WELL I wasn't expecting to go this long without an update, but here we are, I guess. I've been in a bit of a mental funk.
I was also hoping to finally update Just Enough on Sunday (because that's 6/9 in the U.S. and you know, nice) but wow it turns out I really fucking hate writing smut (shocker) so…it's still coming (ha) but I don't know about Sunday.
Anway.
"We can keep you one more night – "
"No."
It had been just that long of a conversation, once Florence learned that she could go home if she wanted. She hated hospitals. She'd spent too many days of her life in them already, and if she had the option to spend tonight in her own bed, in her own home, eating the food she wanted, well, she was going to take it.
She'd be fine.
When they got back to their place, Sylvester went to put their things away – bless him, he hadn't left the hospital the whole time she was there, alternating his time between her, Tilly, and getting fitful bursts of sleep. While he unpacked, which she knew meant meticulously sorting and putting anything clean away rather than just throwing everything into the hamper or dropping it on the floor.
She still dumped everything in one spot when she unpacked. So he usually did it. They supported each other.
She eased herself down on the couch. She knew she had to go to bed, but she'd spent so much time in a bed lately that she just wanted to sit in front of a television and not have to worry about knocking IVs out of place or accidentally pressing a call button.
She turned on the television. An old game show was on. Perfect. Nothing violent, nothing scary, nothing that required too much thought. Just good old multiple choice trivia and simple calculations of risk versus reward.
She didn't realize how tired she was until her eyelids began to droop during a commercial. She knew she should get up, she'd be sore later if she fell asleep like this, and she was sore enough already. But it was so relaxing to be in her own home. Home was familiar. Home was comfortable and safe. And she'd rather watch these old 80s trivia shows than whatever soap operas were on at the hospital, so...
"Lori. Lori."
She jolted awake. "No whammies!"
He raised an eyebrow. She shook her head, frowning. "I must have dozed off."
He smiled. "Come on," he said gently, holding out his hands. "Let's get to sleep. We can go see Tilly first thing in the morning."
"Maybe we shouldn't have left her." Florence was suddenly wracked with guilt. She went home. Her baby was still at the hospital, machines and wires monitoring everything she did, other machines and other wires helping her do the things that the other machines and wires were monitoring. Who was she to bolt home as soon as the doctors reluctantly gave her the okay?
"No," he said, "there's nothing we can do for her tonight. You know that. It's better for you if you're back home."
"I know. I just…"
"I know."
"Glad I have you to keep me logical," she said with a small smile, taking his hands and letting him pull her to her feet. "Hug me?"
He did, and she felt him kiss the top of her head. "Bed?"
"Yeah."
They walked down the hall, turning right to go into their room.
Sylvester stopped suddenly, and when Florence gave him an odd look, she noticed him staring at the wall next to the doorway.
The photo wall. Ten weeks, eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen…
Florence couldn't help but scan the line. Sixteen, seventeen, weeks eighteen and nineteen she'd worn the same top without realizing it until after, twenty, twenty – one, twenty – two…and twenty – three.
Today was the day they would have taken another. Because as of today she would have been twenty – four weeks pregnant, and they said that they wouldn't be late with the photo again, way back in week twelve.
Florence walked over to the week twenty – three photo. She studied it, her hands resting on her belly. She looked almost exactly the same as she did seven days ago. Visually, there was no progress. And there wouldn't be.
She wouldn't ever have the bump that sat up and out, like when kids would stick basketballs under their shirts to play house. Her ankles wouldn't swell. She wouldn't feel every tiny movement, know every second when the baby was asleep or awake.
She was supposed to still be pregnant. She was supposed to have her daughter with her right now, safe and warm and growing. Instead, Tilly was six miles away, fighting for her life.
Florence didn't realize she was crying until she felt Sylvester's arms around her.
One way that Amber one hundred percent took after Paige was her ability to fall asleep to certain people's voices, if they had that lulling ability, be it narration of a nature documentary or, as Amber's grandma would put it, "that one about grisly murder."
Thankfully tonight's lullaby was a penguin show narrated by Morgan Freeman, so Paige didn't have to question her parenting skills while letting her toddler doze off to Forensic Files. Granted, a penguin did die, but Amber was sound asleep long before the whole circle of life concept was addressed. Paige carried the girl to her room, placing her stuffed animal well within reach should she wake up and be afraid.
"Should she really be alone?" Walter asked when Paige returned to the living room.
"Who?"
"Tilly."
Paige sat down next to him. "She's in the NICU. She's not alone. People are checking on her constantly."
"People. Not us. None of us are there."
"We wouldn't be able to see her right now anyway. We aren't her parents, and it's almost ten o'clock at night."
"We shouldn't have left her." Walter sounded almost agitated. "She's family."
Paige swung both her legs sideways across his lap, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and kissing his cheek. "I'm worried about her too, Walt. But there's nothing we can do tonight. Sylvester and Florence are at home, too."
"Which is even more why someone else should be there." He sighed. "I just hate the idea of her being miles from us. She's still supposed to be with them."
"I know." She was supposed to be growing inside Florence, getting stronger, more developed, more prepared. "But considering, she's in wonderful shape. You know that. And I know thinking positive is so much more easily said than done, but sometimes it's the only thing you can do to feel any level of sane."
"You can get into that mindset so much more easily than I can."
"No," she said, squeezing his shoulder. "I'm just better at pretending."
