When Doc brought me to the NICU the first time, he warned me Angelo wouldn’t look the same. I was prepared. I wish Doc was here now. Because I don’t know what to expect.
An hour after she leaves, Maggie comes to get us. Bertie kept looking at his watch the whole time. Even while he was downing the chicken parm.
A bunch of people are still around Angelo’s bed. Not as many as this morning, but enough to make me wish I hadn’t eaten. Goldie’s there. She’s standing by Angelo’s feet, her arms crossed in front of her as she stares at the monitor on the wall. Her eyes drop to a bag hanging off the side of the bed. The bag is filled with bloody water. One of the tubes coming from Angelo feeds it. Goldie frowns. A machine the size of three baby beds put together chugs beside her. A man in blue sitting on a stool watches the machine.
My lip is doing that itching thing again. I hold my hands together behind my back so I won’t scratch it. I’m afraid to look too close at my son. I don’t want to know where the tubes are coming from. I don’t want to see his face. Bertie’s staring straight at him. His face is whiter than usual. But at least his mouth is closed.
I blow out a breath.
Angelo doesn’t look like himself. He doesn’t look like a baby. Or a doll even. He looks like some freak horror-movie creation, something possessed.
For one, he’s puffy as hell. His arms and legs are twice as thick as they were this morning. He don’t even look smaller than Amelia now. Before, I remember thinking Amelia could eat him up in one swallow. Now, he could probably take her.
His eyes are taped closed. There’s something gooey on top of them. His mouth is open—like Bertie’s usually is—and his lips are smeared with the same gooey jelly. The tube that was in his nose is still there. Only now it looks small because Angelo’s face is so blown up. His hair is matted down. Like he was sweating or something. Bandages cover his chest, from one side to the other. They’re white except for the middle part which is damp and pink. The bandages are taped down at the top and bottom, except for where the tubes are. There’re three of them. Tubes. They have the same pinky fluid inside them. There’re other tubes coming out from his chest, too. Some so small they look like black strings. Some so big they look like vacuum-cleaner hoses. Tubes come out from the top of both his legs. And one comes from his diaper. The fluid there is orangish. Don’t look nothing like regular pee.
“Mrs. Pujols?” Goldie is speaking to me. She’s still got that frown on. “Mr. Pujols?” She looks at Bertie. He shakes his head.
“Valdez. We don’t have the same last name,” he says.
Goldie looks at him like she’s looking through him. She turns back to me.
“Your son is on ECMO.” She says it like heck no, and points at the machine and the man on the stool. “Dr. Moses completed the Norwood, but he wasn’t able to come off the bypass machine, even with the chest open. Hopefully, in a few days, we can come off ECMO and then close the baby’s chest.”
I understand only half of what she’s saying.
Bertie’s looking confused. “Wait—his chest is OPEN?”
Goldie nods.
“Can’t germs and shit just get in there?”
“Bertie, watch your mouth.” Maggie is emptying bloody water from one of the bags, but she’s been listening.
“Sorry.” Bertie looks around, like he’s wondering who heard him. Helen’s in the rocker on the other side of Amelia’s bed. Her hand’s on Amelia’s little foot, holding it. She’s reading but looks up and gives me a small smile. I don’t think she heard Bertie.
“Your baby is on antibiotics to protect him from infection. But yes, having an open chest is an infection risk,” Goldie says. “We didn’t have a choice. When Dr. Moses tried to close his chest, your son’s heart stopped beating.” She marches over to the container of orange pee. She lifts the pee tube, getting what’s in the tube to fall into the container.
“And that thing, that problem with the hole and his lungs getting blocked up? Is that all good now?”
Goldie answers him in a sharp voice. “It may still be a problem down the road. But for now, it’s not a major player in what’s going on.”
I’m looking at Bertie, wondering how he knew about that.
“Any more questions?” Goldie asks. I can’t see her face, but I bet she’s still frowning. She doesn’t sound happy. I hope it’s because she has to talk to us. I hope it’s not because of the orange pee.
“What do we do?” Bertie says.
“Just be with Angelo,” Maggie says at the same time Goldie says, “Stay out of our way.” They give each other not-too-friendly looks. Makes me wish Doc was here. Again.
“Why don’t you take a seat?” Maggie says. She motions with her head toward the rocker. It’s been pushed all the way across the room. Bertie nods and goes to get it. He drags it over. Goldie whips her head around at him, looking like she’s gonna scratch him ’cause he came too close. Bertie pulls the chair back a few feet.
“Mari?” He gives me the seat. Helen’s in the same type of chair, her feet up on a stool, a book balanced on her knees. Without saying nothing, Bertie disappears around the corner. I’m about to get pissed, wondering where he went, when he comes back. He’s got a footrest in one hand and a magazine in the other.
“Here,” he says, sliding the stool under me. He hands me the mag. It’s covered with photos of celebrities. The kind Abuela always goes nuts over. “This one okay?”
