Before I Let You Go(76)
I head straight to the store to look at supplies. I intend to just browse and return with Sam on the weekend as we have planned, but while I’m there, I decide that I’ll go ahead and buy the things that we need. I’m so overwhelmed by the options that I find myself just nodding mutely as the clerk throws products at me. I get a change table with a built-in bath, and the most expensive cot, and organic sheet sets, and the best diapers, and I know that Daisy is quite dependent on her pacifier so I buy a number of those, and then I buy the premium formula in bulk, and I buy bottles, and toys that she won’t use for months or years. I tell myself Daisy can use the toys even after she goes home with Annie, and that succumbing to the appeal of a stuffed teddy bear or a set of stacking cups is definitely not a sign that I’m expecting Daisy to stay long-term.
It is only as I get into my car that I realize how much money I have just wasted—I don’t need the formula, for a start. I have no idea what I was thinking—maybe I wasn’t. Daisy has some gastro difficulties, which is typical for children with NAS, so she’ll stay on prescription formula for months. I console myself that Annie will take the store formula and use it later on, when Daisy is older. And as I leave the store, depleted savings account aside, I now feel more prepared for Daisy’s arrival.
When I get home, Sam’s car is in the driveway. I reverse into the garage and he opens the internal door and stares at the overloaded car.
“I thought we were doing this together on the weekend?”
“Daisy might be here by the weekend,” I tell him lightly. “They’re going to drop her last morphine dose tomorrow and see how she handles it.”
“You didn’t think to call me? I wanted to help you with this.” Sam is frowning, and I frown, too.
“I just . . . I didn’t think you’d have time . . .”
“I’ll make time for these things.” And then, patient Sam disappears in the blink of an eye and I meet a new Sam—exasperated Sam. “Jesus, Lexie—I’m getting so frustrated with you cutting me out of this shit. I feel like I’m constantly chasing you down these days.”
Sam rarely snaps—but when he does—it packs a punch. I’m speechless for a moment.
“I don’t mean to,” I whisper. Sam sighs and steps out of the doorway, letting me through into the hall. When I join him inside, he catches my shoulders in his palms and forces me to stare at him. I’m stinging at his tone—but I don’t doubt that he’s hurt. “I’m sorry, Sam.” And then I know I have to say something—I know I have to explain myself better, but all I can offer him is a weak, “I just don’t know how to deal with this with you.”
“I don’t know what that means, Lexie,” Sam says. There’s a desperate confusion in his gaze as he looks down at me. “Isn’t it easier to deal with this with me? If it isn’t, something is really wrong between us.”
“I’ve just always dealt with this kind of thing on my own.”
“That’s because you’ve always been on your own. I keep telling you, Lexie—we’re a team in all of this, okay? I want to know. I need to know. You haven’t even told me how Annie is doing this week.”
“That’s because I don’t know.” I try to think about when I last updated Sam on Annie’s progress. When was the last time I actually had a proper chat with him—not one in a hallway or as we’re drifting off to sleep—a proper, sit-down discussion? I can’t remember. “Luke has taken away her phone privileges. She wasn’t doing so well.”
Sam scowls at me, and his palms on my shoulders release suddenly so I step back. Now the slightly increased distance between our bodies is starting to feel vast, and I know it’s my fault. I sigh and rub my forehead as he says, “You didn’t think to mention that?”
“Am I supposed to tell you every little thing that happens with her? Neither one of us has time for that. And do you really want to know, anyway? It’s exhausting keeping up with her drama, trust me.”
Sam’s face falls, and I feel mine fall right along with it. I have insulted him again, and I didn’t mean to. Doesn’t he see that I’m trying to protect him from the stress of it all? He crosses his arms over his chest.
“Sometimes, I think you don’t know me at all, Lexie.”
He said the words quietly, which somehow hurts more than if he’d shouted them. He leaves the room, and I note the downward curve of his shoulders, and the way that his head sits low. I’m alone in the hallway now, and I’m frustrated and embarrassed and angry.
Sam has three perfectly intelligent, handsome brothers who never cause any drama and go about their professional careers like normal people. We know nothing of their day-to-day lives because we don’t need to—they’re healthy, happy and, just like we are, busy. I’ve met them a few times, but I’m sure that Sam doesn’t update me every time he talks to them—I don’t expect him to. So now I’m supposed to give him a status update every single time I hear something about Annie or Daisy? I’d rather shield him from it—as much as I can, anyway—and just let him focus on his work and continue to enjoy his life. This is my problem—Annie is my problem—and by extension of that, Daisy is my problem. Yes, she is coming into our home, but that doesn’t mean he needs to be burdened by every aspect of this saga. He should be grateful that I’m saving him from the burden.