I sat at the table wondering. Wondering why every single one of my friends had at least two kids while I had none.
Well, at least not anymore...
He had been three, and his name had been James, and he was the happiest person I had ever met. Every moment of every day was Disney World for him. He tried to hug everyone that he met, (including everyone in the Ares' Cabin,. And Ares, who didn't really appreciate the gesture. Chris always used to remind me about that one). And when anyone was sad, he would go sit in their lap, even if they were a complete stranger, until they smiled at him.
And, -I admitted it- I, Clarisse La Rue Rodriguez, Daughter of Ares, drakon-slayer, spoiled my son a little. But just a little. But it was worth it. James grew up fine. At least, he would have.
Chris often said that James brought out another side of me- a motherly side. I didn't think so. Unless mothers usually threatened to carve out your guts if you didn't finish dinner (What can I say? Cooking is hard!).
It was in the fall, on the seventh day of October. I remembered that day more than the back of my hand, because seriously, what Daughter of War spends her free time looking at her hand?
"Hey kid," I muttered, pulling out a seat next to James at the kitchen table, while murderously chopping up a carrot. It felt isurprisingly good, being able to use my knife. To be honest, I sort of missed killing monsters. Fighting had that energizing feeling to it, like the feeling of the wind on your face as you ran through a snowstorm.
"Hi," James replied back, patting his caramel colored hair with one hand. "My hair is fluffy, Mommy. Like a kitty,"
"That's because you just took a bath, James," I said, chopping up another carrot.
"Can we get a cat?"
"Nope," I replied.
"Why not?"
"Because I don't like cats," I said. Even then, I had a dislike for cats, but now, I truly hated them.
James pouted, but he quickly smiled again when he saw Chris walking down the stairs. "Daddy!" he yelled, jumping up from his seat, and spilling his milk in the process. "You woke up!"
"What, did you think I died?" Chris asked, a hint of a smile on his face. How foreboding, I now think, although it wasn't your casket lowered into the ground. James giggled.
"No!" he said, turning to me. "Mommy, can I go play outside?"
"Sure," I muttered, dumping the carrots into a pot. I hated vegetables, like most people, but Chris and James loved them, and somehow I always ended up the cook. Which was not at all fair, because they never made me pizza. Okay, so they tried once, but we ended up having to call the fire department on our monster-proof phones. They got mad when I threatened to cut their brains into little pieces if they didn't put out the fire. That was the last time they ever cooked.
Suddenly, James ran into the house, carrying something in his tiny hands. "Mommy!" he yelled, holding a kitten up by the scruff of it's neck. "Look what I found!" His voice was excited, and he looked up at me with those brown eyes -Chris's eyes...
"Take that thing out of this house," I said harshly. "You know I don't like cats!" How I now wish that I hadn't been so harsh... Should've even let him keep the dumb cat.
"But Mommy," James said, his eyes filling with tears.
"You got a problem with that, punk?"
"No," he muttered, wiping his eyes with the hand not holding the cat. And he took the cat outside, and dropped it off by the road. "Bye Kitty," I heard him say. James reappeared inside almost instantly, a big smile plastered on his face.
"Guess what, Mommy? I think the kitty liked outside better anyways,"
"Good," I murmured.
"Can I go back outside now?" James asked, sucking on his thumb. "I won't bring any more kitties in."
"Fine," I sighed. I never could get any cooking done with James in the kitchen anyways.
I shuddered, the memory coming back to me. It had been five months since that day, that stupid, stupid day. I stood up, feeling suddenly nauseous, and I ran for the toilet.
Then, a minute later, my head was in the toilet, and I was throwing up dinner. Chris pulled my stringy hair back, substituting a rubber hand as a ponytail holder.
"Are you okay, Clare?" he asked, patting my shoulder. I shrugged, and stood up. Still nauseous. But better.
"Don't call me Clare, you idiot!" I said.
"I'm going to take that as a sign that you're okay."
I glared. "Leave me alone,"
Chris chuckled. "Someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning."
Turning around, I looked into Chris's deep brown eyes. They were full of humor, a little anxiety, and a little sadness. As they say, you never truly get over the loss of someone you loved. Looking into his eyes, I wondered how many people he had lost. Luke...the list went on and on. We were demigods, after all. The pieces on the god's chessboard. But James...
I watched through the window as James chased the cat around outside. Stupid over protectiveness.
Walking towards the door, I called out to James, "Move away from the road!"
James didn't hear me. Or, if he did, he ignored me, and followed the cat into the street.
That was when I noticed two things. One: there was a car coming way too fast. Two: James was right in its path.
At that moment, I forgot about everything else. I ran for the street, screaming at James to move every step of the way.
Another wave of nausea hit me, and I would have fallen over, if not for Chris's strong arms.
"Not sick, huh," he muttered, seeming to lean into me. "You seem to be throwing up a lot lately. Like, once a day
"I probably just drank some spoiled milk or something. I feel better already," I lied. The truth was, I was not fine. I desperately missed James, and remembering was just too hard. And yes, I had been getting sick a lot lately. But thinking about James...