I shrug and take it. My stomach’s still angry about the croissant since its primary job now is to be nervous and not digest stuff. And I’m still mad at Bertie. Don’t know when I’m not gonna be. But it’s not as if I don’t notice he’s trying.
Bertie takes a few steps toward Angelo’s bed. “This okay?” he asks, hands up like he’s surrendering.
Goldie shoots him a nasty look but Maggie says, “That’s fine. Right there is fine.”
Goldie and Maggie do their thing. Bertie watches Angelo like he’s watching over him. He watches Angelo like I would.
Someone puts a blanket over me. That’s what wakes me up.
“Sorry.” Helen’s lips bunch up real close, like she’s nervous. “You looked cold. It’s cold in here.” She wraps her arms around her like she’s giving herself a hug.
My eyes find Angelo, worried something’s happened and that he’s cold, too. The heater coils above him glow orange like coals. He’s still practically naked, but he’s not cold. Otherwise, he looks the same. Maybe more puffy, but I could be imagining it.
Bertie’s still standing there. Like a statue. Watching our baby.
“Are you hungry?” Helen asks, all hopeful.
“Nah.” I shake my head. “Thanks for this,” I say. I lift my hand under the blanket at her. The blanket is soft. And warm. Like the one the doc gave me that time.
“There’s a little oven filled with them. Over in pod 720. You can take one whenever you like.” Helen must be a mind reader. She goes back to Amelia’s bed. She leans over the baby, kisses her forehead. Amelia’s sleeping. She doesn’t stir.
I stand. My legs are stiff. I roll my foot, stretching my ankle. I better not have been sleeping too long. “What’d I miss?” I say to Bertie.
He turns, looking surprised I’m up. He shakes his head and shrugs, then goes back to watching Angelo. Goldie’s not here. The man on the stool, the one in charge of that machine, is typing on a computer.
“Dr. Moses came by and checked on Angelo.” Maggie’s got gloves and a mask on. She’s holding that long plastic mouse-tail thing again.
Coño. I can’t believe I missed the surgeon.
“What did he say?” I give Bertie a look like he’s keeping something from me.
“I dunno,” he says. He takes his cap off and smooths his hair back. “Something like, we’ll have to wait and see.”
“The first twenty-four hours are crucial,” Maggie says. She smiles at the man who’s come to tend Angelo’s breathing machine and asks him about his day. She nods at his response, then disconnects Angelo’s tube. The plastic mouse tail goes down inside my baby’s throat. The machine yells at her. Which is good because then I don’t have to. It’s that same loud ding-dong noise from before. Bertie shoves his fingers in his ears.
“Sorry,” the man at the machine says. He hits a button. The sound goes off.
When Maggie’s finished, she comes to the garbage can near me to take off her gloves and mask. “We’re checking his fluids—what goes in and what comes out—multiple times an hour. Dave,” she pauses as the man near the heck-no machine lifts a finger and nods to us, “is running tests on Angelo’s blood, so we can correct his electrolytes or give him more blood products as he needs it.”
“Blood products?” The way Bertie says it makes it sound like he’s talking about someone’s private parts.
“Platelets, which your body needs for clotting. Red blood cells, which your body needs to bring the oxygen to all your other cells.” Maggie enjoys explaining things. She reminds me of Doc this way. She takes up some dirty tubes and dumps them in a red garbage bin.
“Does Dr. Love know?” I ask when she returns. “That Angelo had his surgery?”
Bertie turns to look at me. He doesn’t like Doc. Said he didn’t like that the guy got to touch my pregnant belly. And he didn’t like that we all called him Doc Hottie. This was before the fake abortion. I’m guessing he knows Doc and I had all those extra months together. Bertie’s the jealous type. Not that he has any right to be. I don’t even know what we—Bertie and I—are anymore.
“Dr. Goldstein updated Dr. Love,” Maggie says.
I look at the clock. It’s seven.
“You know Dr. Love isn’t working these next few days, right?” Maggie gives me a sympathy smile. I hate those.
“Yeah, I know.” I hug my blanket around my shoulders. It’s not warm anymore. Maggie doesn’t know about the promise Doc made to me yesterday. He’s not on the schedule. But Doc said he’d come check on Angelo.
“Hey.” Helen comes over to me. “I know you said you’re not hungry, but Pam and I are going to order dinner. Can I get something for you guys? We were thinking pizza.”
My stomach grumbles. Guess it’s not mad anymore. But I don’t have any money on me. I look to Bertie, but he’s still staring at Angelo.
“My treat,” Helen says. See? Mind reader.
“Nah, it’s okay.” I don’t want her to keep giving us stuff. I don’t like handouts. Even when I was staying with Teri and Heavenly, I tried to make myself useful, which was pretty difficult. You try sweeping up a kitchen or vacuuming a living room in an apartment where you’re not supposed to be.
