A Missing Heart(14)

“But...you’re right,” she says, standing up from the chair. Her gaze locks with the linoleum tiles beneath us and her arms tighten around her chest, appearing as if she’s protecting herself from some kind of harm or pain—shielding herself from—me, I guess. Maybe I shouldn’t feel relief to know I’m right or I’m not crazy for thinking how odd it is for someone to change so intensely in a year’s time. “I don’t exactly know who I am, AJ.”

How can a person not know who they are? I know people sometimes need to find themselves or what they want to do with their lives, but I’m not sure I’ve met someone who doesn’t know themselves, per se. “Now, I’m not sure how to respond,” I tell her. Feeling a heaviness in my chest, my thoughts and questions sway from the dizzying look in Tori’s eyes down to Gavin, who’s starting to radiate heat into my arms from his small body.

“What’s the matter?” she asks.

“He’s burning up.”

Tori stands and walks over to where I’m standing and places her fingers down gently on Gavin’s head. “He is hot. He’s never been sick before,” she says, stating the obvious.

“Tori, what is going on?”

She looks up at me, her big brown eyes shimmering under the glow from the orange lights above. The innocence and kindness I see within her gaze remind me of why I first fell for her. She looks at everything as if it’s bigger than herself, and as though everything amazes her, but when she’s sad or hurt, it’s like her eyes encompass every ounce of pain she’s feeling within her body. I can look right at her and know what she’s feeling by just the way she’s looking at me. This is exactly why my confusion won’t recede. I look in her eyes now, and I have no idea what’s happening in that head of hers. It’s like something happened, something drastic and life altering, something she doesn’t want to tell me. “I’m not supposed to be someone’s mother.” While I’ve heard those words from her lips before, this time they pack a punch. This time, she is someone’s mother. This time, there are no options surrounding what she is or isn’t supposed to be.

“And I wasn’t supposed to be someone’s dad, but here we are,” I say, peering down at Gavin. “Oh crap, he needs a bottle.” I reach down into the diaper bag beside the exam table and pull out a ready-to-use container of formula and a clean bottle.

“You’ve really got this ‘dad’ thing under control, huh?”

“He’s depending on us. It’s our job.” I tell her, taken aback by her simple statement. It’s not hard to care for something or someone you love more than anything else in the world.

“Okay, are we ready?” A nurse asks, walking in with a caddy full of awful-looking hospital supplies. The thought of watching her take blood from Gavin is already making my stomach hurt. He’s so little and the needle will be so big in comparison. However, when she begins to prepare for the blood work, I see with relief the needle is sized for a baby and not one that would be used on an adult. “Could you please lay Gavin flat on the exam table. I’ll need one of you to hold him still for me.”

Tori moves away from the seat. I think it’s because it’s next to the exam table and she doesn’t want to be the one holding Gavin down. This is not surprising, seeing how the last hour has gone, but in all honesty, I don’t want to be the one he’s looking at while being poked with a needle either. Taking the few short steps over to the table with Gavin, I lay him down and hold his arms with my hands while making silly faces at him to ensure he has no clue what’s about to happen.

I feel the need to close my eyes while she pricks him, and the screams commence—screams I’ve never heard him make before, almost as if someone were ripping his little heart out. This is killing me. I hope this goes quickly, but instead, it seems to take forever.

Finally, I hear the nurse’s footsteps, and Gavin’s cries quiet down a bit. When I open my eyes, I see Tori staring through us with horror in her eyes.

“I know you’ve been waiting quite a while, but we should have the results for you within ten minutes or so. I’ll have someone bring in a second chair for you, as well.”

It takes a solid five minutes to calm Gavin down completely, and he pretty much passes out from what I’m assuming to be exhaustion.

“I can’t do this,” Tori says.

Like any good record scratch, my heart pauses, along with every other sound around me. That phrase is disturbingly familiar, and the last time I heard it, Cammy caused my life to change, in an extremely painful way. “What?” I’m not sure the word was even audible. What the hell can’t she do?

“AJ, you know I—this isn’t what I wanted—what we wanted.”

“Tori,” I say calmly. “I don’t know what is going on in that crazy head of yours right now, but have you thought through whatever you’re about to say? Because for the life of me, I don’t know what I could have done differently to prevent you from saying something like this.” I don’t even know what she was going to say. I’m just assuming, I guess, based on past experience.

“I can’t do what you do, AJ,” she continues.

“So don’t; be you. How hard is that?” I’m angry. I sound outraged. Is this really the time or the place to have a discussion like this? Our son is in the ER for a high fever, and she’s telling me she can’t do this?