“Boxing is a strange sport; you can overstay your welcome and you can get physically hurt. Wiped out; devastated mentally and physically, you can only take so many shots to the head.” – George Foreman.
September would certainly treat Portia and her family, young and old, much better than August. It began with Portia.
Over the next few weeks, her inner circle did all they could to help her through the misery. The Oxytocin took hold and healed her body, but the Oxycodone hardly took the edge off the pain. Everyone took turns ‘massaging the funda’ – rubbing Portia’s belly and making sure the abdomen and uterus pulled into their proper place. As they did, her stomach muscles strained against the pressure.
When Darren showed up, Portia allowed him to apply ointment to the stitches.
“Use these so I don’t get infection.”
Darren donned a pair of rubber gloves and squirted the ointment onto his fingertips. He smeared it over the stitches. Portia grimaced as he pressed upon the wounds. They bled clear liquid as he pressed against them.
“Is this okay?”
“Yes, but be gentle,” she said with a grimace.
The vaginal discharge continued, too, as the last of the uterine lining cleared out of her body. The nurses and doctors all reassured her it was part of the normal process, even though all of the Gatteau women, including Portia, doubted their ‘expert opinion’.
Meanwhile, Alex still visited all he could, but the first week after Portia’s delivery had taken its toll. Although he moved to second shift at the warehouse and did bookkeeping four days during the week, he still found time to make his daily visits every morning. After work, he returned to the apartment for much needed sleep.
Where Alex could not take care of his sister, Portia’s father stepped in, visiting his daughter every night and staying for long hours.
“Do you want me to sneak anything special into the hospital?”
“Something sugary sweet. How about some Hershey Kisses with Almonds?”
“I think I can manage that.”
Mr. Gatteau went to the store, but could only find the regular Hershey Kisses, not the little copper-covered dollops of chocolate. He did, however, find Hershey bars with almonds. He grabbed a handful and then went to the dairy aisle. He grabbed two jars of milk and was on his way.
“This is all they had.”
“Oh, yummy,” said Portia with a hungry growl.
Mr. Gatteau opened the candy bar and gave it to Portia. As she tried to sit up, her abdomen tweaked and she winced.
“Daddy? I don’t think I can sit up. Can you get me a bendy straw?”
Mr. Gatteau found one of the nurses who got him a handful of bendy straws. He took them to Portia’s room and fixed it so she could drink without having to sit upright.
“Thank you so much.”
He leaned in and Portia gave him a peck o the cheek. They talked about all sorts of things while they enjoyed the Hershey bars. Mostly, it was stories about mom.
Mrs. Gatteau refused to spend long hours at the hospital. It upset Portia quite a bit. Although she tried keeping it a secret, it showed every time her father spoke of home. Even if her mother didn’t come to see her, Portia expected, at least, for her to come and visit the grandbaby.
“Your mom couldn’t come,” explained her father, “It’s Tuesday night and you know she’s got Bingo on Tuesdays.”
“That doesn’t explain all the other nights you’ve come alone.”
“She’s been here. You’ve just been asleep.”
“Quit defending her, daddy.”
“She tries, Portia, but she’s busy.”
Portia sighed. Her mom had never been too busy for Phoebe. Portia even recalled how her mother made special trips when Phoebe had tonsillitis. Certainly, that wasn’t as significant as the last three days of August.
“It doesn’t matter to me.”
Mr. Gatteau avoided news about mom from that point onward. Instead, he talked what he was doing with himself, which brought the two of them closer together. He shared old stories from his days growing up.
A few days later, he talked about his days working for the Navy. As he talked about life on board the Light Cruiser, Phoebe interrupted him.
“How did you meet mom?”
“You know how I met her.”
“Tell me anyway.”
“I worked at the APO and your mom worked for the local Post Office in Norfolk. She’d ready the mailbags and I’d load them onto the truck so we could take the mail to sailors overseas.”
“That’s so romantic,” said Portia, “I wish I could have that.”
“We just spent a lot of time together because of our work. It wasn’t any different than what you could have with Darren.”