“I’m ordering an extra pie anyway, for the nurses and residents. So if you have a preference, you should tell me.”
God, she’s pushy. Still, I don’t budge.
“Do you eat meat? Pepperoni okay with you?”
“Thank you, that’s real nice of you.” Bertie turns around. “She loves pepperoni.” He puts his hand in his pocket, takes out a wad of bills. “Here, let me pay.” He holds out a twenty.
The inside of my chest gets all hot when I see the cash. Makes me remember the money he gave to Teri, the money he tried to give me. It’s gotta be from Skinner. Bertie better not be in deeper with him.
“No, no.” Helen backs away. “My treat. I offered.”
“Please,” Bertie says it like he’s real tired. “Take it. She’ll be mad at me otherwise.” He tips his head toward me. “She already is.”
Helen takes the money, but she doesn’t want to. She goes back to give Amelia another kiss. She murmurs some mama words I can’t hear, then waves at me and Maggie. She goes to look for Pam. Pam’s baby has a heart defect, too, TG something, like TGIF. Helen told me Pam’s baby was blue like a blueberry when she came out. They had to do some emergency thing to her little girl before the surgery, too. Only they did it right there in the NICU in front of everyone. I was thinking TGIH—thank God it’s her—and not me. My baby been through enough.
“Can I touch him?” I ask. “Hold his hand? Like yesterday?” I want to kiss my son like Helen kissed Amelia. I didn’t do that yesterday, and now I’m upset thinking I missed my chance.
“Maybe later,” Maggie says. “There’s too much going on now.”
“You got to hold his hand?” Bertie’s whispering. Like he’s embarrassed to have Maggie hear him.
I nod at Bertie. Makes me feel guilty. Maybe if I’d texted him instead of Yaz doing it, Bertie would’ve come yesterday and gotten to hold Angelo’s hand, too.
“I gotta pee,” I say. I hold the blanket up. “Can I take this to my room? Bring it back later?”
Maggie nods.
“I’ll go with you,” Bertie says.
“I don’t need no chaperone.” I snap it before I know what I’m doing. “How you think I got here this morning?” I wag my chin at him.
“’Course you don’t.” Bertie stretches his arms above him. “I’d just like to come with you is all.”
Maybe he wants me alone again. Maybe here’s where we iron it all out. What we are. Where we stand.
I hold on to the blanket like it’s keeping me up. “Suit yourself.”
I say bye to Maggie. Bertie follows me out.
The first thing I see as we go out those doors is a pair of boots sticking up in the air. The legs they belong to drape over the arm of one of the waiting-room chairs.
“Mari!” Heavenly shouts from a sofa. The woman behind the desk shushes her. Heavenly stands, giving the woman her back. She doesn’t listen to people who are ugly or old as a general rule. Yaz scrambles out of the chair. Her boots land on the floor where they belong. Teri’s still sitting, a book that’s about fifty pounds weighing down her lap. She lets go of her cross necklace and closes the book as we come closer. BIOLOGY it says in black, bold letters. She’s looking from me to Bertie and back to me again like she’s nervous about something. Probably wondering if we’re all patched up or if I’m still mad at him.
“What are you guys doing here?” I say.
Heavenly pushes her glossy curls behind her then plants a hand on her hip. “What do you mean, what are we doing here? Where else we gonna be? Didn’t Bertie tell you we was waiting out here?” She’s swishing her head at me.
I look at Bertie, but he’s staring at the ground. Teri’s looking at Bertie, too.
“Like three, maybe two.” Yaz’s hands are in her butt pockets. She’s rocking back and forth on her heels and then her toes.
“I didn’t know.” I glare at Bertie. Teri’s still looking at him. She hasn’t gotten up. Her fingers are wiggling all over the place like they don’t know where to be. She must be nervous about Angelo. Or about me and Bertie.
“How’s the baby?” Teri asks.
Bertie shrugs but doesn’t say nothing. He’s frowning at his shoe like there’s something gross on it.
I swallow and look up at the lights. All three of them are looking at me with worry in their eyes. I don’t want to see that either. “He had his surgery.”
Heavenly claps. “That’s good right?”
I nod, but say, “I don’t know. He’s on some kind of machine. It’s doing the work of his heart and lungs for him, ’cause he can’t do it himself.”
Yaz lets out a whistle. “¡Güay! Doctors these days.” She sways forward, then rocks back again.
“I was going to my room. Bertie was taking me.”
“I’ll go!” Yaz says, smile taking over her frown.
“Me, too. Óyeme, Bertie, siéntate. You don’t look so good.” Heavenly raises an eyebrow at him. “You look like you been mistreating your legs so much they going to run away on you.”
Bertie nods. He takes a seat in one of the armchairs. His hand holds up his head.
Teri pushes the book off her lap and goes and stands next to Bertie. She reaches out, like she’s gonna touch his arm. She glances at me. She takes hold of her braid instead. “Can I see Angelo?” Teri asks. “Bertie could take me, couldn’t he? He’s a parent?”
