The Hurt

Hush

The next few weeks seemed to be a blur of work and doctors' visits. I had my blood drawn again to check my white blood cell count, and an MRI to see if the cancer had spread to any of my other organs or other parts of my body; they said that all the cancerous tissue was still surrounding my reproductive organs, by the looks of it, which was good. For the time being, that is. After another month or two, they would do a small surgery to do a biopsy to determine what stage the cancer was in.

Sean took quite a bit of time off work to be by my side during all of this, and was able to transfer closer to where I lived so he could move in. I told him he didn’t have to, but he insisted that this was best for us. He was able to be there for another ultrasound. The doctor told us I was about 3 months along, which was a little too early to find out the gender of our baby, but we were able to hear the heartbeat, and were told that our baby looked healthy with no abnormalities or birth defects. Sean was squeezing my hand excitedly and kept kissing my cheek or forehead the whole time.

At home, everything was a little more tense, now that he was spending more time at my place. He never told me, or let on that he was worn slap out with everything going on, but I knew he was anxious about the possibility of quitting his job, giving notice to move out of his townhouse while slowly moving things over, and still needing to find a job where I lived.

“Sean, honey, did you hear back from Delta Communications about our internet?” I asked over my shoulder while I made myself some peppermint tea.

He sighed, “No, not yet.” He sounded a bit defeated in saying this. “I’ll call ‘em tomorrow.” We needed to upgrade our internet so he could work from home. He was able to work remotely, but had to travel frequently to check in with his employees at different facilities.

I came to sit with him at the table; he was balancing his checkbook, finalizing some of his utility bills from his townhouse. The end of the month was approaching, he had until the first to move out, and what he wasn’t moving into my house, he was putting into a storage unit. Some of these things included some of his equipment for his music label, aside from a couple of guitars he kept in my office that he took over for the most part. With everything that was going on between us, I asked if he could put his music on hold until we got settled. He agreed, but wouldn’t stop trying to write music so he could get back at it when he was able. I was not against this in the slightest. I put my hand on his that was on the calculator, and squeezed it. He stopped what he was doing for a moment to look up at me from the top of his reading glasses and gave me a tired smile before returning to what he was doing.

He got reading glasses after some coercing from me when he was straining to read some of his receipts for mileage reimbursement from his latest commute. I teased him that he was getting to be an “old man.” I thought it was funny as all get out, but he was less amused by this and reminded me that I already had glasses that I needed to use more frequently than he did. We laughed at our little squabble; now I smiled to myself at the memory. “You are so wonderful, I appreciate all that you are doing for us, Sugar,” I said this quietly so as not to distract him, but loud enough that he would hear what I had said.

He inhaled before heaving a big sigh and looking up at me from what he was doing, his eyes were bloodshot and tired, his eyebrows knit together, a brooding expression. His hand slid heavily from the table to hold the right side of my face, his thumb lightly rubbing my cheek. He didn’t say anything to me. I wasn’t sure if it was because he was trying to find the words or if he was just too exhausted to say anything. I put my hand on his that was on my face, and held him there tenderly and just smiled at him. After a moment, he spoke, “I’m tryin’, I’m really tryin’ for you,” he said softly, using his free hand to rest his head.

I got up from where I was sitting to come over and sit on his lap. I pulled his head towards my chest and held him, softly stroking his head. He did not resist, but relaxed a bit, putting one hand on the small of my back, and the other partially on my waist and my slightly distended stomach. He was still the most handsome man in my eyes; he always was. He seemed to be more stressed, was always tired, got angry a little more than usual, but I loved him. I knew I did in that moment; after everything he was doing for me, for us, and our baby, I knew I didn’t want to be anywhere but by his side. “I love you, Sean,” I whispered, my face resting on the top of his head.

He seemed to stop breathing for a second, chewing on what I had just said. He scooted me off of him before standing, “I gotta go.” He said curtly, grabbing his coat before heading towards the door.

My stomach dropped as a wave of anxiety traveled down my spine, settling in the pit of my stomach. “Sean, I—I’m sorry. Don’t you want dinner?” I asked, trailing after him. He said nothing, nor did he turn to look back at me, before he went out the door. I sank to my knees, not knowing what I had done wrong. I heard his car pull out of my driveway, and listened as I heard it drive farther away until I couldn’t hear it anymore. I contemplated calling and texting him, but decided against it, assuming he had left to have some space.

To get my mind off of potentially just ruining my relationship and everything I had built up with him, I finished balancing his checkbook and started to make dinner absently. I didn’t quite know how much time had passed between him leaving and coming back again. I was so in my own head that I had no concept of time. I had set aside a plate of dinner for him in the fridge to be reheated if he decided to return or not. I ate a little, but felt full after a couple of bites, hardly able to swallow with the welling lump in my throat, anyhow.

I was getting ready for bed when he returned home. I heard his car in the driveway, the car door closing soon after the engine had been shut off. My heart was pounding, not sure if I was excited at his return or afraid of what might happen next. I felt sick. I kept at the task of rubbing coca butter on my swelling breasts, my hands shaking as I heard him open the front door and step inside, kicking off his boots. I heard his footsteps and tried to trace where he was in the house based on how they sounded; he stopped briefly in what I figured was the kitchen. Perhaps looking at his “unfinished” checkbook to see that I had finished it up for him. His footsteps were coming closer to the closed bathroom door I was behind. I had completely frozen in what I was doing to concentrate on where he was, and determine if he was angry by his footsteps alone.

He knocked on the bathroom door before opening it, “Kay Lynn?”

He didn’t sound angry, but I still swallowed hard and clenched my jaw, “Yessir?” I answered him formally, like I would with my dad, a former military man, who preferred me to endear him, my mom, or any other adult with that respect.

He whistled through his teeth, “Damn baby, you’re gettin’ big. Hope the baby’ll save some of that for me.”

I had forgotten what I was doing, being so intent on listening to his mannerisms, and realized I still had my breasts out, applying the coca butter. I relaxed a little; he sounded like his normal self. I had wondered if I had imagined the whole miff from earlier. I put my nightshirt on after I was done, “Dinner’s in the fridge, sorry I ate without you, I didn’t know when to expect you back,” I tried to look and sound as normal as possible to keep the situation neutralized.

He cleared his throat and rubbed the back of his head sheepishly, averting my gaze, “Yeah, I’m sorry ‘bout that. You know, I don’t really do the whole ‘love’ thing.” He was referring to his upbringing, and not a very good one at that. His momma constantly told him he was a failure, how much better her life would have been if he had never been born, and how much he “embarrassed” her every day by just being a kid. Because his love was never reciprocated by her, he was never really able to love properly, in a sense. “But, for what it’s worth,” he started walking towards me into the bathroom, and knelt down, “I do love you…much as someone like me can.” I was puzzled, staring down at him with a confused look on my face. I assumed he was going to hug me, put his head on my stomach to “hear the baby” as he did sometimes. But he had pulled something out of his pocket, “Kay Lynn, marry me.”

It wasn’t a question, as if there was only one answer, but I responded with that answer, so taken by surprise, I could hardly speak, “Yes, Sean, I will!” He smiled his bright, white smile and put the ring on my finger, tears welling in my eyes.

He stood up and kissed me passionately, scooping me up into his arms as he did so.