K. Randis - Spilled Milk

“Expensive. Just drink it.”

I had been here before. She had on pressed khakis and a tailored blouse. She wore minimal makeup and you would never guess that she was Irish with her sun bronzed skin. Her tennis rackets leaned against the house on the other side of the porch. I imagined her with her trainer that morning gushing about her favorite niece that was coming to visit later that day. The house was immaculate, dinner was perfect and the wine was dangerously smooth.

We sipped and made comments about the gorgeous weather and my aunt’s ten pound weight gain. It trailed off into talk of boys and honors classes, and ended where it always did.

“So your mom is due any day now huh?”

“Probably next week. Hopefully. I don’t want to miss it.”

“I know you don’t.” She swirled her glass. “It was definitely a surprise to the family that she was pregnant again. We all told her we didn’t think it was a good idea.”

I only knew of several times Mom had asked my aunts and uncles for money. Since she broke her back we lived off of Dad’s income. Money was a main issue of the family not approving of the pregnancy, but so was her health.

“She smokes like a banshee and has a broken back. I’ll never understand her.” Aunt Nikki cracked her neck. “We all told her, you know, that we would pay for your mom to take care of it. When she first found out she was pregnant. Health wise, I don’t think she can manage another pregnancy and baby.”

Mom never told me that my aunts and uncles offered to pay for an abortion, but it didn’t surprise me. My Uncle Bruce was shocked when he found out, and called my Dad a number of names before telling my mom she was making a big mistake. No one seemed happy about the pregnancy except me.

“She’s stubborn.” I wet my lips with wine. “You know I’ll be there to help her though, everything will be okay.”

Aunt Nikki turned towards me and put down her empty wine glass. She held up both hands. “Ah, Brooke you’re so…” She smoothed her hair and her eyes glimmered with almost tears. “You’re so mature. And together. I envy you.” She sighed. “How are things with your dad?”

I sucked in a breath.

Great. Fine. Wonderful. It’s okay.

As I tried to figure out which lie to use, I realized I paused one second too long.

“Brooke?”

I twisted my hands around my wine glass. “They’re… okay.”

Whenever Dad got brought up in any conversation I would offer the answer that everyone wanted to hear, that things were great. I looked at my Aunt. This time, I didn’t want to try and mask it.

I forced her to recognize the change in my demeanor. My eyes pleaded with her to probe further, to ask me more questions. I wanted her to serve more wine so I could tell her the truth. I couldn’t say what I needed to out loud on my own. I needed her to ask. I needed someone to notice the changes in my face, and run with my hints. The questions never came though.

Aunt Nikki slid open the back door and grabbed the bottle of wine. She topped off my glass and sat down with the bottle between her legs. “We’ll go shopping tomorrow.” The bottle tipped into her mouth, and without looking at me again she slid down into her recliner. “When in doubt, go shopping.”

Aunt Nikki had to buy me a new suitcase to lug all the new clothes back to Pennsylvania with me. She pushed a strand of blonde hair behind her ear as she made me promise to make sure I visit at least once a year, to call her because she would forget and that she loved me.

On the plane I had a chance to regroup with the past week. Dad never got brought up again, even though I tried one more time while we were making dinner the night before I left. I was beginning to think that I would never be strong enough to admit to anything, and that even if I put out an S.O.S with fireworks, whoever I was trying to tell just wouldn’t understand.

I constructed a Plan B. After high school I would find a college as far away from Pennsylvania as I could. I would tell Kat what was going on right before I left so she could move out, and I just wouldn’t let myself get attached to this new baby enough to care. I was starting to feel broken down and for the first time the thought of leaving everything behind and never coming back put a smile on my face.

They wanted to induce Mom’s labor a few days after I got home since they were concerned that if they let her go into natural labor it would be harder for her to manage with her back. Mom and Dad left around seven that night to go to the hospital and Grandma came up from Long Island to help mom with the baby after she got home.

Around eleven that night we still didn’t hear anything but a lot of family kept calling to ask. Grandma and I decided to put everyone in bed, and since I knew she could sleep through a tornado I offered to keep the phone by my pillow for when they called.

At three in the morning the phone screamed next to me and I jumped up. “Hello? Dad? Is the baby here?”

“Put Grandma on, Brooke.”

“Okay. Did Mom have the baby?”

“Brooke.” His voice was barely above a whisper. “Wake up Grandma and put her on.”

I fled down the stairs and shook Grandma awake, handing her the phone. She covered her eyes against the living room light I had flicked on and before she could speak she fell quiet. She pressed the phone to her ear and tears started falling.

It wasn’t until Dad came home two hours later that I realized the seriousness of what had happened to Mom. Grandma wouldn’t tell me anything even though she hung up with my Dad and started calling all my aunts and uncles, telling them they needed to get to Pennsylvania as soon as possible.

When Dad walked through the door, his eyes were red and he lead Adam and I into the kitchen. “Mom had somewhat of a heart attack. She lost a lot of blood. A lot. She’s on a respirator cause she can’t breathe on her own.” Several family members had shown up and everyone crowded in the kitchen.

“Everything was going perfect until the last three minutes. Mom kept saying she felt like she was going to pass out, so the nurse put an oxygen mask on her. Mom kept trying to pull it off.” He wiped a tear from the scruff on his cheek.

“Then, the baby came out. He wasn’t breathing. The nurses tried to revive him, and then suddenly Molly just got limp in my arms.” He held up his arms to show where she had been laying.

“She turned blue. The doctor just stood there a minute, like he didn’t know what to do. They asked me to leave. A few minutes later a nurse came out and told me that if she had any family that I should tell them to come to the hospital. They’re convinced she isn’t going to make it.”

“Did the baby die?” I was the first to ask a question.

Dad nodded. “For ten minutes he did. They were able to get him back and he’s on a respirator too. They worked on Mom for over fifteen minutes before they got her back.”

Moms don’t die. Mine doesn’t. She broke her back and had Shingles. She popped pills to keep functioning and popped pills to keep numb. She had leg surgery, and foot surgery. She always made it seem like she could die because of whatever sickness or injury she had at the time, but she never did. The one time she’s sure she’ll be back, something goes horribly wrong?

As family members filed through the house Dad had to re-tell his story several times. It wasn’t until the third or fourth time I heard it everything started to sink in. Mom was leaving us. She was going to die. I leaned on my grandma, traumatized, unable to cry. Grandma looked down at me, for the first time looking old.

“Okay,” Dad said, “Let’s organize into groups to head up to the hospital.”

After three cars of people were claimed and a friend of the family offered to stay behind to cook and watch after the kids I pushed my way to the front of the crowd.