Bertie looks at her, his expression funny. Like he’s annoyed and uneasy at the same time.
“Why don’t you let the boy relax?” Heavenly says.
“Yeah, déjale. Leave him alone.” Yaz stares hard at Teri.
Teri’s working her hair, flipping the elastic band up and down. “Sorry, it’s just, I really want to see him, too.”
“A mí me da igual,” I say. “If Bertie wants to take you, fine by me.”
Teri looks at Bertie, but now he’s not looking at anything. Maybe he’s tired out after watching Angelo.
I just really got to pee. “Come on,” I say to Hev and Yaz. They each take one of my arms and lead me to the elevator.
In my room, an enormous jar of flowers looks like it’s going to crush the table it’s sitting on. Roses. Red ones. And one of those yuppy thousand-dollar strollers with the big wheels. I always made fun of those strollers. Because they’re all over the fancy parts of Manhattan, even though they’re made to go up into mountains. And you know those diamond-ringed mamas ain’t taking no baby up no mountains. Maybe up a hill in Central Park, but that’s it. The stroller’s red. The bow’s red, too. My favorite color.
“¡El pipo!” Yaz exclaims.
There’s only one person could’ve come up with this.
“Heavenly!” I turn on her.
Heavenly’s eyes are real wide, her eyebrows all caught off guard. “Wasn’t me. Swear. Unless Jo-jo . . .” She marches over and swipes the card from the petals. She reads it. “Not Jo-jo. It’s from your boyfriend.” She snaps it in the air to me with her nail.
For an instant, I think she means Doc. Heavenly calls him that sometimes. Before I can figure out why my stomach jumped, I read the words.
Thank you for having our son.
Let me back in? Please?
Bertie signed his full name. Like it’s some important document. My stomach is bouncing all over the place. I still can’t figure out why it’s doing that though. I bend over the stroller to get a good look. I don’t want my girls looking too close at my face right now. The seat of the stroller’s worn. The rubber on the handle is scuffed. But I don’t care it’s used. It’s beautiful. I wouldn’t have wasted my time making fun of it if it weren’t. It bothers me how sometimes Bertie can know me so well, and sometimes, it seems he hardly knows me at all.
“How’d he get the money?” I demand, looking first at Heavenly, then at Yaz.
They glance at each other. “Maybe you should ask him,” Heavenly says.
“It better not be Skinner’s money. If it is, I’m not taking this stuff. He can have it all back.”
“It’s not what you think.” Heavenly’s shaking her hair, like she’s trying to push it off her shoulders.
“He got a job,” Yaz says. Heavenly smacks her arm. “What?” Yaz glares at her.
Yeah, I bet he got a job. Bet he and Skinner made it all official. So my baby’s papi is going to be a dealer. Bertie knows how I feel about that. He knows what happened to my papi. I’m so steamed up, I’m seeing red all over the place, the walls, the chairs. I go do my business and think about taking a shower. Maybe it’ll calm me down. But I want to get back to Angelo. It’s been like fifteen minutes and already I’m nervous something could’ve happened. And now I got to confront Bertie. I stomp all the way back to the NICU. Heavenly and Yaz don’t even try to talk.
“YOU!” I shout, pointing a finger at Bertie. He and Teri are both sitting on the couch, talking real quiet. I wonder why they’re still not with Angelo. Bertie’s head snaps up. Teri jumps away from Bertie, looking pale and like she needs to pee. Her hand flies to her pendant. I hope that’s not because of the way Angelo looked. “YOU!” I say it again. “Have some explaining to do.” The woman behind the desk clears her throat and taps a pen on her computer. Heavenly goes and puts her back in front of her, blocking her view.
“¿Y qué? You saw the stroller?” Bertie drawls like a Mexican. Like he’s trying to pretend he’s calm. Or maybe it’s just that he’s tired. “What, you don’t like red no more?”
“Don’t you give me that.” I step right up to him. He’s still sitting so my head’s over his.
“Maybe we should go?” Teri asks.
“But I haven’t gotten to see Angelo. I want to see Angelo,” Yaz whines.
“Me, too,” Heavenly says. “I ain’t leaving ’til we see that little cutie.”
“Oh, there you are!” Helen is back with pizza. Helen is smiling real big, but Pam’s smile is so little, it’s almost not there. She keeps looking from me to the others. She doesn’t come close. But Helen comes right up and hands over one of the boxes. “It’s so nice your friends are here. Here, take an extra pie, I got enough for everyone.” She hands two to Bertie. “They like us to eat over on the other side of the elevators. It’s a huge space. I left some soda there already.” Her hand takes my shoulder. She gives me a squeeze. For some reason, I don’t shrug her off. For some reason, I like that she’s showing me she’s there for me. This woman who’s almost as old as Abuela, and who’s got life all figured out—a job and a husband, an apartment. We couldn’t be more different. But ’cause we both have babies with heart problems, at this time, in this place, we’re the same.
