Abruption (32 page)

“D
oll, no offense, but you’ve got a shit-ton of stuff.” Guy lifted one of the many boxes I had strewn about, moving the chaos from one side of my living room to the other.

I wasn’t sure he was actually helping, but who was I to complain? After all, this was his day off. Then again, Guy wasn’t exactly exuding a whole lot of patience with me taking my time to pack. I loved that he wanted me moved in
yesterday
, I truly did, but it wasn’t practical. I’d lived in my apartment for years at this point, and purging wasn’t exactly my strong suit. Another family trait that I wasn’t super proud of, but once again, I knew the fight was futile. Luckily, I snuck in a few hours here and there between my shifts and sifted through most of it, but I still had plenty to do.

“I’m leaving all the big stuff for Mercedes,” I replied, laughing and eying the mess. Boxes were literally everywhere. “And pretty much the whole kitchen. It’s really just my clothes, personal stuff, some art, and picture frames.” Who was I kidding? He was right. I had a boatload.

Mercedes had nearly flipped a lid when we worked out the plan earlier this week. One, she was genuinely happy for me, and two, it was her turn to spread her wings. She’d been under the watchful eye of Mama CeCe and Alonzo longer than Selena and I ever were. She was far from a saint, but I was certain half her shenanigans were my parents’ fault. It was time for them to embrace empty-nesting.

“Is she going to be able to swing this place on her own? It’s a good size—she could probably get a roommate. Safer, too. Nice neighborhood aside, I hated the idea of you living here alone.”

“I wasn’t alone. I have Casey, remember? You’re going to give my dog a complex,” I joked. He totally loved my dog, just too macho to admit it.

“Doll?” He pointed to the dog bed where Casey was supine, spread-eagle and snoring, with Finn and Max playing catch over him. With his favorite ball.

“Whatever.” So Casey had a little chronic fatigue, didn’t make him a bad guard dog. Enough about my pup. I taped the box I was working on closed and said, “As for Mercedes and a roommate, heck no. I love her to death, but even I couldn’t live with her. Never mind a poor stranger, or worse, a friend. Besides, I’d never take her money, especially when she’s still in school.”

Guy looked at me like I grew a third eye. Then I realized there was a lot we still hadn’t talked about. Compared to everything we’d already shared, the rest was moot.

“Did I forget to mention I own it?”

“You own this apartment?” Guy’s brows rose simultaneously.

Maybe not so moot.

Contemplating how to answer, I decided on full disclosure. “Actually, more like the whole brownstone.” Guy shifted his weight and crossed his arms over his chest. Definitely not moot, oops.
No more secrets.
“We rented the upstairs apartment initially. We moved in right before Gemma was born, figured it would be convenient with both sets of grandparents around the corner. After … well, after, I couldn’t bear leaving, but I couldn’t bear staying either. Life was upside down.” I took a deep breath, wondering how to explain something so over the top it made no sense.
Rip the Band-Aid off, Jules
. “I decided to go to nursing school about the same time Lucca was changing jobs. Made more sense for him to move back to Manhattan, and since my classes were at Fordham, it made sense for me to stay put. The owner had just renovated and put the building on the market so … Lucca bought it for me. Trust me, I know it sounds a little crazy. He wanted me to feel close to Gemma, and he didn’t want me to stress about having to work and go to school at the same time. The rent from the two upstairs apartments was more than sufficient to cover all my expenses. After too many useless conversations of trying to talk him out of it, I finally gave in. It was his way of moving on—that’s the only way I can explain it.” The kids were now loudly watching home videos on their devices; otherwise, the silence would have been deafening. “Say something. Please.”

“Say the word, we’ll move. It might be a little tight, but if this is where you need to be to feel close to your girl, we’ll figure it out.”

He knocked the wind out of me. That was the last thing I expected him to say.

“You are an amazing man, Guy Hunter, and I love you.” Love didn’t begin to cut it. “But I don’t need an apartment or a neighborhood or a mountain, for that matter, to feel close to my Gemma. She’s part of me. She goes where I go. And I belong with you three now.”

Two strides later, his arms found my waist, and his lips found my forehead. Finally, a painless Band-Aid pull.

“This is how it’s going to be from this moment forward. Our home is your home. You want to bring all your stuff, throw out mine, and go shopping for all new, it’s your call. Whatever you want. Whatever’s going to make it feel like
ours
… do it. Hell, you want to move? That’s fine too.”

God, how did I find this man? I rose onto my toes and pressed my mouth to his.

“JuJu, JuJu, Casey is chasing me.” Max’s giggle interrupted our moment. She ran past us with Casey on her heels and Finn not too far behind. See—Casey still had it in him.
Anything for the kids, I get it, buddy.
“Fin--ny, Daddy and JuJu are kissing.”

“I love our JuJu. She deserves lots of kisses,” Guy said against my mouth, clearly not minding that his daughter caught us making out. I should know by now that there was no such thing as a chaste kiss with Guy.

Finn stopped at the doorway and gripped the frame with a huge cheese on his face. He looked healthier than I’d ever seen him, and by the grace of God, he’d been seizure-free all week.

“Time with Nana Reina does wonders, look at him,” I said, as if Guy’s eyes weren’t peeled to his son playing tag like he did it every day.

“Not sure who benefited more from Nana’s visit, my boy or me.” Guy pressed his lower half against my stomach and I couldn’t help but chuckle.

