Icarus

The first time Carole ever held Finn on the day he was born was a moment of unparalleled panic. Her heart was still pounding and sweat was dripping into her eyes and her insides felt like they'd been wrenched apart, but she pushed herself up and eagerly opened her arms to welcome him. The nurse smiled and said how handsome he was, and then placed a small, wrinkled bundle in Carole's arms.

And Carole felt… nothing.

There was no swelling of emotion in her chest, no fireworks in her brain, no instinctive rush of maternal love for the tiny, tiny, tiny person in her hands.

The baby was wrapped snugly in a soft blanket, and his skin was crinkled and pruny. His hand was curled into a little fist and resting by the side of his head as if he was exhausted by the sheer sight of the world around him. He made a soft whine in his throat, blinking slowly with huge dark eyes.

Carole stared down at him, her heart thudding against her ribs as she wondered if something was wrong with her. There was absolutely nothing wrong with the baby. He was just as handsome as the nurse had said, and he was healthy and he had all his fingers and toes. She was just having a difficult time recognizing the idea that he was her baby. He almost didn't feel right in her arms – too big and too small at the same time, and she was pretty sure she was holding him incorrectly.

Then the panic came. Her heart seized in her chest and she suddenly felt like she couldn't breathe. Her vision blurred as tears squeezed out of her eyes, mixing with the sweat still on her cheeks. She was stuck in a hospital bed covered in sweat and tears and her hair was still plastered to her face and she knew she looked absolutely horrible and she was holding a baby that didn't feel like hers, and she couldn't stop another sob from jumping out of her throat.

She didn't love her baby.

"Hi, sweetheart—! What's wrong?!"

Carole sucked in a breath as best she could, but she choked and had to cough. Her mother had come in without her noticing, a teddy bear and a balloon from the gift shop in the lobby clutched in her hands.

"Oh, honey…" Lynne dropped the bear onto the chair by the bed and let the balloon float to the ceiling. She reached forward and brushed Carole's damp hair back from her forehead. "Let me see him," she said gently.

Carole sniffed, forcing herself to swallow and breathe (that was always the most important part in her birthing classes – remember to breathe). She leaned back a little so that Lynne could see the baby.

"Oh…" Lynne sighed, leaning over with a smile lighting up her face. "Oh, Carole…" She patted his tiny chest, making him scrunch up his face at the new sensation of pressure. "Hi, handsome boy."

"Mom," Carole hiccoughed. "I don't— I'm not ready for this—" Cradling the fragile little boy in the crook of her elbow as best she could, she swiped at her eyes with her free hand. Her fingers were shaking.

Lynne shushed her with a hand on her shoulder. "Sweetheart, you're exhausted," she said. "You just gave birth to a beautiful baby boy, and now you need to sleep before you do anything else."

"But—"

"I can watch the baby," Lynne promised. "All you have to do is rest."

Carole's lip trembled, a rock lodged in the pit of her throat. Her mother was right – she was so tired. "Okay," she whispered, staring back down at the baby in her arms until Lynne tenderly reached forward and picked him up.

The baby whimpered and let out a cry at being moved, and Carole watched as Lynne comfortably tucked him against her chest, handling him much more easily than Carole had herself.

How was she going to do this?

Her limbs felt heavy with that question, and she had to remind herself again to breathe. The last thing Carole heard before she fell back into a deep, much-needed sleep was the sound of her mother pacing the floor and softly singing a slow lullaby to the baby and Carole both.

Carole woke up later on in the day, just as the sun was setting outside the window. Her mother was quietly sitting in the chair by the bed, reading over the rims of her glasses. Carole rubbed her eyes with the heel of her palm and glanced toward the bassinet at the foot of her bed, jerking upright when she realized the bassinet wasn't there.

"Where is he?!"

Lynne looked up from her book. "They took him to feed him," she answered calmly. "Don't worry."

"Shouldn't I be feeding him myself?" Carole asked, her voice cracking.

Lynne closed her book and set it on her knee. "Sweetheart, you were too tired." She reached over and patted Carole's knee under the blanket. "You can feed him the next time he needs it."

A lump pressed against the walls of Carole's throat as she forced herself to sit back. He was only a couple of hours old and she was already screwing up. She was supposed to feed him herself, regardless of how tired she was. Isn't that what everyone said about motherhood? That the child came first, no matter what?

