APRIL

I eventually made friends with the piano.

I got tired of being at home with nothing to do, so I sat down at the bench one day and told myself that by the time Jackson got home, I'd be able to play a rudimentary version of 'Edelweiss' from The Sound of Music.

It didn't come without frustration, anger, and tears. But I didn't let myself get up, no matter how angry I became. I sat there and ran my fingers over the keys, listening to the notes while remembering the sequence in which they flowed together.

When he walked through the door that night with Peyton in tow, they walked in during the middle of a song.

"April," he'd said, sounding stunned. "You're playing."

I heard his footsteps approach on the carpet, padding softly while Peyton babbled nonsense. I let out a long exhale, finally relaxing my fingers against the keys. The song wasn't what it used to be, but it was something. I made something. And I was something because of that.

"I'm playing," I'd said.

The next day, he left for work after our 20-week appointment and I was alone in the house yet again. I found my way to the piano and sat down, determined to refine my skills on the same song.

That time, I sang along and the notes came together more cohesively than they had until that point. Sitting on the bench while singing the sweet lyrics, I felt a quickening inside me that I recognized instantly.

The baby was moving.

I stopped playing, and the sensation stopped soon after. I blinked hard, smiling with tears in my eyes, then began to play again. Along with the notes and the sound of my voice, came little flutters and kicks from inside my belly.

With one hand moving on the keys and the other resting over my stomach, I said, "Do you like that? Do you like that music?"

My smile was so powerful that it hurt. I didn't stop playing for the rest of the day, just so I could keep feeling those little movements. And when Jackson got home, I went through the song again so he could feel, too.

It became a routine, the music and movement, and I kept those moments between me and my baby close to my heart. It was just the two of us as one, enjoying each other and the sound between us. They were moments that didn't need to be seen to be experienced.

As the weeks passed and the kicks became stronger, I came to a sort of acceptance. Not for my situation, really, or how I got there. But for my life as a whole and everything it's turned out to be, and will be in the future.

For the first time in a long time, I felt something akin to hope.

My water breaks in the middle of dinner prep on a Sunday night. Jackson and I had been making chicken fried rice - well, he was standing behind me and guiding my hand with the knife to chop vegetables - and Peyton was on the floor, petting Corky. Jackson says she's the only one who that dog would never bite.

I hear the splash before I feel it, strangely enough. Then, Peyton squeals, "Potty!"

"April," Jackson says, and the sound of the knife against the cutting board stops. "Your water."

"I know," I say, nerves lighting up my system.

This isn't our plan. The baby isn't due for another week, and my mom was due to fly in around the due date so we could be ready at any given moment. This little one is early, and completely off-schedule. I start to sweat because of it.

"We're fine," Jackson says. "I'll just… I'll call my mom. Right?"

"She's in Thailand with Richard," I say, leaning forward on the counter with my hands braced in front of me. I breathe deeply, trying to keep calm. "We have time. Don't freak out."

"I'm not," he says, and I hear him pick Peyton up from the floor. She starts to whine instantly, begging for Corky back, but Jackson ignores her.

"You are," I say. "And it's making me freak out. So, stop."

"I'm fine," he says. "We just have to think of someone. Jo? Alex?"

"No," I say.

"Mark and Lex?"

"They have Poppy. We can't ask that of them."

"April, you're in labor," he insists. "Jesus. Okay. What about Izzie?"

"I…"

There's no reason not to call Izzie and ask her to come and watch Peyton. It's not that I've been avoiding her specifically, but being around our friends still isn't something I'm comfortable with. I'm hyper-aware of my eyes and the way they look; they make people uneasy. That makes me self-conscious, so I just forgo the interaction entirely. It's been isolating at times, though I've been trying to get better. I've seen Izzie once or twice in the last few months, but it hasn't been like it used to be.

"Sure," I answer.

"Okay," he says. "I'll call her. Take Pey."

He hands Peyton over, who's now 19 months old, nearly two, and a big girl. I can't balance her on my hip so well with the baby bump in the way, but I do my best.

She whines, begging to be let down, but I know better than to do that in this kitchen with liquid on the floor and sharp objects on the counter. She wriggles and fights me, and usually I'd say something to calm her down, but my mind is elsewhere.