Reina was so generous and giving. Not only did she insist Maya take the week off, but she made sure Guy and I notched out some one-on-one time. She pulled her Nana card with, “You can stop in to kiss the kids, but then you’re marching yourselves right back out and I’m chaining the door until midnight. You get them every night so I’m not sharing. And I suggest you plan accordingly, because it’s likely I’ll feel selfish again tomorrow.”

Reina was the epitome of a loving grandmother, and the kids couldn’t have been in better hands. The first night, we sampled the menu at the new restaurant on seventy-fourth. Its immediate proximity was completely coincidental. Who didn’t love vegan barbecue, right? The following night, feeling more secure with Finn’s remarkable bounce-back, Guy finally took me to his favorite trattoria. And since we happened to be a few blocks from my place, we might have opted for a more intimate dessert. All and all, I think we all benefited from Reina’s visit. That’s what made saying goodbye this morning that much harder.

“Maxie, tell your dad to respect my personal space,” I said, squirming out of Guy’s frisky hold.

“’Spect JuJu’s space, Daddy!” she shouted, not even noticing my
Maxie
slip. My fingers crossed hoping it wasn’t just an accidental miss. But then again, she may have been distracted when Guy tackled all of us onto the couch, topping the tickle-torture pile on and playfully threatening, “I’ll show you space!”

I laughed so hard, my sides spasmed and I cried.

Finn squealed, Max snorted, and Casey barked.

I loved every single second of it. We all did.

Our address was irrelevant, because this moment, this feeling ... this was home.

My favorite evenings were the ones when Guy and I got home from work at the same time. Max and Finn raced to share every detail of their day, regardless of chronology, using only their strongest outdoor voices, while Casey vied for attention barking in circles. Inevitably, his tail would clear the coffee table. It was beautifully chaotic.

Our first week living together, this was most nights. The last three weeks, less so. Finn’s seizure medication started taking its toll. Nausea, stomach pain, fatigue, dizziness—the poor baby had every listed side effect. Not all the time, but intermittent enough that his cheesy smile hadn’t reached his eyes in days. It was killing me. And he’d never admit it, but it was taking its toll on Guy too. Every night, I’d quietly watch from the hall as he tucked them both in. It didn’t matter what time he got home: whether they were awake or asleep, he adjusted their covers, kissed their foreheads, and asked his token question.

Tonight was one of his late nights. I was already in bed when he got home, but I could hear him making his rounds. When he finally made it through our bedroom door, I could tell right away he was exhausted. He kissed me, like he always did, and went straight for the shower. I had to be up at the crack of dawn for an important meeting with my department head, but I joined him anyway.

The steam from the hot water billowed above his head when I opened the shower door. “You didn’t have to get up,” he whispered. His eyes were glassy and his brow furrowed.

“I wanted to.” He reached for my hands, tucking me against his wet chest and burying his face against my shoulder. “Rough night?” I asked, cognizant that every surgery, even the bread and butter cases, had potential for unexpected turns. I really hoped his answer was no because God knew our day was rough enough.

Shortly after Guy and I arrived at work this morning, Maya rushed Finn to the emergency room. She stoically fought back tears as she recounted for us and the ER attendings how Finn had vomited enough blood to turn the toilet crimson. She feared he might have torn something from retching so hard. We were both well versed on the side effects of anti-epileptics.

Finn’s symptoms should have been waning by now, it had been a month, but his seemed to be escalating. This episode was by far the worst. Just to be sure, he had an endoscopy that showed mild inflammation of his stomach lining; fortunately, no tear or active bleeding (if there was anything fortunate about sedating a three-year-old to guide a camera down his esophagus). But it was a relief nonetheless, knowing that it was most likely an isolated event. His blood count even came back within normal limits, supporting the notion that blood mixed with water always looked worse. However, what was disconcerting on this new round of blood work was a slight elevation in his liver enzymes. Again, not uncommon when starting a new drug, but it warranted follow up. Another poke, another prod. We just couldn’t catch a break.

To say the least, it was another very stressful morning. I couldn’t imagine being anywhere else other than cuddled up with Finn and Max in our king-sized bed, feeding them chicken soup and pretending to watch the
Minions
for the umpteenth time knowing that
my
eyes would be vigilantly glued to Finn, monitoring him for anything worrisome.

I immediately called upstairs to figure out backup. Cara answered the phone and all I managed to utter was, “Finn got out of endoscopy” before she
insisted on covering my shift so I could take the rest of the day off and bring a very groggy Finn home. She was turning out to be a true friend and deserved a killer birthday gift
next month.

Unfortunately for surgeons, it didn’t work that way. I knew it killed Guy to stay behind, but he had back-to-back cases that he couldn’t reschedule. He’d just caught up on all the cases he postponed after Finn’s seizure admission. That didn’t stop him from checking in every free moment. And even though I assured him with each call that all was copacetic and Finn was feeling better, his wavering voice betrayed him. Until he was home and his peanuts were in his sights, he wasn’t going to rest easy.

“Long, but not too bad, just happy to be home,” he answered in a tired voice. “How’s our boy? Go down, no problem?”

“Four books and two selfie movies later.”

“He got you for the extra book, huh? Guess he really was feeling better.” He let out a quick sigh. I was glad I could bring him a little peace of mind, but I wanted to do more.

“Listen, I’ve been thinking …” I started to say but paused when Guy ran his hands through his wet hair as if he was bracing for bad news. “Oh no, nothing bad. Promise. I was thinking about cutting back my hours at the hospital—go part-time or even per-diem. I’m sure if I offer to transition someone to take over my administrative duties, the department wouldn’t mind.”