Three days.
Seventy-two hours.
Four thousand, three hundred and twenty minutes.
Jade hasn't slept for even a few of the thousands of seconds that have passed since she retuned home from the hospital, and she doesn't know when the insomnia will end. Beck tries to stay awake by his sleepless wife as best he can, but the days with a two-year-old are exhausting, so he doesn't often last for very long.
Although the restlessness might seem to most like a curse, Jade finds herself appreciating it. Hiding her depression from her daughter during the day is emotionally draining, but her break comes when the sun sets. She doesn't cry; she simply stares. Her eyes don't focus on trying to identify the shapes of objects in the dark room (she doesn't care enough to), so she's perfectly content with just staring off into the distance.
As she lies awake in their bed, she watches the numbers on her digital alarm clock change and tries to fixate on anything but the conversation she'd had with her mother. She thinks about what she'd said to Beck in the car upon her return home, and how she'd give anything for those words to forever vanish. She hates that she's let her mother's words affect her so deeply, but if she's to believe the words Beck has tried for so many years to convince her of—"We can't help how we feel"—then she has to accept them as the truth.
She can't help the way she feels sorry that her father had to deal with his wife's emotional violence.
She can't help the way she feels personally damaged by her mother's verbal abuse.
She can't help the way she feels about Beck; no matter how hard she'd tried not to fall in love with him, it'd happened eventually because she just couldn't help it.
She can't help the fact that, the second Shiloh took her first breath, she's felt a kind of love that she hadn't known before. The kind so powerful that she—for a split second—wished that she hadn't brought her daughter into the world, for fear of giving her anything but the best life possible. Jade would've never imagined loving someone so much, but with Shiloh, she can't help it.
She's so wrapped up in her thoughts that the fire alarm could go off and she might not hear it, but there's suddenly an unmistakable sound that she swears she could identify from miles away.
It's only a few seconds before Jade is rolling out of bed (at three thirty in the morning) and heading into her daughter's bedroom. By the time she slips inside, Shiloh is sitting up in her crib and wailing loudly.
"Shhh," Jade whispers as she approaches the toddler, who has her hands outstretched for her mom. "What's wrong?"
Immediately upon taking her into her arms, Jade can feel that her body temperature is higher than usual. Jade tries to rock her back and forth for a few minutes, but she's still sobbing and Jade can feel the heat from her daughter's body against her skin. After carrying her into the dark kitchen, she flips on some lights and opens the cabinet where they keep the medicine and things of the like.
Jade takes their thermometer and sticks it gently into Shiloh's ear to take her temperature, pulling it out to find that the toddler has a fever of a hundred and two degrees. "Oh, Baby," she coos as she brushes her hand through her little curls. "It's okay. Mommy's here. Shhhh."
It takes a few tries, but Jade finally gets the medicine that she and Beck had bought—just in case their daughter ever got sick—down Shiloh's throat. She turns the lights off and returns to the baby's bedroom, where she sits in the chair and starts to rock her back to sleep. Shiloh buries her head into Jade's neck, and Jade can't help but feel overwhelmed with such a feeling of being needed. Once Shiloh's cries have finally died down as the medicine is sinking in, Jade returns to her bemused state, staring off into the black distance.
.
When Beck enters Shiloh's room upon waking up the next morning, he finds the girls both still asleep in the rocking chair. He doesn't know why or for how long Jade has been with their daughter, but every time he sees the two of them together he swears his heart stops beating for a few seconds. As much as he wants to sit and just stare at them, he needs his coffee and he knows his wife will feel the same the second she wakes up. After making a pot and pouring two mugs full, he returns to the bedroom just as Shiloh is starting to stir.
Beck immediately knows that something's wrong when she wakes up; typically in the mornings, she'll talk to herself for a little while before eventually beginning to holler for her parents, but he watches as she begins to cry. He walks over to the rocking chair and starts to take her from Jade, but his wife's eyes flutter open as she feels the sudden movement.
"I'm up, I'm up," she whispers to Beck before turning her attention to Shiloh. She places her hand on the little girl's forehead to find that her fever hasn't gone down much since taking the medicine a few hours ago. "She's sick," Jade explains tiredly, standing up to rock her daughter in her arms.
"Babe, why didn't you wake me up last night?"
"I don't know; I'm sorry. I gave her some medicine and I figured we can take her to the doctor today."
"Okay," Beck agrees, positioning himself behind Jade so that his hands can find their comforting place on her arms. "I'm guessing you didn't sleep again?" He asks, pressing a kiss to her shoulder.
