JACKSON
I wake up to the rain. Lying on my side, I open my eyes slowly and come to the surface naturally without an alarm. It's Saturday, my favorite day, and it's even better because I don't have to work.
Beside me, April is on her back with Ramona's belly pressed against her own, our daughter's cheek on her chest. Ramona's eyes are open with her lips parted, and the collar of April's shirt is soaked a darker blue than the rest. Ramona was clearly drooling while she was sleeping. Not unusual. What is unusual is the fact that she seems to be looking right past me, stuck in her own little world.
"Moonie," I say softly. April is still asleep, so I don't want to bother her. Ramona doesn't look at me, though. Instead, her glasses-free eyes remain unfocused and she sticks her thumb in her mouth. "Moon," I say, a little louder.
Still nothing. Wondering if she's lost in thought, I reach over and stroke her cheek with the backs of my knuckles. Only then, when I touch her, does she look right at me.
"Daddy," she says, smiling around her thumb.
I smile back and reach for her, and she crawls off April and onto me. Feeling the shift in movement, April adjusts the way she's lying and flattens her hands over her face, moving her wild hair out of her eyes. The wet fabric of her shirt sticks to her collarbone, so she peels it off and throws it to the floor where it lands with a thump. Then, shirtless, she rolls onto her side and turns towards me and Ramona, her eyes bleary and half-open.
"Morning," she rasps, pulling the sheet up. I can't resist catching a glimpse of her breasts before she does, though.
"Hi, sleepy," I say, then kiss my wife's forehead.
"I am sleepy," she responds, eyes threatening to close again. "OT this morning."
Occupational therapy for Moon. She hates it, so when she hears April say the word, she buries her face in my neck and says, "No."
"Yes," April says, but there's not much vigor in her tone. She's not there yet.
"No oaty," Ramona says, pronouncing 'OT' in the funny way that she does.
"How'd you sleep last night?" I ask.
"You were snoring," April replies, a smirk playing at her lips.
"Lying ass," I say.
She peeks at me through her eyelashes and whispers, "Swear jar."
"You were snoring," I tell her.
"I do not snore," she says, taking one of my hands to play with my fingers. I love it when she does that, and I always have. I don't know why.
With a flick of my wrist, I slip a hand beneath the sheet and squeeze her left breast. "Honk," I say.
She can't resist smiling. "And with that, I'm getting up," she says, swinging her legs off the bed. I watch the curve of her spine rise as she inhales, then she finds a discarded shirt of mine to pull on as she heads to the bathroom. "I feel you staring," she says.
"I love staring at you," I say.
"You creep," she says back.
As she disappears into the bathroom with a giggle, I hug Ramona tight and drop kisses all over her face and neck. "Let's get going, little Moon," I say. "The day is calling us."
…
We take Ramona to OT together, which isn't exactly rare but it's not common, either. It's typically April who takes her. I work weird hours, which makes it hard to maintain schedules and appointments. I'm happy I'm here today, though, especially because Ramona hasn't let go of my hand yet. I love the feeling of her tiny little fingers in mine, where I can keep her safe.
"Look at you, big girl!" her therapist, Natalya, says when she greets us at the door. "Walking like a pro."
"She's been doing really well," April says, petting Ramona's hair. "We've been stretching every day, like you told us. I think it's helping."
"Great," Natalya says. "Ready to head back, Ramona? We're going to work on eating today. Sounds kinda fun, right?"
Ramona looks up at April, who nods her forward. "We like eating," April says. "Moonie could use some help on holding utensils and lifting them up."
At home, Ramona wears a silicone bib with a catch-all tray attached. Once we found those, we never went back. It's saved us a lot of mess and cleanup. She wants to feed herself, she doesn't like being spoon-fed, but muscle control is hard for her, especially when it comes to the finer muscles in her fingers.
"That's exactly what we're gonna work on," Natalya says, extending her hand. "Come with me, Ramona. Mom and Dad will be waiting when you come out."
We both wave as she walks down the hallway with her therapist, then go into the room with the large window where we can watch her work. April and I sit hip-to-hip on the couch, holding hands, and keep an eye on our girl. We don't say anything for a long time, and the first sound April makes isn't a sentence or even a word. A small, sad whimper comes from her throat as soon as Ramona starts to cry, growing frustrated and upset with what she wants to do, but can't. We go through a lot of the same stuff at home. But it's okay for her to cry and get angry here, because it makes her work harder with Natalya. At home, me and April can't stand to see her in such a state, so we usually end up doing whatever the task is for her.