This is actually happening. I'm about to have a baby, another baby. I'm about to bring a second life into the world.

I puff my cheeks out with air and ward off tears. I can't afford to cry right now, I'm sure I'll do plenty of it later in the midst of delivery. Right now, this is the easy part. My contractions haven't even started yet. I'll know when they do.

"Mama! Down," Peyton says, more like a fish than a toddler at the moment. "Down now."

"Mama can't," I say.

Then, luckily, Jackson comes back into the room. "She's on her way," he says. "Do you know where the bag is? The hospital bag? We packed it, right?"

"Front closet, with the shoes," I say. "You know, we really don't have to leave yet. We have some time. We're either gonna wait here, or wait at the hospital, and-"

"And I'd rather wait at the hospital," he says, and I realize he's in front of me again. "Step in. I got your sneakers, the blue ones. So, slide in tight."

"Those don't fit me right now," I say, exasperated. "And why should we wait there? I'd rather be comfortable here at home. You can call Izzie and tell her she doesn't have to come for a few more hours."

"I'm scared, April," he says, and I hear the solemnity in his voice. It makes me pause, one foot in the air as I was poised to put a shoe on, and his hands wrap around one ankle. "That's why we have to go. I'm terrified."

The statement hits me with force, and I put my foot back on the floor. His hands stay holding my ankle gently, and I know his eyes are on my face. I've gotten good at feeling them. I hitch Peyton, who's given up her plight to get down, a little higher on my hip and open my mouth to say something, but he sighs first. He leans forward, rests his forehead against my knee, and I lay my free hand on his shoulder.

"So am I," I say.

"I know," he says, very quietly. Peyton lays her head down on my shoulder in the way I love, and I smile softly at the slight weight. "But I'm the one that's supposed to be brave through all this, and I don't feel that way at all. I didn't wanna tell you. But this… it's like, actually happening, and I don't want anything to go wrong."

"You can do this, boo," I say, rubbing my thumb over the material of his t-shirt. I make a joke and say, "I'm the one getting my body torn in two for this."

He laughs, but not much. "Labor isn't what I'm worried about," he says. "You've done it before, and you're a badass. You can do anything, you had to start life all over again and you did it. But what about after? When the baby's here, and we have two?"

I nod slowly. Of course, I've thought of that, too. It's the only thing I've been thinking about for the past nine months. "I know," I murmur.

"I know we don't have a choice, and this is probably the stupidest time I could've chosen to bring this up," he says, sighing. He stands up and I feel his hands on my face, so I lean into him as Peyton is leaning on me. "But I had to tell you."

"I'm glad that you did," I say. "But I don't know if there's anything I can say to fix it. I'm scared, too. I'm really scared." I meant for the statement to stop there, but the words keep flowing. "I'm scared of holding the baby… they'll be so small. Of changing diapers when I can't see, of getting up in the night to breastfeed. I'm gonna need so much help, and I never needed that with this one." I hoist Peyton up a little higher as I reference her. "I know we've talked about it. And I know we're a team. But that doesn't mean this will be easy."

"We've never done something like this before," he adds.

"I know."

"But we're kickass parents, right? We can do it. If anyone can do it, it's us."

"Are you telling me that, or yourself?" I ask, smirking a bit.

"Quiet, you," he says, then there's a knock on the door. "Oh, shit. That's probably Izzie." He doesn't move away, though, he stays with one hand on my shoulder and the other on my face. "Do you want me to tell her to come back later? If you wanna stay, let's stay."

"No, we can go," I say. "I think we'll feel better if we go."

"Alright," he says, then gives me a quick peck on the lips. I stay rooted in place as he goes to get the door, hearing him greet Izzie warmly.

Their footsteps move into the kitchen, and Peyton sits up straight as her favorite friend comes into view. She can't say her name yet, so she does the next best thing by squealing, "Eee-eee!"

"Hi, little Peanut," Izzie says sweetly, coming closer. I can't help but tense up, conscious of the way I look. I lower my eyelids to cover most of my eyes, and feel her presence standing in front of me. "Hey, April," she says.

