He hesitated, but then said, “Well, sure.”
We kicked a lot of names around. Alex. Jamie. Avery. Riley. Emory. Ryan. But finally we settled on Casey. If it’s a boy, Casey David. If it’s a girl, which it is, Casey Nicole. Strong, and feminine. It makes me happy.
What pleased me that evening was feeling like Jason and I had discussed something important, and come to a mutual decision. It struck me how few conversations of real importance I’d shared with him—or anyone, straight from struggling high school student to wife and soon-to-be mother. Does that make me an actual adult, despite being just seventeen?
The rest of the weekend was pretty cool. I even talked Jason into hiking, and decided I liked camping okay. Except for the stinky mattress. He dropped me off Sunday evening at home and drove back to Fort Hood, where we’re waiting for an affordable house big enough to suit a family of three.
Meanwhile, I’m doing my best to stay out of my mother’s way. If she was cold before, she’s a corpse now—frigid, hard, unmoving. She did agree to let me live here until I move or she does, and her plans are to go end of this month. April. Spring. New lives beginning.
Yesterday, Tati and I drove to Houston for the Astros-Rockies game she bought tickets to for my birthday. I was pretty excited because the day before the Astros had routed the Rockies, 15–2. But that must’ve used up their home run allotment for the week, because they lost 5–3.
Still, I got to spend the whole day with Tati, gorging on junk food and soda, things I never enjoy at home and am supposed to limit now. I figured one day wouldn’t make me or the baby fat. And Tati, of course, couldn’t care less.
“These are the best hot dogs I’ve ever had!” she said, and she must’ve meant it, because she ate three over the course of the afternoon. I limited myself to two. Plus a soft pretzel, peanuts, and an ice cream bar.
Apparently, something I ate made Casey happy, because bottom of the ninth, while Tati and I yelled at our team to get it together, there was a stuttering movement inside me. At first I thought it must be hot-dog gas, but then it happened again, and I knew my baby was saying hello to me, and to Tati, and to the Astros, despite their dismal performance.
“Oh my God!” I exclaimed.
“Hey, it’s just a game,” Tati said.
“No. Put your hand right there and wait.” I guided her to a spot just beneath my belly button.
It didn’t take long. “Holy shit,” she said. “It’s alive.”
We laughed and laughed.
Pretty sure Casey was giggling, too.
Ariel
Life Just Got Weird
Good weird, but still . . .
I’ve no idea how to react.
So, the other day, post-TV
and newspaper interviews, I asked Charles, aka
Mr. Grantham, aka Hillary’s dad, if we could visit her, and despite a tepid protest from the nurse on duty,
Charles’s insistence paid off.
Gabe and I were allowed
a couple of bedside minutes.
Guess pulling strings isn’t hard when you’re an important politician, someone with a name people recognize. Or maybe it’s more about the clout of money.
Either way, we got to say hi.
Hillary Looked Awful
Her skin was the color of chalk on a blackboard. Mostly gray.
Tubes threaded into her arm delivered some sort of fluid sustenance—mostly sugar
water would be my guess,
but what do I know, except
for what I’ve seen on TV shows?
Regardless, when she opened
her eyes, which were shut
against the glare or maybe
to invite unconsciousness,
she smiled. Ariel. Thank you.
Her eyes didn’t seem focused, so I wasn’t sure why she was thanking me. “For what, Hillary?”
But she didn’t hesitate. For taking care of Niagara. That horse means everything to me.
She’s, like, my best friend.
That sounds stupid, I know, but if something bad would’ve happened to her . . .
It didn’t sound stupid at all.
I understand not having friends, and relying on the next best thing.
Then Her Attention Turned
Toward Gabe, and that was when
I realized that whatever liquid
her IV pumped was supplying her
with more than sugar. Major painkillers were involved. Oh. I remember you. Except, I don’t know you.
Except I think I should. You were there, weren’t you? Who . . .
I’m Gabe, and I’m Ariel’s friend.
Yes, I was there, too. Ariel sent me to find you while she reasoned with Niagara. I know nothing about horses.
“Well, that’s not exactly true,”
I argue. “But we can talk about it when you’re better. We just came to say we care about you.” So. Weird.
Strange enough she barely knew
how to respond, especially with
that feel-good drip. I . . . uh . . . really?
She about choked on the last word.
For whatever reason, “Of course”
fell out of my mouth, and I still don’t really understand why.
Is it because she looked so fragile?
Fragile
I’m Feeling That Way
Now, in fact, and it has everything to do with my growing confusion.