"I hate this part," April whispers, squeezing my hand tight.
It's rare for Ramona not to cry during an OT session. They're difficult for her, but in a good way. I know that and April does, too, but Moonie, being three, doesn't.
"I know," I say.
We can't hear through the soundproof mirror, but Ramona's lips aren't hard to read. She looks at Natalya and says, I can't, but Natalya urges her on. Ramona shakes her head, stubborn as ever, and cries harder. She doesn't give up, though. Even though she shook her head no, she clamps the tiny spoon in those little fingers and lifts it to her mouth while trying not to spill any of the rice that's inside it. Once she makes it to her mouth, she ends up eating about half the rice and the other half gets smeared all over her face, but it's something. It's great, and Natalya tells her so.
Once the session is over, we meet them back in the lobby. Ramona stumbles over to April, lower lip pouted and chin wobbling, and April kneels to receive her.
"Thank you," she says to Natalya. "We were watching."
"It looked like she did great," I add. "With the spoon and the rice."
"She worked hard. Didn't you, Ramona?"
Moonie doesn't answer. She's not actively crying, but she's hiding in April's dense red curls so Natalya can't see her face.
"We'll do more work with utensils next week," the therapist tells us. "I'll see you guys then. Bye, Ramona."
April lifts Moonie up and we walk side-by-side, one of my hands on the small of her back as we go. Ramona is quiet, limp against her mama and April kisses her as she sets her in the car seat.
"That was hard, baby," April says as we're buckling in. "But you did a good job."
Ramona clumsily wipes her eyes with the backs of her hands, hiccupping still. She sniffles hard and leans her head back on the seat, a bunch of thoughts swimming behind her eyes that she can't put words to. I wonder what she would say if she were a little older and knew how to express what she's feeling.
I start to drive and things are quiet for a while. That is, until we pass Winnemac Park and April points out the window with a smile on her face. "Our spot," she says.
"Should we pull in?"
She glances back at Moonie, who I can see in the rearview mirror. She's simply watching the world pass by. "Sure," she says. "Moon, wanna go play?"
This time, I grab Ramona and April leads the way, bounding through the grass in the uninhibited, carefree way that is so extremely her. She looks over her shoulder now and again, skirt flouncing as she runs, and waves me and Ramona onward. I know where she's headed - to the bridge.
She beats us there by a long shot, already sitting cross-legged on the ground when me and Ramona approach. Our little girl is smiling now, entertained by her wild mother, and reaches for April once we get close enough.
"You know where we are, Moonie?" April asks, tucking Ramona's flyaway curls behind her ears.
"The park," Ramona answers.
"Yes," April says. "But right here, right in this very spot by the bridge, is where your daddy asked me to marry him. He got down on one knee and pulled out a ring -" She holds up her left hand and flashes the modest diamond on her fourth finger - "And asked me. And I said yes."
That day feels like yesterday. It wasn't that long ago, less than four years, but so much has changed since then. It seems like it should feel further away, but it doesn't. I still remember what she was wearing - a blue sundress patterned with little flowers, her hair half up and half down. She was barefoot when I asked her, the white sandals she had been wearing were strewn by the river's edge because she'd been playing in the water moments before. We had just found out that she was pregnant with Ramona. We were young and in love.
That's not to say that we aren't still young, or still in love. Because we are both of those things. But having Ramona has aged us - it's not a good thing or a bad thing. It's simply a fact.
We all lay down on the grass, Ramona in between me and April, and I look towards the hill to our left. "Remember when you rolled down that?" I ask April.
She props herself up on an elbow and eyes the hill, too. "Yeah," she says with a grin. "Want me to do it again?"
"Dare you."
"I'll take you up on that," April says, then stands. She runs to the hill at top speed, then collapses to the ground. I pull Ramona onto my lap and we both watch her with smiles on our faces as she log-rolls all the way down, successfully covering herself in dirt and grass stains. At the bottom, she gets to her feet with a wide grin on her face and bolts back up, exhibiting more of her boundless energy.
"You didn't think I'd do it," she says, breathless and smug once she reaches us again.
"My turn!" Ramona says, wriggling to get off my lap. "My turn to roll!"
April and I make quick eye contact and read each other's minds. In the next second, April swoops Ramona into her arms and says, "No, not this time."
Ramona fights against April's grip, which isn't something she does often. "I want to!" she says. "You did!"
"I'm bigger," April says.
"I'm big," Ramona argues. "My turn to roll."