Helen’s off down the hallway, delivering pizza to hospital workers. Pam follows behind her.
“Who was that?” Yaz asks, looking like she’s going to start making fun of Helen.
“Who cares. You heard the lady. Let’s go eat!” Heavenly struts toward the elevator. Teri leaps up and runs after her.
Yaz watches Helen disappear. It’s a good thing she doesn’t talk smack about her, ’cause then I’d have to say something. “Here, give me one.” Yaz takes a box from Bertie and follows them, giving us plenty of room to argue.
“So, do you still like red?” Bertie asks. He’s standing next to me, waiting for me to turn and face the right direction.
I don’t answer. My leg buckles as I spin around. Bertie’s hand catches me. My body keeps forgetting it just had a baby the other day. “Gracias,” I grumble.
“De nada,” he says. I move my arm and he lets go. I wish I hadn’t done that. I wish he hadn’t let go.
“So you’ve got some job now?” We start walking to the elevators.
Bertie nods. “Familia car service. Teri’s cousin been helping me out.”
Not what I was expecting. “Orlando? But he’s a driver. You don’t have a license.”
“Starting low. Manning the phones. Figured if I stick with it, by the time I’m seventeen, maybe they give me one of their cars. It’s a good job. Pays well. Needed to do something to help you and the baby out.”
I’m impressed. But also angry he’s changing his whole life around like that for us. “What about Skinner? He mad at you?”
“Nah.” Bertie says it in that carefree way that makes me think it ain’t true. “Took a few months, but he understands. I told him I made a promise.”
He did make a promise. To me. That by the time the baby came, he wouldn’t be involved in that no more. I’m surprised he remembered. I thought it was one of those promises that wasn’t meant to keep. Like when he used to get me to go back to his place, he always promised his mama wasn’t gonna be there. But half the time, she was.
Bertie lifts his shoulder in a lazy shrug. “Got some stuff I’ll have to pay back, but to’ ta frío. Skinner even called. Yesterday. To give his felicidades.”
Skinner knew about the baby coming early?
Bertie takes my elbow. Makes me stop walking. As if he knows what I’m thinking. “I didn’t tell him. I’d just found out Angelo was born, too. I didn’t even tell him you was still pregnant. Fact, last time we spoke was near Halloween.”
Wait. Bertie cut it off with Skinner before he knew about Angelo? When he thought I wasn’t pregnant no more?
Bertie’s watching me. He looks kinda silly standing there: not smiling but not frowning either, the pizza box up by his face. Switch the Yankees cap for a Papa John’s, and he’d be a delivery boy.
Bertie’s long fingers tighten on my arm. Like he’s going to pull me into a dance step and he’s giving me advance warning. Instead, he lets me go. He lifts the pizza box higher. He motions for me to go ahead.
We get to the big room. Yaz, Hev, and Teri are chowing down at a table in the corner. Yaz gives me two thumbs-up and points to another room at the other end. She winks. It feels good to have her back in my life.
Bertie hasn’t seen her, I don’t think. But he leads me to the separate area anyway. He puts down the pizza box. He picks out the slice with the most pepperoni on it and hands it over. He removes pepperoni from his piece and layers them on top of mine.
“Sit down, Mari.” He says it so gentle, my eyes get all teary. I squeeze them tight to make them stop and quickly take a bite of pizza.
I try not to think of my papi. Of what he said to me. Of what kind of man he is. But looking at Bertie, sitting there, chewing with his mouth open, I can’t help but think of how my papi was probably in the same seat, eating pizza, fifteen years ago. I was born in this hospital, too. But maybe my papi never came to see me in the hospital. Don’t make sense to visit someone you never wanted.
I pick up a piece of pepperoni and slide it in my mouth. I lick orange ovals of grease from my finger and thumb. I hold on to my breath, let it out slow so it doesn’t shake. Bertie starts on a second piece. He gives me all the pepperoni from that slice, too.
I look back at my girls. Heavenly has the TV on some fashion show. She and Yaz are ripping on some poor contestant. Teri’s watching Bertie and me. When she sees me looking, she gives a little smile. Bertie’s chewing. He’s staring at the plain cheese slice he’s balancing on his fingertips.
It feels good having all my girls back together. It feels good having Bertie back, too. I didn’t think I’d been lonely, what with having Angelo inside me and the promise of the baby coming. But I think I’d just gotten so used to being lonely all the time, I forgot how good even one extra friend can feel.
I take another bite. “When did you start at Familia?”
“Last week,” he says.
“How’d you save enough for the stroller then? In just one week?”
“They gave me an advance. I asked them to. For the baby.”
“What about school?”
Bertie slides his pizza to his other hand. He drags a napkin toward him. “I’ll get my GED.”