"Carole? Are you all right?"

Carole's lungs shuddered inside her ribs, still aching from the strain of forcing another person out of her body. "It wasn't supposed to be like this," she said quietly.

Lynne's head tilted to the side. "Like what?"

Carole swallowed, staring down at her lap as she twisted her wedding ring around her finger. She wished Christopher were here.

"Talk to me; what's wrong?" Lynne urged, squeezing Carole's knee again.

"I don't…" Carole started, biting her lip. "I don't feel like a mother. He doesn't feel like mine."

"Oh, sweetheart, of course not."

Her mother's simple agreement made Carole's brain screech to a halt.

"The baby was born only a few hours ago," Lynne consoled her. "It's going to take time, Carole. I felt the exact same way when I had you and your sister, and I promise you, you and the baby will both be just fine."

The tears surged up again, making the room swim, and Carole felt like a child. "I'm s-so scared."

Lynne smiled. "I know. And no mother is ever allowed to say that she doesn't immediately love her baby." She stood up from the chair, moving to sit on the side of the bed by Carole's legs. "You know what, though? Right now, your baby is as much as stranger to you as you are to him, but once you get to know each other, you won't even remember a time before you loved him."

Carole sniffed, swiping her knuckles across her eyes. "You promise?"

"Absolutely."

The door slid open then, and a nurse in pink scrubs pushed a bassinet into the room in front of her. "All done with feeding," she announced cheerily. "This little guy's a big eater."

A chuckle jumped from Carole's chest, surprising her.

The nurse wheeled the bassinet back to its position at the foot of Carole's bed. "You want to hold him again?" she asked. "He's kind of winding down to a nap."

Lynne patted Carole's leg encouragingly, and Carole nodded.

The nurse carefully picked up the baby, cradling his head as she placed him in Carole's arms. "Remember to support his head," she said. "There you go."

Carole held her breath, afraid that the slightest wrong movement would make the baby tumble from her grasp. The baby squirmed, blinking his watery brown eyes up at her in what appeared to be bewilderment. The nurse had put a little blue cap on his head and wrapped him in a clean white blanket, and his tiny hand wrapped around Carole's forefinger, holding it tight.

"I'll be back later to check on you guys," said the nurse with a wave, and briskly strode from the room.

Carole didn't take her gaze off the baby. He opened his mouth and gave a wide, toothless yawn, his eyes squeezing shut. His clutch tightened momentarily around Carole's finger.

"Have you thought of a name yet?" Lynne asked, adjusting the baby's cap where it had begun to slip off.

"I don't know," Carole said, curling her finger slightly in the baby's grip. "Christopher and I never really got a chance to talk about it."

Lynne leaned closer, peering down at the baby as his eyelids drooped and he yawned a second time. She hummed thoughtfully, brushing a fingertip over his cheek. "What about James? After your grandfather?"

Carole frowned, shaking her head. She leaned back against the pile of pillows behind her, studying the baby's face. "No, he's not a James. Maybe for his middle name, though."

They fell silent for a while, just watching as the baby slowly drifted off to sleep, his mouth half-open and his hand still wrapped around Carole's finger.

"He looks so much like you," Lynne said.

"You think so?"

"So much." Lynne had tears in her eyes, her lips pressed together. "I'm so proud of you."

Carole's vision blurred again, but she couldn't keep a smile from ghosting across her face. The baby sighed in his sleep.

Lynne tucked the blanket a little more tightly around his shoulders. "What about Grandma's maiden name?"

Carole wrinkled her nose. "Finnegan?"

Lynne laughed. "Okay, maybe not Finnegan." She shrugged, rubbing the baby's chest gently with the tips of her fingers.

Carole let out a long breath, brushing her thumb over her baby's soft knuckles. "Actually… I like Finn."

"Just Finn?"

Carole nodded, smiling. "Just Finn."

"Finn! Dinner!" Carole called loudly, flipping a couple of grilled cheese sandwiches onto a plate and setting it on the kitchen table next to a bowl of hot tomato soup. There was a beat of silence, and then a thundering cascade of footfalls down the stairs until her son tumbled into the kitchen, almost tripping over his own feet.

"Is Burt out?" he asked, pushing his sleeves up and eagerly sitting down as Carole went to heat up some leftover pasta for herself.