"Mommy said no," I echo. "And I say no."
"Listen to your daddy," April says.
"I wanna roll!" Ramona says, her anger turning quickly to sadness. She stops battling with April and goes limp, sobbing so hard that she can barely catch her breath - it hitches in between each wail. "I can do it, too!"
April pulls her close and looks at me over her shoulder, one hand pressed to the back of Ramona's head as she tries to shush and comfort her. She sways and bounces up and down, something that always soothed Moonie as a baby, but it doesn't work now. She keeps crying, inconsolable not because we told her no, but because of how often we hold her back. If she were any other three-year-old, we'd probably let her roll. But her body is fragile; it's breakable. It's a miracle that she's even here right now, a toddler. She can't do things like roll down big hills.
"Hey, hey, hey," April says, her lips right against Ramona's ear. "It's okay. It's okay! Know why? I can take you. Watch. Let's go together."
In one swift motion, she switches Ramona to a piggyback position and holds on tight to our daughter's little thighs. Ramona latches her hands together in front of April's neck, then April darts off towards the slope, going even faster than she'd gone by herself.
Now, instead of crying, I can hear Ramona laughing from yards and yards away as she races down the hill on April's back. The wind blows her hair away from her face and the wind carries the joyful sound of her voice, and my heart expands with love for both of them.
"I'm flying!" Moonie shouts, bouncing along as April continues to sprint. "Daddy, look! I'm flying!"
…
Later that night, April and I are in bed and the house is quiet. She's wearing underwear and a camisole, sitting cross-legged at the foot of the mattress while brushing her wet hair. I'm not doing much else but watching her, and it's nice.
"What?" she says lightly, eyes sparkling.
"Just looking at you," I say. "Moonie was so happy earlier. That was a good idea, to carry her."
April nods and says, "I couldn't stand to see her so sad. I just thought on my feet."
"Remember when you met my parents, and my mom told you how great of a mother you'd be?"
She scrunches up her face and sets the brush down. "Yes," she says. "I was so weirded out."
April met my parents in a manner that was definitely unconventional. I was on a run, jogging through the college neighborhood where we both lived at the time, and I passed out in front of her townhouse. It was nothing serious, just dehydration, but she brought me a water bottle and cool towels and kept my head on her lap until my parents got there. She had found their number in my phone, and amidst thanking her, my mom told her she'd be a great mother someday. April is right, it was weird, but my mom is a weird person.
"Well, she wasn't wrong."
She tips her head to one side and smiles softly. "Thank you," she says, crawling over after putting the brush on the nightstand. "You're a good daddy, too." She pulls the string of the bedside lamp, the only light source in the room, and climbs into my lap, facing forward. "And as much as I love snuggling with Moonie, I'm glad she's not in bed with us tonight."
Instantly, my body responds to her. We don't have sex as much as we used to, not since Ramona was born, because April has a point - more nights than not, there's a little body in bed with us. But she's in her own room tonight, sleeping peacefully according to the monitor.
"Mmm, me too," I say, winding my arms around April's waist and grabbing two handfuls of her ass. "Just me and you."
"Mm-hmm," she says, pressing closer to kiss my neck.
I get lost in the way that her lips feel on my skin - her kisses are soft, wet, and placed in exactly the right spots. When I feel her tongue along my pulse point, my eyes roll back and I twitch in my pants, which makes her giggle against me.
When her hips start to move, there's no going back. I'm completely hard and everything she's doing feels so good. She pants in my ear, in time with her hips' rhythm, and I pull her camisole off over her head and toss it to the floor. I plant my hands on her breasts as she yanks my shirt off, and once we're both topless, I bend to get one nipple in my mouth.
She arches her back, pulling my head lower, and sighs as I start to suck. She keeps a good hold on my head, palms pressed over both ears, and kisses my temple as I switch sides. Still, her hips haven't stopped moving, but I need them to - or else I'm going to bust.
I get a good hold around her middle and push her onto her back, where she lies with her wet hair fanned around her head, smiling at me. She lifts up as I pull off the tiny pair of panties she's wearing, then spreads her knees once she's naked.
"God, you're so beautiful," I tell her, doubling in half to kiss her pale stomach. I press my lips in a circle around her belly button, under the shelf of her ribs, all the way to her sternum. I'm rewarded for it with a trail of goosebumps that rises in my wake.
I keep her thighs apart as I shed my boxers, one eye on what's between them. She's slick with arousal already, and I can't wait to get my mouth on her.
