Beauty from Ashes

CHAPTER 39

CHAPTER 39

Patricia goes right back to bed after we eat, but she thanks me for lunch first. And even though I detect what I think is a hint of criticism when she tells me how interesting the soup tasted, I don’t let it get to me.

Jake helps me clear the table, which I haven’t seen him voluntarily do the entire time we’ve been together. Maybe my positive attitude is contagious.

Maybe we do have what it takes to make this marriage work.

“That was nice of you to get lunch ready,” he says.

I start loading up the dishwasher. “I don’t mind. I kind of enjoyed it.”

If Jake’s going to think I’m ready to take care of Natalie by myself, I’ve really got to sell it.

“You enjoyed it?”

I shoot him another smile, certain my cheeks will be sore by the end of the day. “Yeah.”

We don’t say much after that. Once his dishes are cleared, Jake goes to the couch, but even the stupid music from his Candy Zapper game doesn’t bother me like usual. He needs a way to unwind. We all do.

Natalie’s making noise in her sleep. It’s not quite snoring. It’s more like gurgling, like some of that drool’s getting stuck in the back of her throat but she’s breathing right through it.

“Aren’t you going to suction her?” Jake asks from the couch.

I try to ignore how accusing his tone sounds and remind myself it’s good that he worries about our daughter just as much as I do.

“It’s not that bad.” I figure if I show him how confident I am, he won’t be so anxious. I grab a rag and wipe the table, inwardly gloating when I find a single grain of rice Patricia dropped onto her chair.

Jake’s still frowning at our daughter. “I really think she needs to be suctioned.”

I turn my back so he won’t see me roll my eyes. “She’s fine.” I walk by the bouncy seat to prove to him I’m being attentive. “That’s just the way she sounds sometimes when she sleeps.”

I toss the empty cans of soup into the trash and rummage around in search of the Tupperware. Patricia’s moved things around since she took over the kitchen, and I have to open four different drawers before I find them.

I start to load the dishes, wondering what I should do when I’m done with the kitchen. It won’t be that long until Natalie needs another feeding. I’m glad Dr. Bell switched her to a three-hour schedule. It gives me more to do throughout the day. More ways to be productive.

More ways to prove I’m mom enough to care for my own child.

I spill Jake’s half-filled coffee cup from this morning while I’m reaching for the soap brush. It makes a mess all over the counter. I grit my teeth. If I can get through an eighty-six-hour labor, I can take care of a sink full of dishes.

I take a deep breath. I read on this self-help website once that at least nine-tenths of your daily stress can be relieved by breathing. Don’t ask me how it works. I’m not even sure I believe it, but at least the action gives me something to focus on besides the old coffee dripping onto my kitchen floor and the cold stain soaking through the front of my maternity pants.

I make it through the first half of the dishes without further incident, but I stop when I hear a loud droning from the living room. Jake’s bending over the bouncy chair, Yankauer tube in hand.

“What are you doing?”

Of course, he can’t hear me with his ear right next to that stupid suction machine. I wonder if we need to worry about Natalie’s hearing. It can’t be good for her having that thing go off three or four times every hour so close to her little ears.

I’m in the living room now. I guess you could say I stomped over here, but that’s because I’m worried about Natalie. Jake hasn’t suctioned her once in her life, not as far as I remember. I turn off the machine as he’s sticking the tube in Natalie’s mouth.

“What the heck?” he demands, straightening up.

I square my shoulders, hands on hips, and face him.

“What was that for?” he whines.

“I told you she’s fine.” I grab the Yankauer out of his hand.

“She needs to be suctioned.”

“No, she doesn’t.” Except now that I’m closer to her, I can hear it too. That wet noise in her throat.

Jake tries to snatch the Yankauer back. We’re like two little kids playing keep away from each other. Except neither of us is laughing.

“Listen to that.” Jake thrusts a finger down at our daughter.

I try not to wince at the sound. It’s not snoring, really. More like a cat purring or water percolating in an old-fashioned coffee maker. Not the noise you ever want to hear coming from your own child’s lungs. It reminds me of this foster brother I once had, Eliot Jamison, and his horrible asthma I used to tease him about. Man, I was merciless too.

“She needs to be suctioned.” Jake’s voice is softer now. More subdued. I can tell he’s trying to keep the peace. He doesn’t want to fight. Neither do I.

“I guess you’re right.” I hate to say the words. It’s like they’re physically painful creeping up from my throat. But they don’t kill me, and I turn on the machine.

“I’ll do it,” Jake says and crowds into my space.

“I got it.” I try to elbow him out of the way without it coming across like I’m manhandling him.

“I said I’d do it.” He yanks the tube out of my hand. I swallow the curses I want to shout at him. It’s not worth a big blowup. I should be glad he wants to be involved. Another week, as soon as Christmas is over, it will just be Jake and me taking care of all these things. We may as well learn to share responsibility now.

I sigh and head back to the kitchen. Apparently, this is my place for the time being. I’ve got to watch out or resentment’s going to grow and fester until we have a major eruption. That’s why I prefer one or two smaller skirmishes a day. Otherwise you’re just saving all that negative energy up for the really big ones.

But I’m going to learn. God’s going to help me. I’ll be the kind of woman I always pictured I’d grow up to be when I was at those youth retreats.

I realize now that even if the Grandma Lucy lady wasn’t specifically telling me the future, she still inspired me. Made me realize that my daughter’s beautiful and that she deserves a mom who loves her. A mom who’s willing to work hard to protect her.

A mom who’s not about to roll over and let her die without putting up the fight of her life.