Hemmingway

The food I’ve managed to consume and hold down sits like lead at the bottom of my gullet. The impending talk Tyson wants to have has my anxiousness soaring. Opening up those wounds is going to be hard, and challenging, but it’s something that can’t be put off, even if I’d like to have a little more time before ripping off that scab.

When we’re finished eating, Tyson grabs our containers and tosses them in the trash. With no way to store my leftovers to eat later, there was no other alternative than to throw them away, even if it’s a waste. My stomach violently twists with that thought. Food has been scarce for me, so the fact that it’s so easily discarded doesn’t sit well with me.

My eyes droop now that my belly is full. With my body satiated, the fight to not succumb to sleep is getting harder with each passing second. A pad of stationery landing with a resounding plop in front of me has my head snapping up. I’m suddenly alert and at attention.

“I know you're tired, Hemmi. Pops has a man who’s going to pick up supplies for us and he’ll need to know what he’s shopping for. I can make an educated guess, but that doesn’t mean I won’t miss a few things that you or they’ll need.”

“Yeah. Okay,” I mumble as my shaky hands pick up the pen he laid down next to the pad of paper and start jotting down the basic necessities the babies need.

“Don’t hold back, Hemmi. Money’s not an issue, and you’ve all three been denied shit long enough. Don’t get stuck on the mundane stuff.” Even though his tone is soft, it’s also unyielding. “I know you’re independent and hate being reliant on somebody else, but Master would tan your hide if he found out you were limiting yourself.”

The prompt desire to roll my eyes stays in the background, barely, because even though my brother is overbearing and protective, Tyson can be just as pigheaded. He’d be the first one to sound the horn, tattling on me if I didn’t get more than the basic essentials.

It’s been a long time since I’ve penned anything. My fingers cramp, but I push forward. The only thing that matters to me is getting the key supplies that’ll make taking care of my babies easier. I’m not sure what formula is out on the market. I wasn’t able to do any comparisons or window shop before I was taken. I’m not sure which type or brand to ask for.

They’ve never had a supplement, always dependent on my breast milk, so I’m not sure if they’re lactose intolerant.

What mother doesn’t know these sorts of things?

Deciding it’s better to be safe than sorry where they’re concerned, I mark it down to get something soy based. I do know that’s a bit more expensive, but Honor and Haven are worth the extra cost. I also have to take a hypothesized guess on what sizes they are. Anger rises in my chest over being denied knowing these things about my own children!

The small, sleepful coo from Haven snaps me out of it. I continue thinking, adding items that I do know about. In my arms, they feel no heavier or lighter than ten pounds, so I go with that assumption and hope that I’m right. I don’t want things to be snug on them, but I also don’t want anything that’ll droop on them and get them tangled. They need diapers, clothes, wipes, bottles, and receiving blankets.

“What has your face scrunched up like that, Hemmi?” Tyson asks, and I let my irritation fly.

“I can only make a guess on how much they weigh, and don’t know what sizes they’re going to need. It makes me angry and volatile,” I confess, chewing on my bottom lip. I don’t mention that it also makes me feel like a failure. That’d start an argument and a lecture, none of which I want to take part in or hear.

“Hmm,” he hums, stroking his beard with his hand as he considers the predicament. “Just jot down the items for now. I have an idea on how we can get their weight, but it’ll mean me running down the street to get what I need. I’ll be fifteen minutes, tops.” He raps his knuckles on the table before standing up. “Same rules apply as the last time I stepped out that door.”

“Don’t worry, Tyson. I have no plans on inviting any strangers in and I remember where all the emergency contact numbers are.”

“Right. I’ll be back,” he announces, leaving me alone with my thoughts, while he goes and gets whatever it is he was thinking would help us solve the riddle of their weight.

A few other ideas hit me and I add them to the sheet as well—baby shampoo and bath soap, powder, and lotion. Then I start on me. My outward appearance doesn’t matter to me. I just need to be comfortable while recovering, plus taking care of the twins, and get some outfits that aren’t confining.

