Lily Love (3 page)

“What’s your daughter’s name?” he asks.

“Lily,” I whisper. The sadness I’d forgotten for just a moment cloaks me in darkness once again.

“Lily is a beautiful name,” he offers. The brown of his eyes reflects the warmth in his tone. Peter has warm, kind eyes, too.

“I should really get back to her. She’ll be awake soon,” I blurt as I scoot out of the booth.

“It was nice talking to you, Lily’s mom.” He offers his hand and I shake it without meeting his eyes. I don’t think I can look at them again without allowing nostalgia to pull me down further. I notice he doesn’t ask for my name. I don’t ask for his either. Besides, I’m used to being “Lily’s mom.” I haven’t been just Caroline for many years.

My phone chirps with perfect timing.

Max: Lily Love is starting to wake up. We’re good; don’t rush. Just wanted you to know.

“That’s my cue.” I hold up my phone. Unsure of what else to say, I smile tightly and walk away. He doesn’t stop me and I’m relieved.

we never change

I
can hear singing coming through the door before I open it. Max is crooning an Irish lullaby. Lily’s eyes are open, but her body is uncharacteristically still. Her gaze is fixed on Max leaning against the rail of her bed as he sings. My heart can barely contain the tenderness I feel watching her drink in the song that bears her name. As a smile tugs softly at her lips, I find myself wishing she would smile at me that way. I’ve sung that song to her from the beginning, but it’s never garnered this reaction.

“I wouldn’t have taken you for a Chieftains fan, Max,” I whisper as I enter the room.

Max nods in acknowledgment and continues his serenade. Lily glances my way, but is quickly drawn back in by the song. When the last words are sung, Lily holds her hands up and waves them back and forth.

“Use your words, Lily,” I encourage.

“Yay, Maxy,” she cheers and claps her hands, beaming up into Max’s adoring face.

The nurse comes in to check more vital signs, so I step into the hallway to cry without Lily’s audience. Laughter through tears is a familiar combination, reserved for moments just like this one. I’m so
happy to see her connecting to people around her. I just wish she’d see me that way, as more than just a fixture in her environment.

Max opens the door, waving enthusiastically at Lily as he goes. His bright smile falters when he sees my tears. Closing the door with a gentle click, he pulls me into a tight hug. I don’t have time to steel myself against the onslaught of feelings I’m not ready for. I return his hug, fisting the back of his scrubs in my hands. I weep without restraint into his chest, too tired to care anymore.

“Is my singing that bad?” He chuckles. I half-laugh, half-sob at his attempt to cheer me. Max sighs in defeat.

“Caroline, it’s going to be okay,” he says as he holds me against his chest. I’d give anything for the bliss of that kind of ignorance right now.

“No, Max,” I hiccup. “Nothing will ever be okay. I’m praying for ‘manageable,’ but it will never be okay.”

“You don’t mean that.” He leans back just enough to see my face, concern etched into his handsome face. “What’s going on, Caroline?”

I suck in a shaky breath before I can answer him.

“Peter left me,” I whisper.

“
What?
No. Oh, no.” Max’s voice is rich with sorrow. “Why? How could he leave you and Lily?”

“It’s not his fault, Max,” I answer.

Max scoffs.

“It’s not. Some things love can’t withstand.” It’s the truth. Sometimes love just ends.

“That’s crap, Caro.” Max’s flippant answer surprises me. I let go of him and take a step back. In all the years I’ve known Max, he’s never spoken a harsh word to me. I don’t like it. It makes me feel judged.

“It’s not crap, Max,” I bite back. “It’s life. Shitty things happen to fairly good people all the time. Look at you and Nina.”

Max flinches at the sound of his ex-wife’s name. I feel guilty for bringing her into the mix; Max knows how cruel life can be. His ex-wife made that point when he came home and found her wrapped around their neighbor. I’ll never forget the look on Max’s face at Lily’s
birthday last year, when I asked him where Nina was. My heart broke to see him in pain like that. I never would’ve guessed that
I
would be the one in a failed marriage a year later.

“You deserve better than that, Caroline.” He dips his head enough to pierce me with his sea-glass eyes.

“I deserve a lot of things, but life isn’t fair, is it?” I don’t mean to sound glib, but I know I must. Max’s jaw tics as he frowns at me. “I’m sorry I brought up Nina; that was below the belt.”

