pawn their child off on nannies and keep their child psychiatrist on speed dial in case of. “I kid. Holden’s a lucky little guy. He’s going to have a blast with you guys.”
A knock at the door steals our moment, and a second later, Tierney’s parents shuffle in, arms full of flowers and balloons. Heartfelt sentiments fill the room. Camera flashes. Oohs and aahs every time Holden yawns or makes a face as he soils his tiny diaper.
Rising on my toes, I mouth to Tierney that I’m going to run and grab a bite to eat.
Sneaking out of the room, I follow the signs to the cafeteria, which of course is in an entirely different wing and several floors below and this hospital is basically a maze, but I continue on my quest.
Turning a corner at the end of a long hall, I stop short, nearly tripping myself, to avoid colliding with a man in a white t-shirt.
“I’m so sor—” I’m silenced when I find myself staring at a familiar pair of dusty green eyes, only the rest of him is unrecognizable. His hair is messy, slightly longer than before, and it’s matted against his forehead like he’s kept it under a hat most of the day. His jeans, stained and torn, hang low on his hips, and a tool belt is secured around his narrow waist. “Jude?”
Forty-Four
Jude
* * *
“Love.” I say the name I never thought I’d get a chance to say out loud again. I always thought seeing her again would be surreal or dreamlike, but this is anything but. She’s standing so close I can smell her faded perfume and her favorite lavender conditioner. I can hear her breaths as they shorten and quicken the longer she stares at me. I could reach out and touch her if I wanted to—but I won’t. “What are you doing here? Are you okay?”
The shock on her face fades, replaced with a line between her brows.
Taking a step back, she says, “You don’t get to ask me that.”
“Love,” I begin to say, but she bypasses me and continues down the hall. Following after her, I catch up with her next to a service elevator.
She looks amazing: her blonde hair dripping in soft waves around her face, her lips slicked in cherry Chapstick, nothing but Levi’s and a t-shirt to complete her look.
“How much do you know?” I ask, knowing full well this is dangerous territory. I’m not allowed to bring any of this up to her, let alone speak to her.
Her arms fold across her chest. She won’t look at me. “I know enough.”
Releasing a harbored breath, I say the words I never thought I’d get a chance to say, “I’m so sorry, Love.”