After Mona's second call, we couldn't anymore. We held each other a lot though. And promised not to blame each other or ourselves.
We stayed out of our room as much as we could, sometimes just sitting by the fireplace, holding hands, saying nothing. I saw people smile at us like we were such a cute young couple, not noticing we didn't smile back.
We even got out and skied for awhile. It felt good to feel the air rushing against my face, to do a sport that I could throw my mind and body into, although I don't think I summoned up any endorphins. Jonathan joked that I'd have an accident and then Tony would kill him for not stopping me from the risk. It was a horrible joke, not funny and so grim. But I knew he had to make it, and I knew how he meant it.
I did my best not to cry behind my goggles. The tears might've frozen if they escaped and ran down my face.
Today, Sunday, we could finally drive home. The roads were clearer, but we still took it slow. Jonathan again made a joke about me getting in an accident, "only this time you'd be wiping me out, too."
I wanted to say, "Shut up," like I would've done before, but I couldn't.
We left at 9 a.m. and it's taken us nine hours to get here. We ate in the car to save a little time.
He parks the car and then says, "Sam, I want you to know, I couldn't get through this without you."
I nod. I don't say, "She's sort of my mother, too. That was my little brother, too, that died." I feel like his pain is stronger. Instead I say, "Hey, you got me through the early stages of a divorce and a pregnancy. I kind of owe you."
He smiles a little and then tenderly kisses me. I don't say that this may be the last time we kiss. I just kiss back as if it is.
Then we get out of the car and walk in, not touching.
We go to the reception desk.
"Hi, I'm Angela Bow—Micelli's son."
The receptionist nods but before she can page anyone or even say anything, Mona sweeps us both into a tight hug, like she's been waiting for us.
Then Jonathan starts crying. He says, "Grandma!" like he's a little kid.
She kisses his cheek and then mine. She has to stand on tiptoes for him. I never did get taller than her. I'm the shrimp of the family. Well, except for Val and my surviving little brother. Assuming he is surviving.
"How are—?" I can't say it.
"They're still kicking."
I love her. I love how she put that. And that means both of them, Angela and the other twin. I wish that they were well, but that will take time. I try to concentrate on the fact that they're alive.
And then Jonathan asks, "How's Tony?"
And I feel terrible. Dad, poor Dad! This must be killing him!
She lets go. "He's in the meditation room. He's sort of camped out there."
I want to laugh. "Camped out? In the meditation room?"
"He refuses to go home. He wants to sleep in Angela's room, but they won't let him yet."
"Poor Tony," Jonathan whispers.
"We need to go see him!"
"Sam, wait!"
"Mona, we've been waiting for two and a half days! Excuse me," I ask the receptionist, "where's the meditation room?"
She points.
"Thank you!" I run down the hallway, ignoring Mona and Jonathan calling after me. I find the room and then tiptoe in.
Dad is sleeping, curled up like a little boy, on one of the benches. Someone brought him a blanket and pillow. I can picture the hospital staff insisting they can't allow this, and then giving in when the stubborn Taurus refused to move.
I move closer. "Dad?" I expect him to wake up and cry on my shoulder. I will be the grown-up. I will be strong for him.
But when he opens his eyes, they immediately narrow. "So!" he spits out. "You're finally here!"
"The roads were bad, Dad." I hate that that rhymes.
"You shouldn't even have gone away this weekend."
"Dad, how were we supposed to know it would happen so soon? It was only her eighth month!"
He shakes his head. "You shouldn't even be with him. God is punishing us!"
Has he gone crazy? This doesn't sound like my father. But then who knows how much this is killing him? And it's not that I don't feel guilty on my own.
"You're a little slut! You screwed your stepbrother!"
I wince. For Dad, a man who will swear "Gee whiz" at someone who cuts him off on the freeway, this is extreme profanity.
"Tony, stop!" Mona orders.
I turn. I didn't hear her and Jonathan come in.
"Stay out of this, Mona!"
Jonathan looks scared but he still comes over and takes my hand.
"This is my family, too, Tony Micelli, and I will not have you take this out on the kids!"
Dad swallows. "You're right. It's my fault. Everything, this whole horrible year."
"It's also a year with good things in it. Like the birth of your granddaughter. And your son."
He scowls. "And don't forget my daughter and my stepson falling in love."