"I think I slept for about thirty minutes before she woke up," she answers, much to Beck's disappointment.
"It'll get better," he reassures her. "You have me, and our daughter, and that's all that matters."
She nods her head in an attempt to make herself believe him, but she can't help but wish for the day that she actually does.
It only takes fifteen minutes for Beck and Jade to be dressed—in sweatpants, but in clothes nonetheless—and have the diaper bag packed up to go to the doctor. When they walk into the pediatrician's office and approach the desk to check-in, it's clear to both of them how different it feels.
For the first time, people don't look at them like they're stupid. They don't judge them for being teenagers—because they don't look like teenagers. They're mature; they have rings on their fingers; they walk and talk and act like they've got the whole parenting thing down. And when Beck sits down next to Jade in the waiting room and slings his protective arm around her, they deserve each and every stare that comes their way only because of their family's attractiveness.
Shiloh is lying on her mom's chest, sniffling and rubbing her eyes as Beck consistently presses kisses to her forehead. When they get called back to see the pediatrician, Dr. Teller greets them with a bright smile.
"Thanks for seeing us on such short notice," Beck says.
"Not a problem. I hate to say it, but I've had quite a few little ones coming in with the flu. It's been going around; Shiloh may have caught it."
Jade sighs and bites her lip, hoping that it isn't the case with her daughter. It's just a few minutes, though, before Dr. Teller confirms that the two-year-old does indeed have the flu. "Okay," she sighs, "the first time with a sick baby is typically the hardest, simply because Shiloh's going to be pretty out-of-character for a while. She might sleep all the time, or she might not sleep at all and just stay up crying; every kid is different. I'm going to go ahead and give her a shot of the first dose of antibiotics to kick them in as soon as possible, and you'll need to give her a spoonful of the medicine twice a day for the next few days."
Beck and Jade both wince at the fact that their daughter will be getting her first shot. "You can hold her while we do it; it'll be quick, I promise," Dr. Teller reassures as she prepares the small needle. When Jade nervously turns the uncharacteristically quiet toddler towards the doctor, she tightens her grip around Shiloh's middle and kisses her hair.
The second she sees the shot, though, Shiloh bursts into tears and Jade has to hold her still so that the pediatrician can do the job. The little girl is trying to writhe in her mom's arms, but Jade consistently whispers into her ear that it's going to be okay and she's right there with her. Before they know it they're walking out of the doctor's office, Shiloh still sobbing into Beck's shoulder about her arm hurting.
Despite Jade soothingly reaching back to rub her leg, the baby bawls the whole ride home. Unfortunately for Beck and Jade, the crying doesn't stop for the rest of the day. Shiloh's nose is runny, her stomach is upset, and Dr. Teller had warned them that the symptoms might not get better until her second round of antibiotics later in the day. When the time—seven o'clock in the evening—finally comes for the tired parents to give her the medicine, they work together to get the liquid down the toddler's throat.
By the time they're getting her ready for bed, Shiloh is exhausted and the antibiotics are finally beginning to assimilate themselves into her system. As Beck is sliding his daughter's pajamas on her little body, he feels his phone beep in his pocket.
Text [from Cat Valentine]: Hi! I hope Jade is feeling at least a little bit better since this morning? And Shiloh too? Is 8:00 still good?
He can't help but smile at his wife's best friend. Ever since Jade had called her to talk a few days ago, the redhead had been periodically texting Beck to check up on her. She obviously had jumped at the opportunity to babysit (a sleeping) Shiloh so that Beck could take Jade out somewhere.
Text: [to Cat Valentine]: She's doing okay. And Shiloh has cried all day, but she's falling asleep now so we're putting her to bed. 8 is perfect :)
When Beck walks out from putting Shiloh in her crib, he sees Jade leaning one side of her body against the kitchen counter, arms folded across her chest as she stares at absolutely nothing.
"Hi, Love," he croons, coming up to wrap his arms around her waist from behind. He places a kiss on her shoulder and she leans back into his embrace, immediately comforted by his touch. "How do you feel about taking a walk with me tonight?"
He watches her furrow her eyebrows, and, just as she's opening her mouth to protest, he continues talking. "I texted Cat earlier. She can come over and stay with Shi for an hour or two, and you and I can have some time together. That sound okay?"
"I don't want to leave her," Jade objects.
"She's sound asleep," Beck reassures. "That medicine will have her knocked out for at least three or four hours."
"Beck…you know I'm…not in the mood to go anywhere out in publ—"
"It'll just be me and you. I promise."