When I kiss her core, I start to stroke myself. Eating her out has always turned me on, there's just something about it that gets me. How she's spread open and vulnerable just for me, as I get to taste the most intimate part of her. There's nothing else like it.
She moans, then inhales sharply through her nose. "Oh," she whimpers. "Jackson. I love you."
I grin without lifting my head, stroking the soft skin of her inner thigh as I say, "Because I'm eating your pussy for the first time in forever?"
"No," she breathes, then laughs. "Well, yes. But not just that. Because… I don't know, I love you. You're my husband."
I plant a firm kiss on her leg, then meet her eyes. "I love you, too," I tell her.
I don't let her come while I'm going down on her. I get her close and pull her away a handful of times, and once she's sweating and practically begging for it, I lift up and position myself to slip inside her.
We don't bother with a condom and we never have. There's no reason to. Given, we thought that before Moonie was conceived, but it's only been proven further in recent years. We don't have to worry about contraception.
When I push inside her, she's wet and insanely tight. I don't think I'll ever get used to the amazing way she feels. I drop my forehead to her chest plate and she ghosts her fingers over the back of my neck, her breath coming in shallow gusts that match the thrust of my hips.
Neither of us last long. We were both already so close. But it doesn't matter, because it feels so fucking good to come inside her and feel her orgasm as it's happening, those muscles fluttering and tensing around me as I wrap her slick body up in my arms and wait for her to come down.
After it's over and our heartbeats have slowed, April pulls on one of my shirts and I stay naked, using only the sheet for cover.
"If she sneaks in here later, you're gonna want bottoms," April murmurs, tightening one arm around my middle.
"You're right," I say with a chuckle, then reach for my boxers.
There's a moment of pause as we both get comfortable again, and I can practically hear her thoughts whirring. She rubs my stomach slowly, and sighs before she speaks.
"Her hearing is going, Jackson," she whispers.
I close my eyes for a long moment as the fact settles in my chest, in my head. I know exactly what April is talking about, and I also know that she's right. That's what was off about Moonie this morning. She didn't have her glasses on, so she couldn't see that I was talking to her. And she couldn't hear me, either.
It's all thanks to Krabbe. Her eyesight went first, when she was barely two, and we've been lucky up until this point that she's always tested normal for hearing. But that has changed.
"Yeah," I say, because there's nothing else to say.
"I kept trying to convince myself that it wasn't happening. But it's small things that I keep noticing."
"I've noticed, too. I noticed this morning."
She presses her face against my bicep and doesn't make a sound. She's not crying, but she's not talking, either.
"It's okay," I say, holding her head and stroking her red hair, dried curly, out of her face. "We'll figure it out. It'll be okay."
…
A month later, it's time for us to head to the ENT to get Ramona's hearing aid. She was fitted as soon as we could get in after we noticed, and today's the day that she gets to try them on for the first time and bring them home.
Unfortunately, the appointment is right around Ramona's naptime, so she's fussy and unwilling to cooperate because she's tired and didn't sleep well last night. She refuses to let April put her down - she's fine while she's on her hip, head resting on her shoulder, but as soon as April tries to set her feet on the floor, crying ensues. The same thing happened when she tried to hand Ramona off to me. So, April has stopped trying and is instead bustling around the house getting things together so we're not late, with a three-year-old attached to her.
"Okay, I have extra clothes, toys, shoes, purse, phone…" she mutters to herself.
Interrupting her monologue, my phone rings. It's the fire chief, so I pick up with a gruff, "Hello?" and put it on speaker.
"Avery, we need all the help we can get. I know you're off today, but is there any chance you could head down here?"
April's head turns in my direction alarmingly fast. With her eyebrows set low and eyes on fire, she hisses, "No."
"I… Chief, I don't know if I can make that happen today."
"No, or you don't know, Avery? I'm saying that I need you, so what's your answer?"
April mouths the word again. No.
"I'm sorry. I can't. My daughter… we're going to pick up her hearing aids today. I need to be there." I hang up and instantly feel tension radiating from my wife. "What?" I say. "I told him no."
"Only because I told you to," she snaps. "I can't believe you were even considering it."
"I wasn't! You didn't give me a chance."
She shakes her head and drops it, slinging Ramona's bag over her shoulder and pulling the video camera out of it. While still balancing our toddler on her hip, she opens the camera and is about to press the 'on' button, but I stop her.
"Wait, what are you doing?"
She shoots me a look like the answer is obvious. "This is an important day. I was going to film it."