“Did he cheat on you?” Max’s voice betrays his own pain. It’s sobering to witness how easily it surfaces, even after a year.

“What? No.” I grab his forearm. “He didn’t cheat.” Max puts a hand on my shoulder and squeezes, and I want to sink back into another hug.

“Caroline?” Peter walks up the hall with bags of takeout hanging from his hands. His look of irritation sends my eyes rolling into my head.

Here we go.

Peter never got over the fact that Max was there on that first day and he wasn’t—which is ridiculous, because Peter was never able to be there. He can’t stand Lily’s attachment to Max.

“Peter.” Max nods.

“Thanks for taking care of my girls, Max.” Peter forces a smile, but I can see the muscle in his jaw pulse from clenching his teeth.

I’m not your girl anymore.

“Max stayed with Lily so I could take a quick coffee break,” I explain.

“I could’ve brought you coffee,” Peter counters. It’s moments like this that are the hardest on me. Sure, he could’ve brought me coffee. He could’ve done a lot of little things to show me he cared, but he
left
. These little acts of chivalry feel more like a slap in the face.

“Don’t.” I hold my hand out in front of Peter. “You. Left. You don’t get to act wounded for not being there for me now. It’s too late for that.” My voice shakes and my eyes fill with tears.

“I’ll come by and check on you later.” Max shakes his head, and for a moment I think he’s going to say something more. Instead he gives me a tight smile and heads toward the nursing station. Once he’s out of earshot, Peter leans down, leveling his eyes with mine.

“That is grossly unfair, Caroline.” He speaks softly, but anger and hurt are evident in his eyes. “I wanted to be there for you. You never let me. You shut me out.”

Before he can continue, the door to Lily’s room opens and the nurse looks warily back and forth between Peter and me.

“Mr. and Mrs. Williams,” she says, “Lily’s room is ready, so we’ll be transferring her soon.”

“Hunter,” I reply.

“What?” Peter and the nurse ask in sync.

“Ms. Hunter,” I say with confidence. “I’m not married anymore.”

Peter shoots daggers at me and the nurse shifts nervously on her feet.

“Well, Ms. Hunter and Mr. Williams, it should only be a few more minutes.” She mutters as she pretends to make a note in her chart and scurries off.

“What the hell, Caroline?” Peter seethes.

“What did you expect, Peter?” I ask. “This is what you said you wanted. I’m trying to move on; maybe you should too.”

“None of this is what I wanted,” he shouts. “I wanted it
all
to be different, goddammit.”

There it is again, the same sordid story. We worked tirelessly, went through counseling, checked every single box on the long list of things successful couples do to stay together. Still, as much as we tried, Lily’s challenges became bigger than our love for each other.

“I know.” I sniffle. “So did I.” Regardless, wanting something to be different cannot make it so. Round and round we circle the same common issue:
I love you, but I need to love myself more
.

“You’re so quick to say that I left you.” Peter cups my face in his hands, speaking softly. “I may have left our home, but you left me a long time ago.” His words slice into my heart.

“Somebody had to take care of her, Peter,” I weep. I hate that he’s right. I hate that I was forced to choose. I hate myself for having had nothing left to give my husband after taking care of our daughter. I want to scream every time I think about it.

“I know,” he whispers. “I get it, Caroline. Understanding doesn’t make me miss you less or want you less. It makes me feel like an asshole. I’m so tired of hating myself.”

A sob tears free from my soul at Peter’s quiet confession. I know exactly how he feels; I’m intimately familiar with self-loathing. I never wanted him to feel this way. I certainly never wanted to be the reason he did.

“Peter,” I whimper. I don’t know what to say to convey how deeply I hurt, or how badly I miss him. It’s not fair that we should love each other so much and still lose everything. Grief is a battle of endurance, and this kind of pain is as inescapable as Lily’s disability.

I place my hand on Peter’s and lean my forehead against his. Silently, we let our tears splash on the floor. I feel his breath against my cheeks, smell the crispness of his aftershave. Every piece of my heart aches for how empty I am without him. I take a tentative step to fill the space between us and place my hands on his shoulders. His breath shudders as he pulls me against his body. A sorrow-filled moan vibrates in my chest as he kisses my forehead.

“I love you so much, Caroline. I always will,” he whispers. “But I had to go. I couldn’t spend another day watching you drift further away, and end up hating our daughter for it.” With one last kiss to my temple, he lets me go. “I didn’t like the man I was becoming—and, if we’re being honest, neither did you.” Stepping past me, he walks into Lily’s room, leaving me behind to marinate in his words and fall apart alone.

