Your Voice

Chapter 17

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Christine

Sweat trickles down my face. Tightly, I cling onto Erik's hand. I look up at him and he gives me an encouraging nod.

"Just one more..." the doctor says. With all my strength, I give one last push, and hear a cry. "It's a girl!"
My daughter.
I have a daughter.
Erik unsurely takes the bundled baby in his arms. I can't help but laugh; the way he holds her is so adorably awkward. Not knowing what else to do, he lays the baby in my reaching arms. I feel her warmth through the cloth and rock her gently as she whines.
"Mummy's here, mummy's here," I coo. Under the mask, I can see Erik with a smile greater than the sun as he sits on the edge of the bed next to me, staring at our new child.

"So, what's her name going to be?" The doctor produces a pen out of his coat and looks at his clipboard. I glance over at Erik.

"It's up to you, you're the one who carried the child," he shrugs. I think for a minute. I want her name to represent something significant. Something we love. Something beautiful.

"Melody," I say finally, gently stroking the baby's head as it starts to quieten. Erik places a hand on my shoulder. The doctor jots the name down.
Melody, Melody Destler.
She has fair hair - I guess it must have been from my mother - and deep, dark blue eyes, but that could change over time. Examining her features, I then turn my head to see Erik, a look of pure relief slapped across his face; Melody has no deformity.

"We've been lucky," he says. "Two children and both beautiful. Just like you." He plants a kiss on my lips.

Erik
Ten months later

"Darling, I'm having rehearsals today, so you'll be home with Melody, is that alright?" Christine, a bag slung over her shoulder, enters my lair. I look up from my sheet music. She's so beautiful, I tell myself for the billionth time. My Angel has her hair up in a classy updo and she's wearing the blue dress I bought for her birthday last year. I force myself out of my dreaming state. Rehearsals. Me alone with the baby. Alright.

"Sure, Christine," I smile.

"Okay, just remember. Nappies are in the top shelf in the nursery. Milk is in the bottom cupboard in the kitchen."

"Got it." She kisses her hand and blows the kiss across the room, and I catch it and slap it on my cheek. It's only when she leaves the room when I realize what a terrible choice I made.
Me plus children equals uh oh.
These past two years, I've tried my best at taking care of an infant and ended up relying on Christine and Gustave to attend to it. I can't even go near it without having to put my mask on. Hopefully when the child grows up, she'll grow accustomed to my face.

Gustave isn't even home to rescue me; he's at band practice now. Nervously, I go upstairs to the nursery. The yellow walls glow happily as the sunlight pours through the window. The shelves are packed with toys, half of which haven't been used. Apprehensively, I inch over to the crib, where Melody is supposed to be. Comically, I walk on my tiptoes - I don't want to wake her up. I peer into it to see her asleep, dribble staining her fat, rosy baby cheeks. However, I decide that I shouldn't wipe it up because
a. I don't have my mask on, so she'd be freaked out if I woke her
b. I have no idea how to comfort a crying baby, or what to do when one's awake
c. Baby spit is gross.

As silently as possible, I back away.
Big mistake.
Clumsily, I step on a squeaky toy. The squeak is nearly ear-piercing. What kind of sadist would let their kid listen to such torturous sounds? Oh God, please don't wake up please don't wake up please don't wake up please don't wake up. Nope.
A cry rings from the crib. I rush over and take a minute to figure out how to pick her up. As gently as I can muster, I place Melody on my shoulder. What does Christine do when she's crying? I rack my brain for some sort of memory. In a panic, I bounce my daughter ever so slightly, making hushing sounds as I do so. I am ninety nine point nine percent sure that this is exactly how Christine does it, but the baby keeps wailing.
What do I do what do I do what do I do!
Completely lost, I continue to do the bouncy-hushy method I fished out of my memories. Maybe I could quickly hire a babysitter, I think. No. I need to learn how to be a father.
What calms me down? I ask myself. Music.