"We're not in love," Jonathan says quietly, although he squeezes my hand.
"You're not?"
"No, Dad, we're not."
"Then why the hell did you put us all through this shit? Just for a few fucks?"
"TONY!"
"You know what? I'm done. I'm sorry, Sam, I'm going back to New Haven tonight. I'll call you." Jonathan lets go of my hand.
Dad mutters something in which all I can catch is "wimp."
To my shock, Jonathan goes and gets in Dad's face. "I'm a wimp? My mother almost died giving birth to sons to carry on your family name, and all you can do is hide in here and cry! So excuse me if I don't want you as a role model anymore. I'll come back to see my mother as soon as they let me, but I don't want to see your hypocritical face again!"
"Jonathan!" Mona and I both exclaim.
A timid-looking woman peers in the doorway and says, "Um, excuse me, is this the meditation room?"
I want to laugh so hard that I collapse.
Mona, ever gracious, says, "We're almost through. Please just give us a few more minutes."
"I am through," Jonathan says and leaves, brushing past the confused woman.
Dad starts crying, which is scary in a different way, but easier to manage. Mona looks at me and I understand. So we two short little women escort my muscular father, with the blanket over his shoulders and the pillow in his arms, out the door. The woman gives us a sympathetic look and I try to smile back.
"Where are we going?" I whisper to Mona.
She just shakes her head. She leads both of us outside, to the garden, with flowers stubbornly sticking their heads up, breaking through the snow. It's the most hopeful sight I've seen in days.
It's too cold to sit down, so we just walk.
"I'm sorry," Dad mumbles after awhile.
I hug him from the side. "I know," I say quietly. "So am I."
"I love you two so much. How could I say those things?"
"It doesn't matter." I know Jonathan didn't mean to snap at Dad either.
"Will he come back?"
"Of course he will," Mona says briskly, "he has to meet his brother, doesn't he?"
"Yeah," Dad says quietly.
"So how was the skiing?"
I can't help it, I start laughing hysterically. I mean out of control hysteria.
"Should I slap her?" Dad says, and I know he means it as a joke, although there was a point in the meditation room when I really did think he was going to slap me. Not just verbally I mean.
I subside into giggles. "I should slap you. Such language, Dad!"
He frowns. "God must hate me now, if he didn't already."
"God is a lot more forgiving than you are, Anthony Morton Micelli."
He winces, and not just at "Morton."
I ask, "Should we go in and see if they'll let us look at Anthony Morton Micelli, Jr., yet?"
Dad quietly says, "We talked about names. On the way to the hospital. First names, middle names. And the little one, the second one, died before we could even decide which was which."
"What are you going to name your son, Tony?"
He sighs. "I'm afraid to. What if he doesn't—And then Angela! What if she doesn't—?"
"Tony, if you don't give me an answer, I'm going in there and as the grandmother I'm going to make sure they put Morton as the first name."
Dad swallows. "Well, I guess Anthony. But we were also talking about Roberto and Matteo and Angelo."
"That's beautiful, Dad," I say softly.
"Use them all," Mona says.
"Yeah?"
"Yeah, you're Italian, you can get away with it."
He smiles a little.
"Anthony Roberto Matteo Angelo Micelli. ARMAM," I say.
"Or make it a palindrome. MARAM for Matteo Anthony Roberto Angelo Micelli."
He shakes his head. "I think I'll wait till I can talk to Angela before I decide on the exact order. But thank you both. And not just for the names."
"Of course," Mona says.
"Dad, maybe it's time to go home. They can call us if anything happens."
"Yeah, home," he says quietly, as if exhausted.
"Mona, who's with Val? Is it still Bonnie?"
"No, she had to get some sleep. Walter is looking after Val."
That's OK. I like Walter and so does Val.
We turn in the blanket and pillow at the reception desk and then head out to the parking lot. Jonathan took my car, since he still had the keys. I was half hoping he'd be waiting by the car, and he and Dad could apologize to each other. But I guess he went home. Unless he drove my car to New Haven!
We get in Dad's Jeep. I drive.
When we get home, my car is there, but Jonathan's isn't. Mona and I look at each other, but Dad doesn't seem to notice.
"He'll be back, Dear," she whispers.
I know he will, but it won't be the same. Too much has changed now. I nod and then give them both quick hugs and head up to my apartment, eager to hold my beautiful, healthy baby.