Bertie’s no academic, but he loves school. He’s so social, it’s like food to him. He’s like the opposite of me when it comes to friends. Seeing as I usually don’t trust nobody, I only keep a few around me. But Bertie, he’s friends with everybody. I can’t see him sitting in some depressing office with chain-smoking, paunchy guys arranging carfares. I see him working the cafeteria, sitting on one of them tables, surrounded by his manos, wide smile infecting everyone around him.
“Teri said she’d help me,” Bertie adds. “You know how she is with books.” He coughs like he’s nervous about it.
“She told you about the problem with Angelo’s lungs, didn’t she?” It had to be her. She’s smart. She got it when I explained it to her.
“Don’t be mad at her. I been stalking her, begging her to give me something. Anything. About the pregnancy. About you.”
Oh, I know all about their meetings. I’m guessing Teri told him I know. “And you didn’t just come and ask me?” I’m still fuming he didn’t try harder to get to me.
His forehead gathers like my words have let him down. I scowl back at him.
“See,” he says. “You still angry at me. I couldn’t go to you. You might’ve been pregnant, but you still mean when you fight.”
I rip off the end of my crust with my teeth. What he says hurts. Even if he’s right.
“I didn’t want to upset you,” Bertie says. “More than I already did. You know, Mari, don’t be mad, but I think you’re afraid. Because of what your mama and your papi did to you. You’re always so sure somebody you love is gonna leave. And I get it, I do. But I didn’t leave, Mari. I stayed. I tried to stay. But you wouldn’t let me. You was the one who left.”
I take another bite of pizza. I don’t want to say what I’m thinking. About Angelo, his little body mangled by nature and doctors. How now that he’s outside of me, there’s nothing I can do to protect him. How that scares me like nothing ever has. How I’d rather trade Bertie and get to keep Angelo. As if God is into trades. As if God even cares what happens to me.
“You gonna finish that pizza,” I say instead. “Or you gonna just make eyes at it all night? ’Cause I want to get back in there and be with our baby.”
There. I said it out loud. Our baby.
Bertie looks up. His eyes are green, green, green with a little bit of brown. Like an island rainforest. No gray. And still no red.
Bertie lifts the pizza to his mouth. Yaz cackles and Bertie’s tropical-jungle eyes sweep over to them. Teri’s watching us again. Like she knows we’ve been talking about her. I give her a smile to show her I’m not mad. Not at her.
“He’s still cute,” Yaz says. “Even with all the pipey things and bandages.”
“No he’s not. You don’t gotta lie to me. He looks freaky, I know.” He’s my Angelo. I’ll love him no matter what. But that don’t mean I’m blind.
“Angelo-oh-oh,” Yaz sings.
I elbow her.
“What?” she asks. “Is there a no-lullaby rule here, too?”
“You’re too loud. You’ll disturb the other babies.” I glance around the room. Since it’s late, most of the lights are out. Helen’s in the rocker, reading, her hand over Amelia’s hand.
“I don’t mind!” she calls out, not even looking up. “Amelia and I like singing.”
“I don’t mind, either,” Dave the heck-no heart-lung machine guy says. He’s taking blood out of one of the tubes.
Yaz rubs her triumphant smile in my face. Seeeeeeee, it says.
Fine, my glare says back to her.
Yaz starts with a Dominican one, her voice all hushed and fast. Something about an angel. I don’t remember any lullabies. Even if my mama was the lullaby type, they wouldn’t be songs like this. But I would’ve liked this one.
Next Yaz sings “Silent Night.” In English. The words are cool and crisp. Like snowflakes tingling your skin, settling on your heart and melting.
Helen is looking at us, her eyes shiny like glass.
“Wow, you can sing,” Dave says, pulling his mask down.
“I always told her she should try out for one of those TV talent shows, but she never listens to me.”
“Mari!” Yaz hisses, cheeks getting all red.
“You should do it,” Dave says. “I’d vote for you.”
“Thank you,” Yaz answers, turning away. It’s so weird. The girl who loves loud jokes and laughter is shy about singing. I guess we all have our own things we’re shy about.
The nurse comes back. Not Maggie, the other one. We don’t like each other. But we’ve decided to get along. For Angelo’s sake. Though I almost punched her for the way she yelled at Heavenly when she got too close to the bed.
The nurse taps the watch on her wrist.
Yaz gets the hint. “Good night, sweet angel!” Yaz blows Angelo a kiss and walks to the door.
I settle on a chair. Not the rocker. One that’s higher up, so I can see Angelo better. My bottom is still sore, but it’s nothing compared to my boobs. They’re huge. And I thought they was big before the baby came. Bertie was even staring at them tonight.
“You should wear a bra. It’ll feel better.” Helen must have caught me rearranging myself. It’s crazy how she can still sound so quiet and respectful and make herself heard from across the room like that. “Are you planning to breastfeed?”
