Page 105 of The Game Plan
I climb onto the bed, putting my legs on each side of her so we’re facing each other as I grip her face. “Stop carrying the load solely on your shoulders. I’m your partner. In marriage, in fatherhood, in sickness and health.”
Tears stream down her face, and I wipe them away with my thumb.
“I’m scared,” she admits. “What if this is who I am now? The woman who’s constantly telling the voices in her head to shut up. The woman who never feels like she’s good enough. What if, one day, I snap, and you and Lennon are caught in the crossfire?”
I pull her into my chest, maneuvering our bodies so it’s not so awkward. She climbs into my lap, and I hold her as if I’m breathing new life into her. Like I’m shielding her from the mental battle she’s been facing alone. It makes me feel like shit to know she’s been hurting this much. I knew something was wrong, but I gave her space. I didn’t want to smother her, but she was suffocating herself.
“You’re not going to hurt us, Savannah. Parenthood is so fucking hard, but we’re going to get through this together. I promise you.”
She nods against my chest. “Can you just hold me?”
“For the rest of our lives.”
Somehow, I lift her, going on my knees and moving us. I pull away the covers, and we slide underneath the sheets. My arms wrap tightly around her as her face presses against my bare chest. I feel her tears drenching me, and I hate that she’s crying. I hate that I can’t take her pain away.
It feels like my heart is breaking, but this moment isn’t about me.
It’s about my wife.
It’s been two weeks since my meltdown on the shower floor.
A full month since Lennon Katherine entered our world. Today is my first day back on campus since giving birth and finishing the at-home assignments my professors created for me. Even though I know I could’ve gone back to classes, I’m incredibly grateful I didn’t have to. The assignments allowed me a chance to bond with my daughter rather than dumping her off at the on-campus daycare.
Emily has volunteered to stay with Lennon on the days I have class, so she doesn’t have to go to the daycare at all. Once again, it’s another weight off my shoulders. There’s comfort in knowing that someone we trust fully will be home with Lennon, even though there’s still a pit in my stomach at leaving her alone.
The sun is already high as I cross the campus quad, filtering through the lazy sway of green-gold leaves. October in Texas is nothing like October in Kentucky. Here, it’s an extended summer. I miss the changing leaves, the crisp mornings when you want to sit outside with a coffee and a blanket.
My body didn’t miraculously bounce back the way influencersmake it look. I’d give anything for a cute pair of jean shorts that don’t dig into the extra weight around my hips. Instead, I wear a pair of leggings and a boxy, long-cropped graphic tee that hits at my waist. I had a plaid shirt on, but quickly tied it around my waist as I was met with the thick, humid air.
When my phone buzzes in the side pocket of my backpack, I fish it out in a rush. Dread floods my veins as I’m filled with worry about something being wrong with Lennon. Emily’s name doesn’t calm my nerves. That is, until I swipe the message open. It’s a picture of Lennon dressed in a white onesie with denim overalls. A large pink bow sits on her head, her blonde locks growing by the day. Bright blue eyes stare with a gummy smile. My heart warms, and my chest aches with guilt.
I should be home with her. I should’ve sucked it up last spring and graduated when I was supposed to. Then I wouldn’t be missing these moments.
No, I still would. Only this time, I’d be at work, not at school with a flexible schedule.
I slip into the lecture hall and grab a seat in the back. The air conditioning blasts, goosebumps erupting on my skin, in stark contrast to the sheen of sweat I wore outside. I untie my flannel and slip it on, log into my laptop, and open a blank Word document, settling in for my first class of the day.
As the professor speaks, I drown out her words, getting lost in my thoughts. I feel like I’m floating outside of my body and watching myself through a movie lens. I should be grateful to be out of the house and finding the new me. But I feel physically torn in half. The mom side of me is desperate to be home, while the student side is craving the monotony of lectures and coursework.
It’s only been a little over an hour since I said goodbye. Less time since Emily sent a photo to check in. But it’s beenradio silence since. I keep checking my phone, zoning out to everything around me as my mind spirals.
What if something happened to Emily and she couldn’t take care of Lennon?
The what-if scenarios flood my brain. I type out a message.
Checking in…how’s things going? Was there plenty of formula?
I know the answer because I bought a brand-new container yesterday, paranoid they’d run out. Absurd, considering one lasted us a month.
The rest of the class goes by in a blur. My Word document stares blankly back at me. I didn’t listen to anything that was said, which isn’t good, especially not for my first day back. Gathering my things, I race out of the hall, looking for the nearest exit. My vision spins, and I need fresh air.
I grip the phone tightly, heart racing. I open the message thread I have with Emily and still don’t see a reply to my message.
What if they aren’t okay? What if there was a fire? Oh my gosh, what if someone broke in? I’ve heard about people robbing college houses during the day because most kids are on campus.
My palms sweat as my vision tunnels. Someone bumps into my shoulder, and my phone slips from my wet palm. I reach down to grab it as my lungs burn.
“Peach.”