Chris frowned. "You should still go to the doctor!"
I sighed. No amount of pills could cure a loss. "I'm fine, Chris. I'll just eat some ambrosia."
"Fine. But you're still going to the doctor tomorrow." my husband replied.
I yawned. "I think I'm going to go to bed. Goodnight, Chris,"
"Goodnight," Chris said back, waves of worry creasing his forehead.
James didn't seem to hear me, because he just stood in the road, staring at the sky and smiling. Time seemed to slow down as the car grew closer and closer. I stood at the edge of the road, panting. I tried to run, tried to move my feet, tried to push James out of the way. But I couldn't. And that made all the difference.
The care came up, and James went flying. The cat he had been following walked away, completely unharmed.
And then, I ran into the house, screaming for Chris, and somehow managed to calm down enough to call 911. And then I ran back outside.
James lay on the ground, the car driver bent next to him, muttering what sounded like a prayer. His eyes were closed, and his arms were all twisted funny. It was hard to believe this was the kid who had been chasing a cat five minutes ago.
The car driver turned towards me. His hands were shaking. "I-I don't know what to say..."
"I do," I replied. "Go to Tartarus."
The car driver looked confused- I guessed he hadn't paid attention in ancient histories class, but he only swallowed hard and nodded.
Soon, but not soon enough, Chris joined me, along with the scream of approaching ambulances. They let me ride with James in the ambulance, but when we got to the hospital, I was told to go sit in the waiting room.
Five minutes later, we were told our first piece of bad news: James would never walk again.
Ten minutes after that, we were told our son had died.
They let us go into the room, to say our last goodbyes. I walked over to James. He looked as if he were sleeping, with the exception of the breathing tubes going in and out of him.
"Wake up," I whispered, shaking his shoulder. Then, when he didn't move, I pinched his arm. Hard.
"Wake up, you punk!" I yelled. "WAKE UP!" I turned towards the doctors and nurses. "How dare you let my son die! I swear, I will come after you all, and-and-"
I collapsed onto the floor, a mess.
I woke up screaming. Chris immediately turned towards me.
"Clarisse! What happened?" he demanded.
"I had a nightmare," I replied, running my fingers through my short hair. It still hadn't grown back all the way.
"Oh," Chris said, his face growing pale.
"Chris?" I asked, already knowing the answer, but I had to ask. I vaguely recalled asking the same question before, after the same nightmare, many, many times. "Is it true? Is James really dead?"
Chris looked at me, the tears running down his face. It was all the confirmation I needed.
The next morning, when I stepped outside to get the mail, I noticed the calico cat James had been chasing sitting on the porch.
"Go away!" I said, attempting to get its attention by kicking it. It meowed, glaring at me.
Suddenly, Chris appeared at the top of the steps. "Clarisse!" he cried, picking up the cat. "What are you doing?"
"Trying to get the stupid cat to leave," I muttered, kicking a pebble.
Chris frowned. "The cat's fine. It's just hungry!"
"Why would it be coming here for food, Rodriguez?" I asked, sighing.
My husband shrugged. "Because I feed it sometimes," he muttered.
"How can you do that? I have half a mind to kill the stupid thing!" I cried.
"Why, Clare? It's harmless!"
Ignoring his annoying nickname for me, I shrugged. "Oh, I don't know! Maybe because that cat is the reason James is dead!"
"That's not why, Clarisse. It was a complete accident," Chris said calmly. "You can't hate James for what happened, you can't hate the car or the driver for what happened, so you blame a stupid cat."
"That's not true!" I cried.
"You're just mad because I know you so well,"
"I am not!"
Chris threw up his hands. "Fine! Believe whatever you want, Clarisse! I don't care!" He walked back inside, only stopping to remind me that my doctor's appointment was in half an hour.
Once at the doctor's office, I waited for what seemed like forever before going in. When I finally got to see the doctor, he sent me to get a sonogram, which meant more waiting.
"I hate doctor's officers!" I griped, waiting in the chair in the sonogram room. Suddenly, the nurse appeared, and she made me lie down on a chair under a machine.
"Remind me why I'm doing this again," I said, glaring up the nurse who placed a cold gel on my stomach.
The nurse smiled at me. "Mrs. Rodriguez, isn't it? The doctor wants to get a look at your stomach, to see why you've been having trouble digesting food," She placed a cold metal thing on me. "Mmhmm," she murmured, counting something.
"What?" I asked, suddenly nervous.
"Oh nothing," she said. "I just want to get a better view of something. You know what, I think the doctor should come look," And she left the room to get the doctor.
"Great," I said sarcastically. "More waiting!"
Twenty minutes later (my shortest wait yet!), the doctor appeared. He and the nurse started talking, and I managed to catch pieces of their conversation.
"...Should have known..."
"...four, I think."
"Will you tell me what's going on already?" I yelled. The doctor turned to look at me.
"Ms. Rodriguez," he says. "It appears you are pregnant with quadruplets."
"What?" I managed to say.