“A-are you going to do it?” Dove asks, her voice quiet.
I sniff. “He didn’t leave me much of a choice.”
“There’s always a choice, Mads.”
Mads.
The name still burns, making me feel like I’m trapped between two personas. One from when I lived with my parents where I was Mads. Maddie. Or Madelyn. The rebellious teenager who couldn’t squeeze an ounce of pride from her mom or dad if her life depended on it.
And the second persona where I became “M.” Or Em. The girl who didn’t give a shit anymore. About anything or anyone. It’s the name I used when I got caught up in drugs, alcohol, and threesomes. The one I used when Milo, Gibson, and I were all sleeping together. The one I used when I fell in love for the first time before realizing the party life wasn’t for me and what I actually wanted was to settle down and be in love. I wanted to have someone accept me for me, even though I wasn’t really sure who I was anymore.
Until I met Milo and spent some time with him. Milo saw me. The real me. Or at least, I thought he did. Until I told him I couldn’t do threesomes anymore. I wanted his hands on me. His eyes on me. His smile. His dimples. I didn’t want to be shared. Not anymore. Not when he owned me completely.
But it was too late. I screwed it up, like how I screw everything up. And now, what I want doesn’t matter anymore. I have someone who needs me. And even though I have no idea what I’m doing, I refuse to let my little Peanut down.
I can’t.
“I think you should do it,” Dove decides, reading my silence for indecision. “I think you should move in with him.”
“He hates me.”
“There’s a fine line between love and hate, Mads.”
I squeeze my eyes shut and let out a low, unsteady breath.
She has no idea.
“Let him be there for you,” she offers.
“He doesn’t want to be there for me.”
“So, let him be there for Peanut,” she argues. “You’re going to need help with feedings and diaper changes. Plus, it’ll help financially too. You haven’t been able to work your entire pregnancy, and with the medical bills––”
“I know, Dove. I’ve already spoken with Medicaid. Things will be tight, but I’m working on it.”
“Good. And you know I’m here for you, right?”
“I know. It’s…” I bite my lip and look down at Peanut. Her little lips are pursed as she sucks on an invisible binkie, oblivious to the chaos surrounding her. But I’m grateful for it. Her oblivion. She doesn’t need to know her mother’s a mess. Only how much I love her. More than anything else in the world.
“It’s a lot,” I finish, brushing my fingers against her strawberry blonde hair. It’s so soft. Like a baby chick’s feathers.
“I know,” Dove murmurs. “But you’ll get through this. You have people who love and care about you. Don’t you dare forget it, okay?”
“I know.”
“Good.”
“So, have you talked to Josh yet? About the tour?” I ask, desperate to change the subject.
“Yeah. Gibson got off the phone with him a few minutes ago.”
“And?”
“And it looks like I’m going to Europe for a few months.”
My smile is genuine as I soak in her success. “How amazing, Dove! I’m proud of you.”
“Thanks. I’m proud of you, too, ya know.”
I scoff. “Not sure there’s much to be proud of, but––”
“I’m serious, Maddie. You’ve got this.”
Do I? I want to ask. But I keep my lips pressed into a thin line.
“You do,” she emphasizes as if she can read my mind. “I’m gonna swing by and snuggle Peanut in a few, okay?”
“Sounds good. Any chance you’d be willing to bring my toothbrush and a change of clothes?”
“You’re not gonna come home?”
“Not when I don’t know where home is anymore.”
“Mads––”
“It’s fine. I’ll see you in a few.”
“Okay,” she murmurs. “Love you.”
“Love you too.”
3
Maddie
The next three weeks go by in a blur of attempting to figure out nursing, attempting to understand medical stats, and attempting to prepare myself for Dove’s tour. I’ve been soaking up every moment with my sister, trying not to get too caught up on all the time lost between us where I could’ve been cultivating our relationship instead of damaging it. I can’t go back and change the past, no matter how much I want to.
Instead, I’ve been focusing on the present and becoming a better person, no matter how fruitless I feel like my efforts are sometimes.
I’ve also been soaking up baby snuggles like an addict. Her smell. Her little coos. The way her lower lip sticks out when she’s thinking about crying but hasn’t quite decided yet. All of it.
Milo hasn’t visited, though. Not once. He hasn’t reached out. He hasn’t texted. Hell, I’m not even sure if he has my new number. And I hate how I’ve noticed his absence when I know I should’ve never expected anything different in the first place.
Dove informed me all my things from my apartment are now in the room next to Milo’s, though. It’s the only evidence I have proving I didn’t imagine his visit all those weeks ago. She’s been bringing me freshly washed clothes anytime she’s stopped by the hospital, along with little tidbits of gossip as to what he might be thinking.
Until yesterday when she left to tour Europe.
And even though I’m happy for her, my nerves are officially shot at the realization I have to face Milo alone today. And I have no idea if he’s expecting us, or if he’s changed his mind, or if he even cares.
I feel like I don’t know anything anymore.
I look around the hospital room which has been my home for the past few weeks. The machines are weirdly quiet since Peanut isn’t hooked up to them anymore, but the hustle and bustle in the hall still brings warmth to my chest.
Is it weird how I’m almost going to miss this place?
“Is that everything?” I ask Stephanie, the nurse who’s become my go-to friend and therapist while Peanut’s been in the hospital. With her officially having a clean bill of health, it seems like I’ll have to let Steph go too.
“Yup, it should be everything,” she confirms, scanning the release papers. “And don’t forget to fill out the paperwork for her name change. Baby Girl Walker isn’t exactly a solid choice in the long run.”
“I know.” I glance down at Peanut strapped into her car seat on the hospital floor. With a petite headband and a white bow on her little head, she doesn’t look like my preemie little girl anymore. She looks older somehow. Like she’s ready to get out of here and experience all life has to offer. And I’m…not. How can I raise a baby when I can’t even decide what I should name her?
“And remember,” Steph adds, “if you want to add the father to her birth certificate, you’ll need a notarized consent from him.”