Page 63 of Forever Christmas
It occurs to me that I don’t know a thing about handling a baby.
And yet, I don’t study. I don’t read baby books or anything past pregnancy. I’m stuck in this terrible no-man’s-land of being pregnant but not expecting a real live baby to ever come home.
Gavin brings a freshly cut tree home to decoratefor Christmas. I frequently sit on the sofa, staring at the tinsel and smattering of ornaments, wondering how to find any holiday spirit, any excitement in life.
I have only four weeks until the term ends in January. I’ll be done with my coursework, but my thesis remains unwritten.
If I can rally, I might still complete it before the baby’s due date in early February and at least be ready forwhenever I want to look for a job.
But I don’t think I’m going to pull myself together. Depression tugs me down. The only thing I really look forward to are the candlelight vigils I do alone now that Tina has had her baby.
Then one day Gavin comes home with a bag of supplies. He doesn’t mention them to me, just goes to the kitchen to heat up some leftover pizza, and starts to unpack on the diningroom table.
Card stock. Glitter paint. Thin wire.
I know what he’s doing immediately.
Making the butterfly mobile again. The one we did for Finn that I destroyed after Gavin left me at the funeral.
Four years later, he re-created another flock of these butterflies in the trees outside my apartment in an effort to get me to forgive him.
He sits there, chewing pizza and cutting out the shapes.After he gathers a good number, he takes them out the back door. It’s a warm day despite being December, so he leaves the door cocked as he sprays glitter on the butterflies on the back porch.
Gavin and I don’t speak, but when he starts to spread the butterflies out to dry on the cabinets, I picture glitter glue permanently on the cabinets and hop up from the comfy armchair.
We don’t have anynewspaper. But I pull out a couple large garbage bags and cut them open. Gavin helps me spread them on the counters and one by one we transfer the sparkling butterflies from the porch to the counters.
When he sits down to cut more butterflies, this time I sit with him. I vary the size and color a little more than he does as I cut.
We stay silent as he checks on the painted butterflies, findsthey are dry, and turns them over to spray the other side.
I come to a bright blue piece of cardboard and have to pause to collect myself.
The special butterfly Gavin made for Finn two years ago remains in my bedroom. I saved it from the trees so it wouldn’t get blown away.
While Gavin sprays the back sides, I head to my room. It’s not quite the same as having a piece of Finn’s old butterflymobile for the new baby, but it does have a lot of meaning. It’s one of the links in the chain of events that brought Gavin and me back together.
Gavin’s back to cutting when I return. When he sees what I’m holding, he smiles. “When I assemble it, I’ll make sure the new baby can see Finn,” he says.
“I guess we should name the baby,” I say. “Any ideas?”
“I guess Thor is out,” he says. “I’m alsopartial to Batman.”
This gets a smile. “I’m assuming not after your father.”
“Hell, no,” he says.
“We should tell them,” I say with a sigh. “Mom is threatening to do it for us.”
“I’ll call Mom on Christmas,” Gavin says. “Soon enough?”
I nod. There isn’t much else I can do.
We work until late, cutting and spraying and stringing the butterflies on the lines. I get sleepy and lie on the sofa,but Gavin works on. He seems intent on finishing it tonight.
And it’s a good thing, because when I awaken in the wee hours of the morning, it’s time to panic.
I’m in labor.
