A Life More Complete (45 page)

“I don’t know. My life is a mess and
I guess I thought you were the one person who might understand.”

“Well, you thought wrong. This is
your mess, not mine. And from what I gathered while waiting in line at the
grocery store, it’s a serious disaster.”

I shake my head at my own stupidity. Why
do I torture myself looking for the approval of people who don’t care? “So, can
I stay?” I ask since she doesn’t offer immediately.

“I’m not going to ask you to leave. You
can stay, but just know there is a time limit on this. You have two weeks from
the date the baby comes to get out.”

“Got it. That’s fine.” I pull a
thousand dollars from my purse and hand it to her. “This is for letting me
stay.”

“Thanks,” she says taking the money
and leaving me standing in the entryway to the house. I drag my suitcase
upstairs and into my old bedroom. My home for the next several weeks and
strangely it feels somewhat comforting to be away from it all.

The weeks float by and nothing
changes. My mother and I rarely speak. I don’t know her and she doesn’t know
me. I hoped for something different. I should have expected nothing in return
and my feelings wouldn’t have been so hurt. She has no interest in the baby or
me for that matter.

Two weeks from the day
I arrived the pain begins. I roll over and look at the clock. It comes again,
this time quicker and a little more intensely. I call Gia at a quarter to five
in the morning not even giving a second thought to the time. Gia, gravelly and
hoarse, answers on the first ring. She’s prepared and is in the car before we
even hang up.

“Should I call the
doctor? When do I go to the hospital? Should I wait for you or meet you there?”
I spew out a series of questions never pausing long enough for her to insert an
answer. I’m a planner, an organizer, a lover of all things controllable and
this is none of those things.

“Wait as long as you
can,” she replies. “I’ll be there in under three hours. I’m hauling ass. Pray I
don’t get pulled over. How far apart are your contractions?”

“Ten minutes, maybe
nine? I haven’t really been keeping track. I was starving so I cooked myself
some breakfast. It distracted me.”

“Start now. When they
get to five call the doctor and if I’m not there by then go to the hospital.” She
takes a deep breath and exhales in sigh. “Text me if you leave for the
hospital. I’ll meet you there.”

“Stupid question, but
how am I suppose to get to the hospital? Can I drive myself?”

“No!” she shouts. “You
can’t drive yourself! When the contractions get bad you’ll want to drive the
car into oncoming traffic. Totally not safe.”

I start to feel a small
amount of worry build. “So how do you suppose I get there?”

“I don’t know. Ask your
mom?”

“You can’t be serious?”

“Sorry. Stupid. Call my
mom. Call a taxi. It doesn’t really matter.”

“I’ll have the baby in
the upstairs bathroom. That will solve the issue,” I say trying to appease my
worry with humor.

“It’s gonna be okay. I’ll
be there soon. I love you.”

“Thanks Gi. Love you,
too.”

I waddle over to the
couch to finish eating my breakfast for two.

My mother emerges from
her bedroom ready to conquer the insurance world. Her face is stoic and cold,
but that’s nothing new. Without looking at me she says, “You’re up early. I don’t
think you’ve seen the dawn since you took up refuge in my extra bedroom.”
Coming from anyone else this would have been mildly humorous, but her words are
laced with annoyance. She’s given me a time limit and she’ll be happy to know
it’s about to expire.

“I think I’m in labor.”
I hesitate awaiting her response. She walks around the counter top peninsula
that separates the kitchen from the dining area appearing seconds later in the
living room. Her presence surprises me and I ask, “Any chance you could take me
to the hospital?”

Turning back toward the
kitchen I hear her shoes clicking alternately on the ceramic tile before she
replies, “Not a chance. I have to work. By the way, you’re seriously going to
regret eating like that. It’s all coming back out the way it went in.”

Leaving my mother to
her busy career, I call Gia’s mom who rushes me to the hospital. Not really
necessary given it is only five minutes from the house but judging by Mrs.
DeRossi’s reaction to me calling her, she feels the need to hurry. You’d have
sworn this woman had never had children or that she wasn’t there for the birth
of her three grandchildren. She panics about Gia not being there, she also
begins to pray about me being a single mother. When Gia strolls in completely
composed I can’t help but send up a prayer too.

