We All Fall Down

Chapter 7

Rick

I couldn't help but feel validated when I noticed her beginning to embrace the pregnancy. She started to slowly bring baby clothes home, all delicate lace and soft pinks in hopes that we would have a girl. All I wanted was a healthy baby, a bridge to mend the ever-growing gap between my parents and our life. Patrice danced around to Elvis crooning through the record player with her hand delicately pressed to her rounded belly. I was euphoric, because finally we felt like a real family. We even started having card night with the neighbors Becky and Ted Leonard who were expecting as well. Things could not have been falling into place more smoothly.

Becky had been such a blessing for Patrice. When we first moved in, I could see that my wife was not adjusting as quickly as I had hoped she would. I'd often come home after a long day's work and find her aimlessly walking the neighborhood. I'd bought her books, but she didn't like reading much. I encouraged her to meet the neighbors, and she would reply with that same listless wave of her hand that she'd use in place of words.

But one day, I noticed a pie on the counter.

"Oh! Honey, did you bake this?! It looks amazing!" I dropped my briefcase on the kitchen table and rushed for a fork and plate.

"Becky brought it over earlier. She's nice."

Those seven words were like music to my ears. My wife had made a friend. "Lovely, that's just lovely! Maybe we can have them over for dinner this weekend. I'll cook! Why don't you see if they're free?"

"Sure, dear. I'll do that." She smiled and lowered into the rocker my mother sent over last week. It had been the one she rocked me in as a baby. I teared up at the sentiment, brushing away the hurt that she hadn't brought it herself.

In the following months, Patrice blossomed. She began to decorate our home when she wasn't in school and bought herself a cook book, testing a new recipe every night. The light in her eyes shone brighter and it all felt like what we'd dreamed our life to look like from when we first met.

I still remember when I got the call that our baby was on the way. I couldn't contain my excitement. I hurriedly excused myself from work, bumping into every person on my way out, pouring apologies as I rushed toward my car. I tried to keep her calm and breathing on the way to the hospital just like we'd read about. Fifteen minutes later, we arrived at the hospital and thirty after that, I was pacing the waiting room. I could hear her cries and itched to be by her side, holding her hand, reminding her to do the breathing exercises. In through the nose, out through the mouth, Patrice. I had been offered a coffee, soda, water, chips, a seat, but who could think of anything else at a time like this? I had to be ready for the moment our baby arrived! I did a quick run to the gift shop and browsed baby gifts. What would be the perfect way to say, Thank you for having my baby!? I settled on a large pink bouquet. She had been convinced the entire time that we were having a girl. I guess it was that motherly instinct you always hear about.

An hour later, the doctor came out with a huge grin, congratulating me and ushered me back to where Patrice was recovering. I knew distinctly in that moment that something shifted. It wasn't what you would think the room to be like once a woman sees her cooing child for the first time. The air felt dense as I stepped through the door. Patrice was lying there, staring out the window, watching birds fluttering around.

"So, my love, how are you feeling? Do you need anything? I brought you some flowers!" I beamed. "I wanted to see you before I go down to the nursery." She continued to stare out the window a few more moments, and then slowly turned her head to me.

"What am I supposed to do with a boy, Rick." She said it like a statement, like she wasn't actually waiting on a response from me. Her words shot straight into my chest like a dagger. The color had left her face, and her hair was matted with sweat. The doctor said that it was normal to be emotional after having had a long labor, and she would improve over time. I tried to swallow back my disappointment. I had failed her. But, I knew I would make things right. I knew she was exhausted.

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Once we arrived home, Becky and Ted brought over some lasagna and pie for us. I was so thankful that she and Patrice had hit it off. She needed a friend's support now more than ever. One that she would be able to confide it since it clearly wasn't me. Nevertheless, I noticed my wife slowly getting back to normal. After a few weeks, she seemed to warm up to John just as the doctor assured she would. She took to motherhood like a duck to water. Well, maybe more like a baby deer taking its first steps, but she was great. My wife was glowing, and watching her with John made me fall even more in love with her.

However, she had taken to sleeping in the spare bedroom so that John wouldn't wake her. I was happy to have those early moments with him, and understood how exhausting have an infant could be. She'd come back. Only as the months passed, she remained in the room and the longer she stayed, the more painful it was to talk about. Eventually, I moved John to the room across the hall from her, and I would now and again catch him crawling outside her door, listening to her sing along to her records, or watching her delicately putting her makeup on. He adored her as much as I did.

I bet she didn't even realize how much happier she would be with a child of her own. But what I couldn't admit to myself, the reason I didn't demand her to come back to our room, was because when Becky had not yet given birth, they spent all of their time together, preparing casseroles to stick in the freezer. Patrice helped to knit booties and stocked their baby room full of essentials. Becky helped with John during the day, and I never anticipated her giving birth would become such a devastating event. Because while Patrice had to accept that I'd given her a boy, she couldn't get past the jealousy of her best friend giving birth to a happy, healthy baby girl.