“I guess, but it’s not really the same.”
“Get your head out of the clouds, Portia. Love and romance aren’t necessarily the same thing. You choose a partner you can live with, not the one you’re head-over-heels for. Over time, you become closer and closer to that person and only then do you experience love.”
“You sound like Alex.”
“That’s because he knows what love is about, too. You think he loved Ramona at the end? I don’t think so. He loved and cared for Penny and wanted only what was best for her. Whatever was best for her ended up being best for him, too.”
After her father left, Portia tried to absorb what her father said. Darren was good enough and certainly would’ve never attacked her like Marcus did. He was easy-going, laid-back, and mellow. Sometimes, it drove her nuts. Sometimes, though, it was the perfect counterpart to her high-strung heart, always on go-go-go. Maybe her father was right. Maybe love and romance were two different things altogether.
Although here mother never visited, Portia’s sister Phoebe did. It wasn’t too much of a surprise for Portia, since the two always had their moments, for better or for worse. Phoebe had been sorting through her own life, trying to figure out the escape route. Phoebe visited her little sister, hoping she might be able to shed some light on things.
“I just saw the baby,” said Phoebe, “he’s looking really healthy.”
“I have only seen him one time since I passed out.”
“Really? Let’s go see him.”
“I don’t know. I’m still pretty tired.”
“Nonsense. The best way to cure an illness is to get up and fight. Don’t worry, I’ll help you.”
Phoebe pulled Portia out of bed and held her as they walked to the nursery. To Portia’s surprise, she didn’t feel any pain at all. They watched as the infant received his regular phototherapy. The gentle light helped heal the developing top layers of skin and nourished his body.
“I’m glad you’re here,” said the nurse, “would you like to finally hold your baby?”
“Of course I do. Are you sure it’s okay.”
“The doctor told me it would be okay last night, but you were sleeping.”
The nurse turned off the lights and undid the cover on the incubator. She wrapped the infant in swaddling and handed it to Portia while Phoebe watched.
“Just look at him watching you,” said Phoebe.
Portia reached out a hand and the infant swatted at it. He grabbed the closest finger between his two tiny hands.
“He’s tugging at it and won’t let go,” said Portia.
“It’s a natural response,” said the nurse, “he’s too young to let go.”
Phoebe reached over and gently peeled the infant’s hands away. He then grabbed her fingers instead.
“Jeez,” said Phoebe.
“Let him be. He’s just saying ‘Hello, dear Auntie’.”
Phoebe smiled, “Now I’m an Aunt two times.”
“Pretty awesome, isn’t it?”
Phoebe nodded. She played with her nephew for a few moments while Portia held him. Phoebe was reminded of the nagging questions in her own life.
“How do you do it?”
“Do what?”
“How do you handle it so well? You’ve got your whole life figured out.”
“You think I’ve got my life figured out? I feel like everything’s spinning out of control.”
‘You know where you’re going, though.”
“I know where I want to go, but I don’t have a clue where I’ll end up. Sometimes, I feel like a top spinning out of control, just looking for another problem to bump into.”
“But it always turns out fine.”
“Phoebe, everyone makes their own destiny. I didn’t choose to have a baby, but I can’t run away from my choices, good or bad. I just try to make the best of what’s around, like anyone would.”
“I am sick of my troubles.”
“Then change your habits. Phoebe, I can’t lecture to you about this. I’ve got this baby and I don’t know where it’s going to take me.”
“But you’ve got family…”
“And so do you.”
“That’s why I’m asking.”
“Nobody can figure out where you’re going except you.”
Phoebe listened to Portia’s advice, but did not know how to take it. When Portia handed the infant to Phoebe, it only clouded her mind further. After a while longer, Phoebe went home.
Tracie was at the apartment with yet another stranger from the bar, but it didn’t faze Phoebe. She believed her fate was sealed and her destiny could not be changed. In Phoebe’s mind, that’s just how it was..