I shrug. “Don’t know. Haven’t really thought about it.” I didn’t want to think too much about what was going to happen after the birth. I didn’t read any baby books or anything, just pregnancy books. Thought it might bring more bad luck. To assume we’d get to this point.
“Angelo was born two days ago, right? So your milk may be coming in. If you want to keep it, you’ve got to take it out.”
“How am I going to do that?” Angelo doesn’t look near ready to drink.
“There’s a pump for that,” Helen says it like it’s super natural for two women to be talking about breasts and milk. “They have a bunch of them in the rooms out back.”
“You mean I’m going to be like a cow in one of them factories?”
Helen laughs. “Yes, exactly like a cow. It’s not comfortable, but it’s more comfortable than being engorged. And you do it for the baby. Mother’s milk is supposed to be better for them than formula.”
I know my mama didn’t breastfeed me. She was afraid it would ruin her boobs. I don’t remember what they looked like, but I doubt they were anything special. Mine certainly aren’t. Even if they were, I can’t understand how a woman would choose her looks over her baby’s health. I mean, if I could give Angelo my own heart to make him better, I would do it.
“Can you show me how?” I ask Helen, nervous she’ll say no. “To do the breastfeeding pump thing?”
“Of course.” Helen stands. She puts her book on the rocker. Baby’s First Year.
When we get back to the NICU, it’s real late. Helen and I wash our hands at the sink.
“That’s a lot for the first pump. Think of all the nutrients that milk will give Angelo.” Helen nods at the bottles I’m holding. I tilt them back and forth. The weird orangish liquid sticks to the sides. It seems like a small amount to me. And it looks nothing like real milk. I thought maybe my boobs were defective. Helen says that the beginning stuff is different and it’s especially good for babies. It even helps them fight infections.
Bertie’s sitting in the rocker at Angelo’s feet, fast asleep. I wouldn’t have left Angelo alone to pump if Bertie hadn’t agreed to stay. Howard’s there, too, reading a paper. He and Helen hug. Arm in arm, they gaze at Amelia. The baby opens her eyes, and Helen and Howard lean in and smile and coo at her. Amelia stares up at them, doing nothing.
“How come she’s not smiling back at you?” I’m scared for them that something happened to Amelia during the surgery. That maybe her brain don’t work right. I’m scared for Angelo, too.
Howard starts to laugh, but Helen hushes him. “Babies don’t smile until about six weeks. But you’re still supposed to smile and talk and sing to them. It stimulates their development.”
I nod. The woman is like a walking Wikipedia of baby information. The nurse takes the two bottles from me, slaps stickers with Angelo’s name on them, and stores them in a small refrigerator behind Angelo’s bed. Howard’s stacking Helen’s books, putting them in a bag. Each of them is about caring for babies. Amelia’s so lucky to have Helen for a mother. You just know Helen would never leave, no matter how rough life got.
I go over to Angelo’s bed, careful not to wake Bertie. The tubes are still there, swarming around him. Angelo has puffed even more. His skin’s real pale. He kinda looks like a toasted marshmallow when it blows up real big. His lips are dry. He needs more jelly on them. Maggie would never let them get like that.
“Do you think I could touch him now?” I ask Dave. He seems nicer than the night nurse. He looks around for Gloria. That’s the night nurse’s name.
“I won’t tell if you don’t.” He winks at me.
Real quick, I slather on some sanitizer and go to Angelo’s side. His arms stick straight out, one of them on a board. His fingers are pudgy and swollen. I put my thumb in his little hand. He doesn’t squeeze back. I try again, pressing harder. Nothing.
“He’s sedated. So he probably won’t respond to you.” Dave is watching me. But he’s smiling.
I nod, pretending I knew that. I trace the tips of Angelo’s little sausage fingers. They’re warm and soft, and still so tiny, even with all the swelling. I rise on tippy-toes and lean over, bringing my face closer to his. I keep my eyes off his chest with the bloody bandages and bloody tubes. The breathing straw is still pulling at his nose. His eyelids are puffy, the color of the skin even lighter there than on his cheeks. But his lashes are long and black. They feel like feathers against my finger. He gets that from Bertie. Mine are short and stubby. I take a deep sniff in, looking for his baby smell. All I find is stinging alcohol and antiseptic. There’s none of the sweet scent Heavenly’s cousin’s baby girl had, that combination of baby shampoo, talcum, and newborn skin.
Bertie makes a noise, like his breath got stuck in his throat. He’s sleeping with his mouth open. Big surprise. But he doesn’t wake. He crosses his arms and turns in the chair.
Angelo lies there, warm and sleeping. The tube with the lip jelly is on the bed. Right by the board for his arm. I sneak some onto a Q-tip, like I’ve seen Maggie do. I spread it over his mouth, wanting to do something for him. Shouldn’t mamas be helpful, too? Everything feels all backward. I should be the one caring for my baby. But all I can do is let them take him away from me and hope they give him back. It’s harder. Doing nothing. Letting him go. The hardest thing I think I’ve ever done.