The weather here in Texas is staggering and unpredictable. The state is on steroids and it’s like a box of assorted chocolate. You never know what you’re going to get until you take a chomp to solve the mystery of what confection is in the middle. One day, it’s hotter than Hades, and the next, it’s a cooler climate that’ll have you shivering and shimmying into a sweater. Then I compose a catalog of hygienic goodies.

I’m tapping the cap end of the pen to my chin when Tyson comes strolling in. A medium-sized box is clutched in his hand. It takes a second for me to recognize it. “A scale? Do you think it’ll calculate their weight if they’re squirming?”

“It’s better than nothing. We’ll lay them on it while they’re sleeping. That should help. I think,” he muses.

Mulling that over, I’ve noticed that even in their sleep, they are restless unless they feel the other beside them. They’ll have to be apart long enough for us to get through this. I just hope it doesn’t piss them off to the point that they scream the walls down.

“I think I’ve got everything,” I state, lifting the pad in the air and waving it around. “The only thing that’s missing is their sizes.”

“Let me get this out of its packaging and then we’ll see,” he suggests, pulling out his pocketknife and stabbing it into the box before slicing it at a downward angle.

When he has it on the ground and has twisted the knob to where the red line is aligned with the zero, he steps on it to check its accuracy. “We’re good.”

Something nags at me. It takes me a moment to figure out what that is and I jump into action. Walking over to the scale, I check the surface, and as I suspected, it’s frosty to the touch. Most bathrooms hold a hairdryer, so I rush into the space and scavenge through the drawers.

“Aha!” I holler in elation as I bend over and plug it in. Making sure it’s on the highest setting, I let the warm air blow on it and thaw it. I check it periodically, and when I feel like it won’t chill their skin, I shut it off.

“That was ingenious. I would’ve never thought about checking or doing that,” Tyson admits, shaking his head.

Shrugging my shoulders, dismissing the compliment, I casually say, “They’ll need to be bare to get a right reading. I didn’t want them to get cold. I was afraid it’d royally piss them off, and they’d cry out.”

“Yeah. That’d be bad, wouldn’t it?” He scans the scale as if it’s an enemy waiting to harm one of the babies. I shake my head and pick up Haven. Unwrapping her diaper, I lay down the towel and then put her gently onto the device, hoping she stays somewhat still. Her little body wiggles and a frown of unhappiness, in addition to the quivering of her bottom lip, erupts. However, only a small, displeased whimper escapes, and I relax and deflate, knowing we’ve gotten lucky and have avoided a teary meltdown.

As I wrap her back up, I ask Tyson, “Can you grab Honor for me?”

“Just pick him up?” he asks. I twist my head and see the trepidation plastered on his face.

Giggling, I tell him, “Support his head with one hand and secure his butt with your other. It takes a lot more than people presume to hurt babies.” I’m not sure how accurate I am with what I’ve just told him, but if I didn’t give him a push, he’d never lay a finger on him.

Tyson is a lot of things, a brute, a hardass, and heavy handed, but I know he won’t hurt Honor and he’ll be cautious with him.

“You’re sure? He looks pretty damn fragile, Hemmi.”

“Hey!” I snap until he looks over at me. “You picked him and Haven up then carried them down two flights of stairs when you found us. This isn’t any different from that.”

“He had clothes on his little body then though,” he contends, as if that article was some sort of protective shield that’d keep him from coming to harm.

“You’ve got this,” I calmly encourage.

I watch as he sets his resolve and bends over. “Okay, little man. We’re gonna get you over to your momma.” My eyes are entirely trained on the way his muscles constrict that I don’t realize until it’s too late to warn him that he shouldn't have undone Honor’s diaper until the very last minute. “What the fuck?” he shouts, leaping back as a stream of pee sprays everywhere. Some of it squirts inside of his opened mouth. Tyson gags, his tongue swooping out of his mouth, trying to get the taste out. “Hemmi.” His whining has me bowled over, Haven now wide awake, trying to figure out what’s going on around her.

