I wake up the next morning feeling hungover, even though I haven’t had a thing to drink. Oh my God, is this what a real domestic argument feels like? Thank God, my parents only had completely ridiculous, totally unnecessary ones. I can’t imagine growing up like that.
The reason for my yelling hangover comes back loud and clear. Stone, the pills, the overnight bag he took to bed last night instead of me.
God, what a mess…
It’s a workday but all I want to do is pull the covers back over my head and pretend that real life doesn’t exist for a little while longer.
But then Garnet’s voice suddenly crackles from the baby monitor I keep beside my bed. Not exactly a cry, but something else. More like a noise of surprise.
I sit up to look at the video feed on one elbow, just in time to see a figure entering her room. It’s Stone, and Stone has a bottle fisted in one of his meaty hands. Motherly instinct wars with confused curiosity as I watch him go over to the crib.
“Hey, Garnet…I’m uh…Stone. Pop, I guess. Whatever you want to call me. I got a bottle. You want it or you only about the tit in the morning?”
He waits, as if he’s expecting her to answer. Then when she doesn’t, he tries to hand it to her. “Here, take it. I brought it for you.”
Okay, wow, mercy replaces curiosity, as I climb out of bed to save both the baby and Stone.
By the time I make it into her room, she’s crying, because she can’t figure out how to pick up the bottle of breastmilk by herself and Stone’s resorted to bribing her. “What do you want? Apple juice? Candy?” He pulls out his billfold. “I got money. How much you want to stop crying?”
Apparently, Garnet isn’t nearly as easy to bribe as someone working for the state. She cries even harder when Stone waves a Franklin in her face.
“Thank fuck you’re here,” Stone says when he sees me in the doorway.
Ayayay, language. But I’m laughing too hard to chastise him as I pick up poor Garnet.
“Yeah, you need to give her a tit,” he tells me. “I was trying to feed her. But it went sideways real quick. Now she’s mad.”
“She’s not mad, she’s just hungry,” I tell him.
But instead of latching her on, like I usually do in the mornings, I make a sudden decision. “Here, hold out your arms.”
“Like this?”
Stone holds his arms straight out in front of him. Like he’s at a blood draw.
“More like this…” I correct. Settling Garnet on one hip, I crook one his arms, and then the other. Like he’s a Ken doll. You know, that one bald Ken doll, who’s capable of killing a man twelve different ways, but doesn’t know how to hold a baby.
“I don’t think this is such a good idea,” Stone says as I settle Garnet into his arms.
“No, it’s a great idea,” I answer.
Panic flashes across Stone’s face, when Garnet starts to bawl, like I’ve handed her off to a bear. “Look she’s already crying. She wants you.”
“She wants her bottle,” I correct, fishing it out of the crib.
As if trying to prove my point for me, Garnet calms down as soon as I plug the bottle into her mouth. And, she continues to suckle even after I replace my hand with Stone’s.
“See?” I tell him after a few moments of peaceful milk guzzling. “Babies are easy. They just want to be held and fed.”
Stone nods. “Yeah, this ain’t so hard,” he admits. “No wonder Luca doesn’t mind doing this shit.”
I wince. “We’re going to have to have a conversation about the insane amount of language you use around children. Especially now that Talia’s here. But yeah, you’ve got it. Congratulations.”
A few beats, as if he’s trying to figure out what a real human should say, then he answers, “Yeah, thanks for showing me.”
We both watch Garnet suckle the bottle for a few more moments, then he adds, “And…uh…sorry about last night.”
He’s not looking at me, but I’m full on staring at him. With my mouth wide open. Did the word “sorry” really just come out of Stone Ferraro’s mouth?
Should I say it’s alright, so that maybe he’ll develop a positive association with saying that word in the future? Or use this unexpected apology as a natural segue into a gentler conversation about his prescription drug abuse? Which is still a huge problem, no matter how many cute babies suckling bottles you insert into it.
“You don’t have to worry about those drugs anymore,” he tells me, as if reading my mind. “I flushed all of them down the toilet this morning. You were right.”
“All of them?” I ask, shaking my head, mind fully blown by the “you were right” cherry on top of the unexpected “sorry” sundae he served up this morning.
But unfortunately, I have to point out. “That might not necessarily be a good thing. If you’ve been taking them since your teens, it’s probably better to see somebody. A psychiatrist, like I said last night.”
He goes quiet again. So quiet that for minutes on end, there’s no sound in the room, except the sound of Garnet cooing around her bottle.
Which means she’s done. I should take it from her, but I remain frozen in front of Stone as I wait for his answer.
“Okay,” he says, his voice gruff, but lacking its usual menace. “If that’s what you think it takes for me to be a good father, tell me where to go to get my head shrinked. For Garnet. For Rock.”
Okay, well, I wouldn’t have put it like that. But Stone putting it like anything, quite frankly feels like a win, a huge one.
“I’m just worried is all,” he says. “I’ve done things. Easily. If I’m some kind of monster on the drugs. How will I be off of them? I mean, I’ve been popping pills ever since I was twelve.”
“I don’t know how you’ll be,” I admit. But then I think of what Keane said a few months ago. “Maybe you’ll surprise yourself.”
Just like he’s surprised me. For the first time since I met him at my kitchen table, I reach out to touch Stone on purpose, tentatively laying a hand on his arm.
He tenses. But doesn’t push me away. And, it feels….
Wow, I can’t believe I’m thinking this. Especially after the way we met, the way we got married, and the way we ugly fought last night.
But this morning….
This morning feels like a fresh start.