My emotional breakdown is interrupted by the very kind social worker, letting me know that the funeral home just left.
Sitting up, I scoot off of his giant lap. There are strategically placed tissue boxes all over the waiting room so I grab a couple of handfuls and begin to try to clean myself up a bit. Thankfully, we’re alone in this room, because I don’t think that I could deal with Colin’s biggest fans at the moment.
Once I’ve given up on making myself presentable, Colin picks up our sleeping princess and says, “Let’s go home, baby.”
I watch with a heavy heart as he walks in front of me, favoring his very swollen right ankle, carrying our beautiful daughter snuggled into his chest, while Miguel follows us to my car.
****
Brad should work for Disney, because the man makes magic happen. As I steer the tank into my old driveway, I note that he’s turned on lamps so I don’t have to pull up to a dark, empty house. It’s such a small gesture, but it reaffirms how much Brad means to me. He’s thoughtful enough to take the time to do the little things he knows mean so much. I make a mental note to take him out for a very nice dinner when we’re back in Dallas.
Colin hobbles toward the backseat of the tank as if he’s going to get a still sleeping Ainsley from her car seat. “Colin, go upstairs and ice your leg. I’ll get her,” I tell him as I gently block his path.
He shoots me a very ugly glare, but has the good sense to not argue with his very tired, tear-stained, mentally worn-out wife.
I do my best to not rattle Ainsley as I take her baby carrier out of its base. “This, baby girl, is where your mommy proposed to your daddy. This is where we became a family,” I tell her sleeping form as I enter through my old front door.
Brad, my fairy godfather, waved his magic wand, and turned my old home into a beautiful place again. My former couches that are now in the pool house in Dallas have been replaced with a similar-looking sofa and loveseat from the local retailer who promises same day delivery and no backorder slips. Brad bought a couple of issues of current sports magazines that now are displayed in a fan-like pattern on my new round coffee table.
There’s a red crockpot on the counter that is slow cooking something that smells delicious. The scent reminds me that I haven’t eaten since the poached egg that I had for breakfast. God, I don’t even know what time it is. I place Ainsley, still in her carrier, on the floor next to the couch where Colin is already flopped with a bag of frozen corn on his mid-calf.
I toss my purse on the island—about the spot where Colin introduced me to the pleasures of oral sex again—and open my refrigerator. Just as I suspected. Brad has it stocked with all the foods that Colin and I keep at home. When I move to the pantry, an entire shelf is filled with Ainsley’s vacuum-sealed packages of organic baby food in all the flavors that she likes. The comfort that I feel knowing that my family has the basics is overwhelming. One less thing to worry about.
When I turn to look at my dining room table that still shows the scars from Colin’s attempt at a romantic dinner—the knife marks from where he tried to get the candle wax off the wood—I see the same highchair that we have at home.
My eyes fill with tears. This is no longer where I live, but Brad did everything that he could to make it a home away from home. God bless him.
My nostalgic revelry is broken by the sounds of my phone ringing. I grab it out of my purse, and check caller ID. I don’t recognize the number and toss it to Colin. “I’m going to get us settled. Would you play secretary, and watch the baby?”
He flashes me his half-smile. “Is she going to do a trick?”
“Yeah,” I reply as a small smile touches my lips. “Hopefully, stay asleep.”
I hear enough of the conversation to know that word of Doctor Jack Collins passing away is spreading. Colin does a great job of thanking whoever it is, and reassuring them we’ll let them know the funeral plans.
I spend a long time upstairs just sitting on my old bed that Colin says is too small, and staring at the wall in front of me. Colin and I only lived in this house for one week, but we made a lifetime of memories here—good and bad. I still remember how nervous I was the night before I saw him again after Los Angeles. There was beautiful lovemaking that happened in this room. There was also loneliness, and doubts about us and our future. This is where difficult conversations and demands for more information were made. There were surprises, like when he turned my bedroom into a rose garden. But there was also the awful fight with my father downstairs.
In this house is where my now husband and my deceased father came to blows over me. God, now that I’m a mother I can see my dad’s point of view so much better. Even though I wish he would have let Colin visit me when I was hospitalized for my eating disorder, I can now fully appreciate why he didn’t.