“You ready to do this?”
Gia asks.

“Absolutely,” I say. There
is not a trace of nervousness in my voice. “I called everyone, including Tyler.
He didn’t answer, but no else did either. It is still the middle of the night
in Cali.” I smile at Gia and her eyes fill with tears. “Don’t cry Gi, you’ll
make me cry.”

“Sorry, sorry. This is
just so bittersweet. I’m so excited for you, but I know it’s going to be really
hard.”

“I’ll make do. Don’t
worry,” I say not only reassuring her, but myself, too.

Around the three hour
mark my contractions are at that take-a gun-and-shoot-me stage. No epidural
equals blinding pain. Along with the pain comes panic. I’m alone. No husband,
no place to call home at this moment. I don’t belong here. What the hell was I
thinking leaving?

“Did you call him?” I
ask Gia for the third time in an hour.

“Yes,” she practically
shouts. “I told you it went straight to voicemail. I’m not calling him again so
don’t ask.”

“Fine! Oh God, another
big one!” I grab Gia’s hand and squeeze. The moment passes but it’s replaced
with the need to vomit. Gia grabs the container the nurse left and I purge
everything I ate that morning.

Five hours and
twenty-five minutes later Page Olive Mullins is born. She is beautiful and Gia
can’t agree more. We cry, we laugh and even though it is bittersweet like Gia
said, I know from this day forward I will love Page more than anything else in
my life.

I’m moved from Labor
and Delivery to the room I will call home for the next two days. Gia joins me
and even offers to sleep at the hospital. I tell her to go home and come back
in the morning. She helps me nurse Page for the first time and stays until she’s
had several feedings. Just before she leaves, Gia hands me my phone and a
freshly changed Page.

“I’ll be back in the
morning. Call me if you need anything.”

“Okay. Thank you.” I
give her a quick kiss on the cheek and she leans down and kisses Page’s head. She
doesn’t even stir. Bundled in my arms, all cozy and warm, I don’t ever want to
put her down.

I check my phone and
find a few voicemails wishing me congratulations. A ton of texts from my
sisters, Melinda and Bob commenting on the pictures I sent them, but nothing
from him. Saddened, but not defeated, I snuggle up to Page and fall asleep. A
few hours later a crabby nurse comes in and snatches her from my arms. She
hauls Page off to the nursery for a weight check and some blood work. Exhaustion
takes over and I’m out like a light.

When I roll over and
glance out the window, night has taken over. It’s well past midnight. I panic
when I realize Page isn’t in her little plastic bassinet situated at the foot
of my bed. I shoot up and find him sitting in a chair in the corner of the room
with Page in his arms.

The tears fall rapidly
and I can hardly speak. “I didn’t think you’d come.”

“You called. I’m sorry
it took me so long. I really wanted to be here for her birth, but the plane had
a different agenda.” He looks down at Page and back at me. “She’s beautiful. She
looks just like you.” A smile spreads across his face.

“You think so?”

“She certainly doesn’t
look like me.” He pulls off her little white hat and runs his fingers over her
dark hair. “I’m sure this will all fall out.”

All I can do is smile
at him. The tears are still falling and my emotions get the best of me. “I love
you. I’ve always loved you. I screwed up so bad and now I don’t even know what
I’m doing.”

“It kills me to see you
like this. You’re hurting. My biggest regret is losing you. I’m sorry for
walking away when I should have tried harder.”

His words cause my
tears to become sobs. I want him back because right now I just want to be
loved. “I regret the way it ended more than anything.”

“I love her name,” he
says winking at me. “And I love you.”

I chose Page, spelled
like a page in a book because I need a do-over, a blank page, so to speak. Her
middle name, Olive has too many reasons to count. Rachel’s love of martini’s
and Maizey’s favorite kind of pizza, but mostly because it’s an anagram for
love and a nickname for Olivia.

