“Ma, what are you talking about? You guys laughed. You talked. I didn’t hear any fighting.”
“Sometimes, it’s the lack of fighting that is an indicator that things aren’t right. We used to fight. We used to get angry. But feelings faded. We struggled to connect. It’d been like that for years. I’m not saying I was ready to give up. I had a hard time with the divorce, but we hadn’t been happy.”
It feels like everything I’ve believed since I was a teenager has been flipped on its axis. For years, I’ve thought my father just found a younger woman and decided out with the old.
Ma’s tears are etched in my mind like an open wound that won’t close. I can still hear her sobs, and it brings me back.
Being a child of divorced parents creates a sense of uncertainty. You feel like the world isn’t safe. Like at the drop of a dime, everything can be taken from you. That there’s no one, not even your family, who will love you unconditionally.
“I don’t know what to say.” My voice cracks as I look down at the table, trying to process this.
“You’re not your father. You watched him give up on marriage and thought you had it inside of you, like leaving is a disease. It’s a decision people make or don’t make.”
She gives me a small, sad smile. “Your father ran from commitment when things got hard. You? You’re running from an idea that you might be like him. The risk isn’t in loving someone. The real risk is letting fear stop you from having something good, just because it might one day hurt.”
She’s right. Leaving is a choice. It’s my decision to run if it gets hard; it’s not something I’m born with.
I can do this. Iwantto do this. Iwantmy family.
“Eva’s pregnant,” I blurt out.
Her breath catches in her throat. “She’s … pregnant. You’re going to be a father? I’m going to be …” She can’t even get the word out.
“A grandma.” I smile, finishing for her. “Yes.”
She chokes on her tears, as I just handed her the dream she has always had. A grandbaby to spoil.
“I went to talk to Eva today. She’d been distant for almost a week.” Thinking about what I saw when I walked in brings tears to my eyes. “She was in such intense pain, screaming. Then she told me she was pregnant.”
Ma’s lip begins to tremble; she’s no doubt wondering about the health of her grandbaby as we sit in the hospital, and I recall the memory from hours earlier.
“I got her here. They wouldn’t let me stay.” Tears run down my cheeks. “I was so scared. I thought I was going to lose her and my baby.”
Ma cries with me, feels the pain that tore through me. “Where are they?” she whispers.
I wipe the tears that continue to spill. “Upstairs. Eva is okay. It’s a ruptured mass on her ovary. She should heal with rest and monitoring over the next couple of days.”
“And my grandbaby?”
“We don’t know.” I shake through the admission. “We don’t know, Ma.”
“Oh, Roman.” She stands up and joins my side, pulling me into her arms.
We cry together at the idea that my baby’s safety is not guaranteed. The baby that I instantly fell in love with the moment I knew it existed. Inside the belly of the most amazing woman that I’ve ever known.
“What do you know?” she asks eventually.
“They tested her blood today. The hormone level right now is ideal for how far along she is. We just won’t know if the baby is growing and safe until tomorrow, when they test again.”
Ma grabs my hand. “That’s a good sign.”
I nod my head. A good sign is not enough. I need to know my baby is okay. I won’t rest until I know.
“What had you so worked up when I got here?” she asks, like she knows there’s more. “Does it have to do with the red mark on your cheek?”
I touch my cheek, one that’s been throbbing since Walker punched me. “Walker.”
“Ah, he didn’t know either.”