“Right.” I’ve expressed as much over the years. I can do this again, I always say. I’d have another. Because my son hasn’t kicked me down. When I look at him, I might as well be flying.
“Then we have to start trying and planning or else it’ll never happen. We’re too good at procrastinating, and we can’t procrastinate on this. It’s our family.” She takes a breath, not finished yet. “And I decided to tell you today because I’d rather make this decision on my worst day than my best. I need to remember that there will be plenty of bad, shitty days, and those bad, shitty days can’t derail my future…our future.”
My eyes burn, my emotions flooding me at once. Jesus Christ. I’m going to cry, and she’s not even crying. “Lily Hale.” I wipe a tear that escapes. “Way to be better at Valentine’s Day than me.”
She bursts into a smile. “Really? Is that a yes?”
I nod a couple times. “You and me—we might not be geniuses or adventurers, but we’re good together.” I pause, the words just hitting me hard. “Because our worst days can become our best.” I wear a half-smile. “And because the sex is great.”
She’s beaming. “I’ve decided that I’m glad I don’t have time-travel powers.”
“Not even to fix that time your porn played in class?” I tease.
She flushes, and it takes all her strength to shake her head. “You’re there in that memory. Sitting beside me. And I don’t want to miss any day with you.”
I hug her to my chest. “No time-travel powers for you.”
She lifts her chin up to look at me. “Teleportation is still on the table. I promise I’ll take you with me.”
“Where are we going?”
“Hogwarts.”
“Good thinking.” Priorities. Magic is always number one.
[ 12 ]
February 2019
Log Cabin
Aspen, Colorado
CONNOR COBALT
“I don’t feel well, Daddy,” Jane whispers so softly I just barely catch the words. Sitting on the edge of her twin bed, I pull a stitched quilt to her neck, a thermometer in my left hand. She’s warm but no fever. I wipe her runny nose with a tissue, fatigue weighing down her eyelids.
I kiss her forehead. “Je sais, mon c?ur.” I know, my heart.
She’s not the only one sick on this trip.
Lo had a cold since yesterday on the private plane to Colorado. He quarantined himself in the back cabin, but the illness still seemed to spread to Jane and Daisy.
Last night, Lo deliriously and mistakenly texted me. I was sitting across from him in the living room of our rented log cabin. Bundled in blankets and empty tissues boxes, he made what Lily called a “sick nest” for no one to near.
Didn’t mean to get you sick on your 23rd. Who has worse luck: you, me, or my brother? – Lo His text was meant for Daisy. We all took off work this week to celebrate her birthday. We don’t always go somewhere around February 20th, but this was a good month for us to leave work behind.
I replied to Lo: I don’t believe in luck, darling.
He didn’t even realize that I texted him. His phone slid from his hand, thudding to the floorboards, and he fell into a weak, tired sleep.
Jane shivers beneath her covers. I stroke her damp hair, and while cold medicine combats her symptoms, I try to ease her to sleep with history about Eleanor Roosevelt, her namesake. If I leave out a detail, she usually points out that I skipped a part, and she’ll argue until I retell the history from the beginning again.
Rose said that Jane reminds her of me.
I said that Jane reminds me of her.
Rose and I determined that we’re alike in many ways, and so it’s no surprise that our children will be too. Lily then interjected, “You’re the same nerd stars you’ve always been.”
I watch Jane try to shut her eyes, but she forces them open as I reach the 1920s in Eleanor’s history. She loves this section because of how animated and passionate Rose becomes when relaying the 19th Amendment and how Eleanor joined the League of Women Voters. Rose paints women as the superheroes they are, and she bolsters this truth until our daughter believes she is one too.
No matter how much Rose and I are the same, we’re also drastically different. And I can never replace Rose in Jane’s heart.
I skip one detail to see if she’s listening.
Jane misses this, eyes glazed and staring at the quilt that’s not hers. We’re in a place that she sees as strange and foreign. This isn’t the first time she’s been sick, but it’s the first time she’s cognizant of the illness, of what it means to be sick. So for Jane, this feels like the true first time.
Tearfully, she says, “I want Mommy.”
I lift Jane out of the bed and hold her in my arms. She cries softly against my chest. Her tears. Her illness. It’s all temporary. It will eventually end, and no matter how much I think it, this misery she experiences for the first time in her life overcomes me.
I don’t stand up. I can’t bring her to Rose. I’ve already told her why. Rose is six-months pregnant and can’t risk catching a fever. Through these circumstances, Jane lost the option to be comforted by her mother, and this frightens her, maybe even more than being sick.
Rose is always there for Jane. For everyone.
I brush Jane’s tears with my thumb, her arms around my neck. For any adult, I’d be able to supply what they need, but children have wishes that drift into fantasy.
She sniffs and mutters, “Can…can you make my nose stop?”
I wipe her nose with another tissue.
“Pour toujours?” Forever?
My lips rise for a short moment. “You’ll feel better when you close your eyes and sleep. Would you like me to stay for a while longer?”
Jane nods repeatedly, rubbing her eyes. “Please, Daddy.” She coughs a little, but not as much as she did during the evening.
I tuck her back into bed, her PJs mismatched Cheetah print pants and pink plaid top. And I whisper close to her ear, “I love you.”
She mumbles quietly an I love you too and then tries to shut her eyes. I stay seated on the edge of her bed, my hand on her arm. The darkened room is decorated in cabin décor, mostly fish-patterned items like a rug, a lamp, even the knobs on a dresser are shaped like trout.
Thirty minutes in this room and the second twin bed has been empty the entire time. Quilt rumpled to the bottom. I notice the warm glow of light beneath the bathroom door, but no sound has come from there.
Daisy is sharing a room with my daughter, so Jane wouldn’t be scared alone and so Daisy wouldn’t pass the cold onto Sullivan.
I don’t jump to irrational conclusions.
Most likely, Daisy is awake and downstairs. It’s around 5:00 a.m.—and I can’t always discern whether or not my sister-in-law sleeps more than she used to. I don’t live with her anymore, and Frederick is too moral to offer information about her therapy sessions.
As much as I care about Daisy’s health, I have no real reason to pry. No advantages. Nothing at stake. So I haven’t in a while.
Jane has finally shut her eyes, soft breaths through her parted lips, so I quietly stand. She never stirs or wakes.
I pull my navy shirt off my head, soaked in tears and mucus, and I walk to the bathroom. I plan to wash my hands before I return to Rose.
Ping.
Ping.
Ping.
Cell notifications.
Then my phone starts buzzing with texts.
Wonderful. Anytime there’s a sudden onslaught of messages, I’m not being presented with good news. I type in my passcode and then graze over the email notifications from my publicist, a Cobalt Inc. board member, and investors.
Naomi Ando 5:04 a.m.
How would you like me to respond…
Steve Balm 5:04 a.m.
Ridiculous. I’m contacting the company lawyers…
Kent O’Neill 5:05 a.m.
Hi Mr. Cobalt,
How will this (link below) affect future investmen…