"Yeah, he's working late," she answered. "Just you and me tonight."

Finn made a garbled noise through his mouthful of almost half an entire sandwich. A few crumbs fell back onto his plate.

Carole stared at him. "You want to repeat that, Hamster Cheeks?"

Finn snorted, making a big show of chewing and swallowing before opening his mouth again to speak. "I'm going out bowling with Puck after dinner," he said. "That okay?"

Carole shrugged. "You're nineteen, Finn, you can do what you like." She pulled her spaghetti out of the microwave and went to sit at the table across from him. "Just don't think that because you're home from college for the weekend I'm going to do your laundry for you." She grinned.

"Hey, so long as I don't have to use the gross washing machines in the dorm, I'm happy." Finn shoved the rest of his sandwich into his mouth in one go.

"Honestly, Finn, you're going to choke yourself to death one of these days," Carole remarked, shaking her head.

"I'm rushing 'cause I told Puck I'd meet him at seven."

Carole glanced at the clock on the wall above the stove. "It's six-fifty."

"I know."

"How do you manage to keep up with your classes if your time management skills are so off?" Carole teased.

"I don't know, but it's a good thing Puck's not my professor."

"It's a good thing Puck's not anyone's professor."

Finn snorted again, nearly choking on his tomato soup.

"What time will you be home?"

"I'll be back by midnight."

Carole put her fork down, her mouth twitching. "Listen, Finn…"

Finn looked up, already chewing his way through his second sandwich.

Carole crossed her arms, resting her elbows on the table. "I know you've only been home for a couple of days, but I really feel like I haven't seen you much. You're spending a lot of time out with friends."

"You… kinda just told me I could do what I want…" Finn said, his eyebrows knitted in confusion.

"I know, I know," Carole amended quickly. "And you can, but… I'm your mom and when you're off at college, even though you're not far away, I still miss you. And when you're home, I'd like it if we could spend a little more time together."

Finn blinked. "Sorry, I didn't realize I was out so much."

Carole smiled, leaning her cheek on her fist. "You've just grown up much faster than I expected," she said, reaching across the table with her other hand to pat his arm. "Can't blame me if I'm still a little clingy."

Finn was quiet for a moment, and then he shrugged. "Okay," he said. "I'll be home by nine, then."

Carole sat up. "Really?"

He grinned. "Yeah, we'll watch a movie or something."

"I'll probably fall asleep for that."

"You always do," Finn agreed. He glanced at the clock. "But I seriously gotta go meet up with Puck now." He swallowed the last bite of his sandwich and dumped his dishes into the sink.

"Drive carefully," she called after him as he grabbed his coat. "I love you!"

"Bye, Mom!"

The door fell shut behind him.

Carole smiled to herself as she finished her dinner.

At the funeral, Carole sits silently in the front pew, staring at the large framed photograph of her son next to the open coffin as people file slowly past. Burt is next to her, his arm locked around her back like he's afraid she's going to collapse, and Kurt seems to be having a difficult time breathing on her other side.

Carole sees Puck standing by the coffin, his shoulders shaking as he wipes his eyes on his suit sleeve, and she wishes she had enough room in her body to feel bad for him. Puck is, after all, the one who called her from the bowling alley, frantic and terrified out of his mind, to tell her that Finn had collapsed. And Puck had stayed with her and Burt at the hospital until the doctor came out to tell them Finn was gone.

An aneurysm, the doctor had said. Carole was pretty sure the doctor was wrong, though. Aneurysms happened to old people, and Finn was young.

Burt squeezes her shoulder and asks her gently if she wants to go up and stand with the coffin for a minute, but she shakes her head. She knows what her son looks like, and she doesn't need to see him like this.

People come up and tell her how sorry they are, how much they loved him too, and all Carole can think is how none of them have any idea of the wrongness in this entire picture. She thinks that if her mother were still alive, she would be the only person in the room to understand. She wants to tell every person offering their sincerest condolences to just shut up and let her be.

But she says nothing.

She sits in silence as the priest ushers everyone to their seats and reads a sermon, and she sits in silence as Kurt and a few of Finn's other friends read tearful eulogies, and she sits in silence as they all stand and sing about having their hearts ripped from their chests and missing lost friends.

She wants to scream.

But she stays quiet.

And she feels like her insides are being wrenched apart.