“Her name is perfect. She’s
perfect,” he says as he leans down and kisses me.

That first year with Page was the
hardest year of my life. I was forced back to work long before I was ready. I
sobbed my eyes out from the minute I closed the car door. I understand that
many people would have given their right arm to be in my shoes, but it still
didn’t make it any easier. I hired a nanny, a manny, actually. A friend of Bob’s
named Will who, like Bob, was totally gay in addition to being the greatest
caregiver since Mary Poppins. Still didn’t make the task of returning to work
any less daunting. I had the financial stability my job afforded me to keep
Page home and happy. Regardless of the cost, I would have gone into the poor
house to make sure she had the best care.

I had been told by anyone who ever
bore children that the months fly by, to cherish every minute I had with Page,
but I didn’t need a group of mothers to force their vast knowledge on me. My
relationship with Page was different. I loved her so much my chest ached. It
was years of lost affection and the need for genuine love that fueled what
bloomed inside me every time I looked at her.

I slept in bed with Page cuddled next
to me, nursing her every time she woke, the two of us only sleeping through the
night when the three of us shared a bed. The man who would come to be known as
her daddy would snuggle next to her, kiss her head, let her hold his finger all
night, in turn getting the worst night’s sleep of his life. We’d float through
our days sleep deprived but genuinely happy.

I sobbed uncontrollably after Will
sent me a video of Page saying Mama when she was nine months old. He was
crouched in front of her holding a picture of me, asking, “Page-y-Pooh who is
this?” accentuating each word in an adorable sing song voice that she was
eating up. Banging on the floor in front of her with a big open mouth grin, her
two tiny bottom teeth poking through she yelled, “Mama.” I crumbled in Ellie’s
office and scared her half to death, one because I was crying and two, because
we were about to pitch a portfolio to a huge new client and I looked like I’d
gone two rounds with Holyfield. After the pitch she granted me four day work
weeks. Off on Mondays made it easier and I owed Ellie big time.

I know it could have been easier. I
didn’t have to do it alone financially or emotionally, but I chose to. I chose
Page over my own love life and considering my past I thought it might be best
to lay low for a while. Rushing never got me anywhere, so I made the conscious
decision to take it slow.

It’s funny how your heart can deceive
you. Follow your heart, people say, but they never tell you that sometimes it
makes the wrong choice. The heart doesn’t just deceive you once and then grow
smarter. Well, at least not mine. Mine did it many times and I fell in love too
easily, even when it wasn’t right. I had been in love three times in my life
and one of them was Page. That time my heart didn’t lead me astray but the
other two, those were much harder.

No matter the situation or the
exhaustion, the crabbiness and crying, he stuck by me. I loved him from a
distance. He understood the past and knew there would come a time when we would
be a family. The trust factor needing to be rebuilt over time. Trust, it’s a
funny thing; so hard to earn, but so easy to lose. I just couldn’t go in head
first like I had done before. There was another life, another heart to think
about and my choices ultimately affected her life, too.

He’d come by after work bringing
dinner and afterward he’d bathe Page and sing to her while she smiled up at
him. Her little hands exploring his face as he made up songs inserting her name
into them. He was smitten. She had him wrapped around her little finger for
life. She called him Dada one night as he fed her a jar of mashed carrots. The
jar hit the floor, splattering bright orange mush on everything within its
firing range. Page laughed and we cried. She was about ten months old at that
point and seeing the look on his face, I knew it would be nearly impossible to
get him to leave. I’d listen to him read her
The Belly Button Book
, singing the song, making her giggle and
every time it would bring tears of joy to my eyes. He didn’t have to do these
things, his obligations to Page and to me were something I never bargained for.
His whole life changed in just a few days, but he was never resentful. The best
part wasn’t that he loved Page; it was that he loved me, too. Loving Page was
non-negotiable, but loving me was never a requirement. He would have been in
her life regardless because after he showed up at the hospital there was no
chance I was getting rid of him.