Politely side-stepping the elephant in the room, which was my marriage to Drake, I engaged her in small conversations, mostly regarding childbirth and how to care for a newborn. From there, we spoke about birthing complications and other unfortunate instances that could happen in a delivery room. She then told me a story about her friend going through emergency C-section and other dangers that could happen from there. It was staggering to know how things could go wrong. Hearing her stories made me forget about my woes. I was grateful I had her to speak to about such things since my mother was busy travelling with her boyfriend and was currently vacationing somewhere in Europe the last time she had called.
I was ecstatic she had found another man who could bring such happiness in her life, especially at her age, but sometimes, I wished she was there, too, so she could experience this beautiful thing that was happening to me.
Apart from that, the thought of being in the very place I detested the most, a place where people fought for their lives on a daily basis, was the very place where I would give birth to my baby. I had considered water birthing with a midwife, but the more I weighed things, the more it was clear to me that I shouldn’t chance my life and the baby’s because I was a stubborn fool who despised hospitals and their signature antiseptic scent that lingered everywhere you turned.
God, I hated hospitals with a passion.
For four days, I was left to my own devices, never hearing once from Drake. That was the longest I had gone without hearing from him since he and I had married.
The olden traits of his younger days were back with a vengeance, and God help me if he was going to enjoy punishing me for all the things he thought I had done.
The days trickled by slowly, making me more conscious he was taking a stance in cutting me off from his life. I understood his point. I truly did. But what I couldn’t comprehend was how he was trying to go about it. He was a mature man. Why couldn’t he simply move along without all the fuss and tantrums?
The moment I realized we were bound to go back home, I had mixed feelings of dread and wishful thinking. The wishful side hoped those past few days had somehow enlightened him, and we could go forward in trying to figure out how to really fix things between us. However, the other part, the pessimist in me, chided that I was acting naïve, that Drake must have already acted on his threats.
While waiting for our flight, I noticed fellow travelers, a young couple with a toddler who was curious about his surroundings. I was so drawn to the little fellow, taking in his gurgling laughs when he clapped his hands together as passersby waved at him while some would coo on how cute he was. With his silky-soft, curly, brown hair; dimples; and cherub cheeks, who wouldn’t adore the little joyfully bouncing boy full of surprised happiness at the little and simplest things in life?
His bubble of bliss went on a halt when he tripped on his father’s backpack. Upon tripping, he barely got himself up before his lower lip started quivering, and he instantaneously cried. I had never seen such a tiny thing produce such an unlimited supply of tears. He bawled as if his whole world had fallen apart.
His mother, who was in the middle of producing a milk bottle and formula, had to put all the baby paraphernalia on the side before scrambling to pick up her child, trying in earnest to comfort and soothe him, but her efforts failed. Frantic that the baby was getting even louder, she turned to the father and handed him the tear-stained child. The father immediately took charge, plucking him out of his mother’s arms before putting him on his shoulders. He started to walk about the vicinity, trying to distract him with the lively buzz of the airport terminal. In less than a minute, the cries subsided, and the gurgling happiness reemerged once more. Noting his successful attempt, the bright smile of the father was heart-warming.
The heavy stirrings of sadness upon realizing that children needed their fathers, too, made my heart constrict. Would my child ever experience that kind of family bond? If Drake and I went our separate ways, I doubted he and I would ever go on outings together. By then, our relationship would most possibly be hostile and severe. Could I really be selfish enough to refuse to let my child experience that kind of bond, even in his/her early moments in life?
If I reached out to him and thoroughly spoke my heart out, would he listen? He had left without leaving any messages, leading me to think he couldn’t fathom even pretending to be a couple for the entire duration we were in Mexico.
My words and actions had been hasty. Letting my feelings speak before thinking it through had caused immeasurable and irreparable damage. Maybe it was my turn to reach out since I had started the whole war between us. Had I spoken up when it had all first started, maybe our marriage wouldn’t be falling apart.