The next night, Phoebe was flat on her back, writing across the dance floor, hitting him up for money. He grabbed a soggy dollar bill from the stack next to his glass of beer and spindled it between two fingers. She lifted the elastic on her thong and he slipped his fingers over the crease of her thigh. His hands were rough and dry.
The sickest feeling of disgust washed over her. She snapped the thong into place and somersaulted onto her feet. She rode the pole and danced about on the stage, avoiding any and all contact with any of the old men lined up along the stage. It was finally enough.
“Tracie, come here,” she shouted over the blaring music.
“What do you want?”
“Cash out my drink receipts for tonight.”
“I don’t know if I can do that.”
“Just cover me. Tell the manager I’m sick.”
“Alright.”
Tracie counted Phoebe’s receipts and handed her $140. Phoebe rolled it iin her hand and went straight to the changing room. She switched into her street clothes and tossed her outfit into her gym bag. Instead of exiting through the front door as usual, Phoebe left through the fire door. Maybe she’d return. Maybe she wouldn’t. For the time being, the Executive Club was the last place on earth she wanted to be.
Just four weeks after her second surgery, Portia was allowed to leave the hospital. She called everyone and spread the good news.
Alex and Darren were the first to arrive. Phoebe arrived soon after.
“You ready to go home?” asked Alex.
“I think so.”
“How about the baby?” asked Phoebe.
“He’s got to stay in NICU for a lot longer.”
“No, I mean how long does he have to stay?”
Portia turned towards the nurse.
“He will have to stay at least until the due date so he can mature completely.”
“Can I hold him for a bit?”
The nurse retrieved the baby and set it on Portia’s belly.
“You should visit as often as you can to hold the baby and nurture it. Pair-bonding is one of the most important things for an infant, especially when it’s premature.”
“I’ll do all I can.”
Just then, Mr. and Mrs. Gatteau arrived to take Portia home. Although there was a restriction on the number of guests, Mrs. Gatteau lived by her own rules. It was her grandchild and no stranger was going to set rules and regulations on when she could visit it. It belonged to her daughter, which meant it belonged to her, too.
“Now, you make sure you take care of my baby while everyone’s gone. You’re a nurse, so take that responsibility seriously,” she ordered the nurse.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Portia, do you even have a name for this baby?”
Portia looked to Darren. Darren shrugged. She raised it off her belly. It snapped its hands into clenching fists.
“Oh boy,” said Grandpa, “he’s gonna be a figher, just like his Uncle Alex.”
“Why not call him Alex?” suggested Darren.
There was only the briefest of silences until everyone nodded in agreement.
“Alex it is,” said Portia.
“How about a middle name?” asked Phoebe.
“You’re putting a lot of pressure on this,” said Portia, “It took us five weeks to come up with a first name. You’ll have to give us some more time.”
“You gotta be fuckin’ kiddin’ me,” spat Phoebe.
“Hey, watch your language, sis.”
“Whatever, just come up with a middle name.”
“We’ll work on that later.”
Portia handed little Alex to the nurse. She took the infant back to his incubator while Alex and Darren helped Portia into a chair. Darren wheeled her to the exit and then towards his car.
“I can take you home, if you want.”
“Yeah, that’d be good.”
Portia said her goodbyes before getting into Darren’s car. The first thing she did was to roll down the window and lean her head outside.
“What are you doing?”
“Indian summer is absolutely the best thing in the world, don’t you think?”
“I guess so. Why don’t you put your seat belt on?”
“Alright, but let’s take a little cruise before we go home.”
“Where to?”
“Wherever the road takes us….”
The semi-cool September air felt refreshing as it blew through her hair. She leaned her arm on the windowsill and then rested her head on her arm. She felt like a dog, hanging her head out the window and squinting her eyes in the blustery wind. She even gaped her mouth open and wagged her tongue. Darren just laughed.
“It’s good to go home,” she said.
Darren simply nodded as he placed his right hand on her left knee. She did not move it. It was comfortable and easy, just like Darren. He did not remove it until the very last moment, when he moved the car from drive into park.
Secretly, Portia wished that moment might’ve never come.
Still, it was definitely good to be home again.
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