I put more jelly on the Q-tip and work on Angelo’s bottom lip. His mouth moves. Like he’s looking for something to suck. Maybe he knows it’s me.
Dave chuckles. “Not too sedated, I see.”
I bite my smile down. But my heart is swelling. Like it’s a toasted marshmallow, too.
“There you are.”
I open my eyes. I focus on Angelo’s plump little hand, about five inches from my face.
I sit up, lick my lips moist, and stretch.
Goldie is staring at me. She don’t look so good. She’s wearing glasses now and her ponytail is all mussed up. “I’ve been looking for you.”
The clock says 12:00. Well you haven’t been looking too hard, ’cause I been right here for the past two hours. I want to say it, but I don’t. Bertie’s right. So is Doc. We need all these folks on our side. For Angelo.
Bertie’s still asleep in the rocker. Goldie gives him a look like he smells something awful—which he doesn’t—then comes over to me.
“You shouldn’t be leaning on his bed like that,” she says, her voice kind of nasty.
I take a slow breath, count to five. I lean back in my chair, cross my arms. It hurts my boobs, so I let my arms down. But I still stare daggers at her.
Goldie doesn’t notice. She’s checking Angelo, feeling his feet, listening to his chest. She picks up the tubes, helping the liquid drain out. She writes some notes on her clipboard.
“Dr. Love wants to speak with you.” Goldie goes to the phone.
I sit up. I look at the clock again. Goldie’s dialing.
“Um, isn’t it too late to call him?”
She ignores me. “Hey, Josh, how’s it going? . . . Sorry, no, nothing’s wrong. Yeah, I know, I called on the landline so you could talk to your patient.” Goldie has her back to me, but her voice is pretty loud. “BP is stable. In’s and out’s respectable. Still on pressors, no change there. Gave him some packed RBCs about an hour ago.”
I’m not following what she’s saying, but her tone is relaxed. So it makes me relaxed. Guess Angelo’s doing okay. For now.
“Hey—how’s Sandra doing?” Goldie’s typing on the computer as she talks. The phone on her hip, some weird combination of a walkie-talkie and a cell, goes off. “Great, tell her good luck from me. PICU is calling about the transplant, so I’ve got to go. Yeah, she’s standing right here, hold on.” She sticks her arm out at me, the landline phone in her hand.
I stare at it. Goldie picks up the other phone/walkie-talkie. “Cards,” she says into it. She listens. “Have you gone up on the epi?” She shakes the hand with the landline phone at me, frowning.
I take the phone. “Hello?”
“Mari, how are you doing?” Doc is whispering. He’s probably whispering because his wife is sleeping.
“Fine,” I whisper back. Goldie power walks off, still barking questions into the walkie-talkie.
“I’m sorry I didn’t get to stop by today. I couldn’t get away.”
I don’t say nothing. I shouldn’t be pissed. It’s his day off. I know how doctors' schedules work. They can’t always be in the hospital. But I am kind of pissed. I thought he was more than just my baby’s doctor. He told me he would be here today. He shouldn’t have said nothing if he couldn’t keep his promise.
“Mari, are you there?” He’s talking regular. Must’ve stepped into another room. His voice does something to me. I feel small and scared. The anger and attitude all stripped away.
“Yeah,” I say, hating that my lip is trembling.
“Dr. Moses called me after the surgery and Dr. Goldstein has been updating me regularly. I’ve also been checking in with Maggie and Gloria, to make sure the others were giving me the real scoop.” He gives a chuckle, but I don’t feel like laughing. He clears his throat.
“So do you understand what’s been happening?”
I stay quiet, so he starts telling me.
“Angelo’s had a rough time. But he’s doing as well as can be expected. I don’t want to give you false hope, but I’m very pleased with how this day has ended for him. The arrest was horrible, but it pushed our hand and made us give him the surgery earlier than we would have, which is really what he needed.”
He pauses, giving me time to say something. I still don’t.
“Maggie told me you were there when it happened. I can’t imagine what that must have been like for you.”
I turn away from Angelo’s bed, curling in on myself. I don’t want Bertie or Dave or anyone to see me like this.
“I wish I could’ve been there, Mari. But I heard José came by. Is it good that he’s there? Is he supporting you?”
I let the pause draw out, knowing I’ve got to say something. “I guess.” The words sound thick and shaky.
Doc sighs. “Look, I am really sorry I wasn’t there for you today. As soon as I can get away, I’ll come by for a visit. Okay?”
“Sure,” I say, trying real hard to sound bored.
I hang up.
Bertie’s awake, watching me. “Who was that?” he asks. “The doc,” I say, looking at the ground, hoping Bertie can’t see my face too well.
He doesn’t say anything else. Even though I’m pretty sure he already saw my face.