I let out a long, exasperated sigh. "Are you kidding?" I say. "This isn't a fun day out, April. This is a day for us. For family. It's not for… all the viewers, or whatever."
"I didn't say it was meant for fun," she says, turning the camera over in one hand. "There's no reason we can't make it fun for her, though. And other moms with Krabbe kids will be interested to see this, it might really help them."
"I think we need to help ourselves first, don't you?" I say. "I don't know what I'm doing when it comes to hearing aids, or having a kid with hearing loss. And I don't want to figure it out with thousands of strangers watching me."
"Well, it'll be authentic, and-"
"I don't like it," I say. "If you won't put the camera away for my sake, at least do it for her. How do you think she's gonna feel with that lens in her face while she tries these things on?"
"It's not like that, Jackson, it's not pervasive like you think. You make it sound so evil, like I'm forcing her to-"
"Just not today, okay?" I say. "Just not today. Please."
She throws her hands up and sets the camera on the counter with a clatter. "Fine," she says. "Fine. Let's just go, then."
At the ENT, Ramona is quiet while sitting on April's lap. In fact, we're all quiet. April has her arms wrapped around Moonie's waist and holds her close while the doctor places the hearing aids in - a pink one for the left ear, a purple for the right, so it's always easy to tell which is which - and makes sure they fit correctly.
"How do they feel, Ramona?" he asks quietly.
She blinks those round blue eyes in amazement, like there's been layers upon layers added to what she can hear and perceive. All she does is blink, though. She doesn't say a word.
"Moon?" I say, leaning forward to rest a hand on her knee. "You okay?"
April turns her head and whispers right in Ramona's ear, softly but loud enough for me to hear, too. "Ramona Grace," she sings. "Can you hear me?"
With that, Ramona turns to look April right in the eyes. Only then does she smile, wide and bright, as she says, "Mommy."
…
That night, I'm waiting for April in bed while she tucks Moonie in. It's taking longer than usual, though, and I don't know why until she walks into our bedroom with Ramona cradled in her arms.
"Her body hurts," she says, rocking her gently. "Couldn't get comfortable; she's so stiff. I tried everything, and nothing worked. I couldn't think of anything else but to bring her in with us."
"Alright," I say, scooting over to make room. There are tearstains on Ramona's cheeks, and she sniffles as April lays her down beside me.
"I'm gonna go put my PJs on," April says. "Be right back."
As she leaves, Ramona writhes and fidgets as her body works against her. Her back arches away from the mattress in a way that used to look unnatural to me, but doesn't anymore. I don't see her like this often - April does, at naptime. But lately, it's been happening more and more at night.
"Hey," I say, keeping my voice low. "Moonie girl. You're okay. Daddy's right here."
She looks over with just her eyes, her body continuing its jerky, erratic movements. "Daddy," she whimpers.
"Yeah," I say, massaging her arms and legs firmly, but gently still. "Daddy's here."
Her breath comes in shaky gusts, but she stops crying by the time April comes back and lays down beside us. As I continue to massage Ramona's limbs, April slips the pink bonnet on over our daughter's curls and strokes her forehead with her fingertips.
"Mommy," Ramona says later, after her body has been soothed substantially. She won't close her eyes, though, even as she lies still.
"What, honey."
"I want to go to school," she says. "Like Layne."
Layne is her cousin - the daughter of April's youngest sister, Alice. She's four, born almost a year before Ramona; they've been close for Moonie's whole life.
"Can I go to school?" Ramona asks, her voice tinier than ever.
The movement of April's fingers stops and her lips part slightly. I can tell she's been caught speechless. She doesn't know how to answer, at least not in a way that won't hurt either us or Ramona.
"I… honey…" she begins, but I jump in to save her.
"Babe, Layne is a year older than you," I say, and Ramona turns to look at me as I speak. "She's ready for school, but you're not quite there yet."
"Oh," Ramona says, seemingly satisfied with my answer.
"And anyway, if you went to school, who would keep Mommy company all day?" I ask, rubbing Moonie's tummy. "She would be lonely without her best friend."
Ramona smiles then, nodding with her eyes on mine. "Yeah," she says.
April looks at me with a soft expression, and I know she's grateful. She reaches for my hand and overlaps it where it rests over Ramona's belly, and strokes my knuckles with her thumb.
"Okay," April whispers. "It's time to try and sleep now, Moon."
I reach to turn the light off. Then, while keeping one hand under April's, I take Ramona's hearing aids out one by one.