When I calm down, I start to wipe the stray tears from my laughter away. I notice him using the towel that was lying underneath Honor to brush his tongue. As if it’s divine intervention, and Honor is paying him back for being overly dramatic, another stream of urine releases and hits Tyson square between the eyes.

“Oh no,” I gasp, as Tyson rubs his eyes with the palms of his hands. His beard, face, and hair are soaked from the golden spritzed shower. “Go to the bathroom and rinse off.” On trembling legs, I stand up with Haven and carry her back over to her brother and lay her down beside him. “Here, I’ll guide you while you keep your eyes shut.” I try to keep the snicker out of my voice, but the way he stiffens indicates otherwise.

“Not funny, Hemmi,” he berates. “I’m blind and my taste buds are never going to work the same again. Do you know how much it’s gonna suck not being able to enjoy my food? Not to mention my beer, Hemmi. That in itself is a travesty and is against the law somewhere.” He grumbles the entire ten feet to the bathroom, his eyes still clamped, and his tongue shifting around in his mouth. “I’m gonna need some disinfectant.”

“Yeah. It’s called soap and toothpaste,” I grumpily respond, not understanding how a badass biker, who takes no prisoners, has conspicuously turned into a mopey, teenage girl. It’s a disgrace to hardcore men. After starting the shower, I tell him, “I’ll bring your bag in, Tyson. Get in the shower.”

As I exit, I hear further grousing, and I smirk. That was funny as hell. One day, I’ll tell Honor all about how he turned this outlaw into a sniveling mess. Tyson will never live this down once it gets out there.

* * *

Tyson left shortly after he hopped out of the shower to call Pops. Finally, I can catch a few hours of sleep. The kids got another round of feeding and have on fresh diapers. As I close my eyes, I chuckle, remembering the way Tyson gave a wide berth to Honor as he walked past him, pointing a finger at him, and telling him to keep his piss to himself.

“There’s sharing, then there’s oversharing, little man. Learn the difference between the two before it’s too late,” he mumbled as he stuffed his wallet into the back of his jeans. I find it comical that he doesn’t know how to react to my son now. It’s apparent that he wants to hold him and assure himself that it wasn’t a personal vendetta against him, yet he steers clear, not trusting that there won’t be some sort of cosmic event if he gets close.

Tyson told me that he’d be on the other side of the motel, across the street, and would be within shouting distance before he left, giving me the same instructions as the last two times, before huffing and puffing, then marching away.

With a smile gracing my face, I gave into the exhaustion and fell fast asleep, not hearing the door open when Tyson returned. In a haze, I recall him shaking me to let me know he was going to meet the guy who ran and got our stuff, then it was lights out again.

I sleep like the dead until the twins wake me up, ready to fill their bellies. The sight that greets me when my eyes snap open has my jaw hanging. Tyson diapered the twins. I won’t count it against him that they’re on backward. I’m not sure how he managed that, but it was sweet that he tried. He’s perched on the opposite side of the bed, two bottles leveled in the air with one in each hand, as he leans over them and they suck away on the nipples.

“I accept your apology, little man,” he coos to Honor. Since he didn’t see my eyes open, I close them, not wanting to interrupt or ruin their moment.

My chest squeezes like a vice clamp around my heart. I always knew Tyson was special. I just hadn’t realized the extent of it until now.

If only I wasn’t as broken as I am, and didn’t have a bumpy road ahead of me, I’d explore the feelings flowing through me in regard to this man, but I’m not there and not sure I ever will be.

My trust in humankind has been obliterated, and I don’t think I can ever look at anyone, or trust anyone, like I once did. I’ll never be as naïve nor a believer in the goodness of others, especially those of authority. Those days are gone.

Fuck you, Admiral and Miller. Who gave y’all the right to swoop in and annihilate my life? I wish you nothing but pain and misery for the rest of your living days.