Page 54 of Single Mom's Daddies
And I’m walking through this house like it’s not a lie. I drink half a cup of tea and forget to eat.
The hospital is…the hospital. Same as always. Long white halls, too-bright lights, a flurry of activity in a corner while other people eat donuts and chitchat. It’s like walking through a memory until a nurse stops me by Ivy’s door. I recognize her, but after so much time here, they start to blur together.
“Hey, just wanted to let you know that she’ll be able to go home soon.”
I swallow. Blink. Breathe. “You’re sure about that?”
“Dr. Belleville says he’s going to release her. Probably this week.”
To a home with her fathers. I fight the urge to vomit. It’s too much, too overwhelming. Great news, tamped by complications. “That’s great.”
“Then why do you look like it’s not?”
I let out a laugh. “Oh, it is. Life just…it never stops.”
She smiles and shrugs. “Until it does. Forever.”
“Guess you’ve seen a lot of that.”
“Yeah. But not for Ivy. Not anytime soon. That girl’s a fighter.”
I swallow the knot in my throat. “She is.”
The nurse pats my shoulder. “It’ll feel better when she’s home.”
“You’re right about that.” Or we’ll be kicked out of our new home because of who Ivy is to my bosses, and since I broke my apartment lease, we will be homeless.
Ivy’s hospital room smells like lemon and lavender, a soft blend that doesn’t mask the disinfectant. Her hair is up in a loose bun today. Her nurse is changing her dressings while they talk about the weather.
She beams when she sees me. “Mama!”
“Hi, baby.” I kiss her forehead, brush her curls back, and sit on the edge of her bed.
She launches into a full rundown of the day. The nurse is “okay, but not as good at voices” as the last one. Her coloring sheet has a wrinkle. Someone gave her apple slices instead of grapes. She ate them anyway.
Her IV looks better. Her eyes are clearer. Her voice is stronger. But the truth presses against my chest like it’s trying to break through bone.
“You’ll be coming to a new home soon,” I say.
She frowns. “What do you mean?”
I haven’t kept her updated on anything, because if it didn’t work out, I didn’t want to get her hopes up. “I got a new job, and it comes with a new home. I’m working as a nanny now?—”
“But you said you liked the office.”
I lied. But I won’t tell her that. Motherhood is telling one lie after another while pretending that honesty is the best policy and that lying is wrong. The truth is, I liked aspects of that job, butnuance is hard for eight-year-olds. “I did, but I like this better. And the pay is better. I live in a cottage now, with a pool and?—”
“A pool?” Her eyes go wide and excited.
I don’t have the heart to tell her that swimming would kill her right now. “When you’re better, you’ll get to use it.”
Her grin heals and kills me. “Yay!”
“The kids I nanny for are great. Mila—she’s seven—very smart, and Alex is six, and quirky. I think you three will get along very well.”
Her hand is small and warm in mine. “Then I have to get better soon, so I can go there.”
I kiss it, then tuck the blankets tighter around her. “Yes, you do. Soon, baby. Now, let me tell you all about the place…” I do, minus the part about her dads.