The wall is cold against my back as I slide down to the floor. The imprint of Peter’s lips linger against my forehead, burning my skin in their wake. I don’t know what’s worse: this unrelenting pain or the numbness that I know will follow.

How can it be better to feel something when everything I feel hurts so much? I want to smack every person who has told me, “The pain reminds you that you’re alive.”

Idiots.

The pain only reminds me of everything I have lost.

what do i do now?

A
bout an hour after Peter’s arrival, the orderly from Admissions finally comes to take us to Lily’s new room. Lily’s scheduled for a stay in the Epilepsy Monitoring Unit, where they will monitor by EEG and video for several days in hopes of mapping out the patterns of her seizures. The doctors assure us that the more information they have, the more likely they will be able to determine the cause. I’m not holding my breath.

“Hi, Lily.” An overly cheery nurse enters the room with a basket of electrode wires and a plastered fake smile. “I’m Chelsea, and I’m going to put all these rainbow colors in your hair.” She condescends to us with her overpracticed spiel. It seems it’s amateur hour up in the Epilepsy Monitoring Unit; this whelp is trying to make a game out of supergluing wires onto Lily’s scalp. It’s insulting. Most of the patients have been coming here their whole lives. They’d rather poke their own eyes out than be sequestered for a stint in the EMU. They’re veterans of a war against the misfiring synapses of their brains; they deserve more than Suzy Sunshine and her saccharine brigade.

On cue, Lily shoots Chelsea a wary look and begins her rhythmic anxiety chant: “Mama, Mama, Mama.” Lily doesn’t do social niceties.
Either she likes you or she doesn’t, and it’s not looking good for Chelsea right now.

“Since she’s asking for you, do you want to hold her while I glue these on?” Chelsea asks, flashing her nauseating, perma-fake smile. I want to shove that basket right up her—

“I will,” Peter interrupts my mental violation of Cheesy Chelsea. He gives me a warning glance as he moves to sit next to Lily on the bed. She looks at him, then at me, and starts to cry.

Chelsea’s brow furrows nervously and I wonder if she really expects every child to lie still and relax while she hooks them up.

“Feel free to help out, Mama,” Chelsea grits through her forced smile. Looking a little less cocky than when she first came in, she gestures toward Peter holding a writhing Lily. I hold my breath and start counting backward in my head, so I don’t knock this girl’s head right off her shoulders.

“She can’t,” Peter snaps. Chelsea recoils as Peter’s brows meet in the middle of his forehead. I let the air out of my lungs slowly, afraid to disturb the charged atmosphere. When did we flip roles in this relationship? Peter’s the calm one; I’m the volatile one. Oh, that’s right: we don’t have a relationship.

“I have weakness in my right side from a stroke I had during her birth,” I explain gently. “I can’t hold on to her very well.” My hope was for Chelsea to take a hint and help me de-escalate the situation, but she looks at me incredulously. Her loud, irritated sigh saps the last of my patience.

“If you’d read Lily’s chart, her entire life history, including her birth, is in there,” I respond sharply. Chelsea pales against the harshness of my words.

“Caroline.” My name comes out of Peter’s mouth on a defeated sigh. “Why don’t you go home. You’ve been here all day. It’s my night to stay with Lily anyway.” I try not to take it personally, but I can’t help but feel vilified by the tone of Peter’s words.

“Mama, Mama, Mama,” Lily continues. Ignoring Chelsea, I sit opposite Peter on Lily’s bed.

“Are you sure?” I whisper, “I can stay and help get her settled.” Panic coils like a snake in my belly. Shared hospital nights are a part of our custody agreement, but this is the first time that I won’t be with Lily while she’s here. Surely Peter understands that.

“Go, Caroline. We’ll see you tomorrow afternoon.” His final dismissal stings. There’s no sympathy for my anxiety over leaving her—just impatience. He’s pretty damned clear:
Go home, Caroline
.

Reluctantly, I rise from Lily’s bed and gather my bag. It’s not easy to walk away; I’ve taken care of all the hospital stays. I’m the one who does all the caregiving. I’ve spent the last five years running myself into the ground to be everything Lily needs. It’s a role I despise, but it’s the one I’m accustomed to. I don’t know what to do when I’m not taking care of her.