He feels her sigh against his chest as she contemplates his suggestion. "Okay," she agrees quietly. Her compliance is met with his smile, and before they know it they've left Cat with their daughter and they're off into the dark.
"Thanks for agreeing," Beck begins as he takes her hand in his.
She doesn't have a verbal reply for him, but she lays her head on his shoulder until they arrive at the spot she'd already guessed they were coming to. They're warm in their jackets, but Beck sets the blanket he'd brought onto the grass for them to lay on. When Jade rests her head on his chest, he extends his arm to wrap around her back, holding her tightly as they stare up into the star-filled sky.
They lie like that—quiet, undisturbed, and peaceful—for about half an hour until, without even being prodded, Jade opens her mouth to speak.
"I'm not ever going to be like my mother."
Beck takes another deep breath and keeps his gaze forward, trying to make her feel as comfortable as possible so she can continue talking.
"She… She thinks that I'm going to end up like her, but I won't. I can't."
A long silence.
"When I was little, my mom used to sing me this song. It was a lullaby by Billy Joel, and she used to sing it to me until one day her episodes started and she didn't feel like it anymore. And when she stopped, my dad tried to sing it for me. But it wasn't the same."
Beck nods and kisses the top of her head.
"Even though I lost my mom, I had my dad. And I loved him, and I know he loved me, and his effort to get into our lives was genuine. He means well—he always has. But… I guess I didn't realize what I was missing in a mom until I became one… There was nothing that made me feel the way I felt when my mom would sing me that song."
Beck won't say it, but he knows exactly what song she's talking about. Their junior year of high school, he'd caught her falling asleep to her iPod—and that had been the song playing through her headphones.
"I just… I don't want Shiloh to ever know what it feels like to be without a mom. And if I'm not the best that I can possibly be for her, than what's even the point of it all?"
More silence.
"I love her so much that it scares me, Beck. If anything happened to her…"
"I know," he says. "I know. And that's what makes you different than your mom."
With the exceptions of a few "power naps" here and there, Jade still hasn't slept in several days. Something about putting her thoughts into the open air, though, where they could dissipate and be whisked away with the wind, is comforting enough for her to close her eyes.
"I love you," Beck says, rubbing her back slowly. "I'll never stop loving you."
"Thank you," is her mumbled response, but he knows what she means by that.
She loves him too.
.
Cough. Cough. Cough, cough, cough.
And then comes the crying.
It's one o'clock in the morning, but Jade rolls out of bed as if she hadn't just been getting her first good night's sleep.
"Babe," she hears Beck whisper as he turns over, "I'll get her."
"It's okay," she says.
When she pushes the door of Shiloh's bedroom open, she walks over to the crib and pulls her daughter out. Jade doesn't know how many other ways she can try to hush the toddler's cries, but she does know what she hasn't tried.
What she's been too depressed to try.
"Goodnight, my angel, time to close your eyes,
And save these questions for another day.
I think I know what you've been asking me;
I think you know what I've been trying to say.
I promised I would never leave you,
And you should always know:
Wherever you may go, no matter where you are,
I never will be far away.
Goodnight, my angel, now it's time to sleep,
And still so many things I want to say.
Remember all the songs you sang for me
When we went sailing on an Emerald Bay.
And like a boat out on the ocean,
I'm rocking you to sleep.
The water's dark and deep inside this ancient heart.
You'll always be a part of me.
Goodnight, my angel, now it's time to dream,
And dream how wonderful your life will be.
Someday your child may cry, and if you sing this lullaby,
Then in your heart, there will always be a part of me.
Someday we'll all be gone, but lullabies go on and on
They never die; that's how you and I will be."
By the time Jade is finished singing the lullaby, her face is stained with tears she'd been waiting to let fall for days. Shiloh is sound asleep on her chest, and Jade doesn't see Beck resting against the doorframe until she turns back around.
He makes his way over to her and kisses her forehead, pulling her into a hug that engulfs both her and Shiloh. "Come back to bed," he whispers. "She can sleep with us tonight."
Beck watches as, for the first time in four days, her lips curve up into the tiniest hint of a smile. She follows him back into their room, where she sets Shiloh between the two of them. Beck slips under the covers and places his arm over the toddler's body to rest his hand on Jade.
"You okay?" He asks quietly.
"No," she sighs tiredly before looking up at him as she takes his hand in hers. "But I will be."
The song is called "Lullaby (Goodnight, My Angel)" by Billy Joel. Youtube it.