"Hi," I say. "Thanks for coming."

"Are you kidding?" she says. "You don't need to thank me. You're off to have a baby!"

I manage a smile. Put that way, excitement takes over the feelings of fear. The next time we come home, we'll have a baby in tow. It doesn't seem real.

"Yeah," I say.

There's a pause before she speaks again, I feel the emotions crackling inside it. "Can I hug you?" Izzie finally asks. "I know you're not crazy about them anymore, but I miss you so much. Having you in front of me right now is like, the best thing."

Without giving her a verbal response, I set Peyton gently down on the floor and throw my arms around my best friend. I press my face into her neck and breathe deeply, tears pricking the backs of my eyes, and she hugs me back with equal intensity.

"I love you, Iz," I mutter. "And I'm sorry."

"No," she says, shaking her head. "Don't say that."

I squeeze my eyes shut tight as she rubs my back, and pull away once the moment is over. I wipe at my eyes with the backs of my hands, then let out a laugh that sounds more like an errant sob.

"You gotta get going!" Izzie says, enthusiastically. "I wanna meet that baby."

"Okay," I say, voice wobbly. "Pey's pajamas are upstairs, folded on our bed. She'll go down in about an hour or so, with a bottle. No paci, we're trying to get rid of that. She won't wake up, she'll go straight through the night." I take a deep breath. "And, um… we'll call you when it happens."

"You want me to come to the hospital once it does?"

"Of course. There's an extra car seat for her in the mudroom," I answer, and then extend one arm with my fingers out wide. Following routine, Jackson places the white cane in my hand and I tighten my grip at the top.

"Okay," Izzie says, then gives me a kiss on the cheek. "Good luck. I'll be waiting for that call!"

I smile without showing any teeth, then feel Jackson's hand on the small of my back, leading me towards the door. We walk together, making our way down the steps, on the way to change our lives.

During contractions, I'm surprisingly calm.

The darkness, my constant darkness, is soothing over anything. I'm able to seclude myself in it, push away the sounds of Jackson's and the doctors' voices, and be completely alone with myself. I concentrate on the sound of my own breathing and picture the baby, which isn't hard. We won't know until they're born if it's a boy or a girl, but I've had a vague image in my head since they started kicking. I don't have a guess for the sex, but I can see Jackson's eyes and my smile - just like Peyton. On a perfect little round face, with, of course, a mop of curls atop their head.

"Baby," Jackson says, swiping my sweaty hair off my forehead. "Now's the time for an epidural."

His nose is pressed against the side of my face, one hand cupping the other cheek. His breath is minty, and he smells like perspiration and cologne. But maybe it's me who smells like sweat, I don't know.

"I don't need it," I tell him.

"What?" he says. "Seriously?"

"I'm fine," I say. "I'm gonna have this baby."

"Are you sure?" he says. "There's nothing wrong with getting one."

"I'm sure," I say. "I'm ready to push."

"Just a bit longer," the doctor says. "We need you dilated a few more centimeters."

Jackson caps a hand on my knee and strokes my skin, though I know he's still looking at me. He kisses my cheek and lingers there, nuzzling the apple of my cheek with his nose. "You're amazing," he says.

I respond with a gentle smile, eyes closed. That's all I need.

The pain is white hot, but grounding. It gives me something to grasp, anchoring me to the earth while reminding me what I'm here for. When the baby's shoulders come through, my body feels like it's being ripped in half, but I don't scream. I clench my jaw, bear down, and bring my second child to life.

"It's a boy!"

I let my head fall back onto the pillow, entirely spent. My chest heaves, sweat trickles down the back of my scalp and over the slope of my neck, and Jackson wraps his arms around me. My body throbs, lit up with pain, but the salve of satisfaction brings it down a notch. I did it.

"It's a boy, baby," Jackson sobs, planting kisses all over my face. "It's a boy."

"A boy," I whisper, regaining my breath. Coming back to myself, the rhythmic sound of a baby's cry fills the room, awakening my senses. That's my baby, that's my son. He's here, he's alive, and he's crying for me. "Where is he?"

"They're cleaning him up," Jackson says, still speaking close to my face as he strokes my skin. "You did so good, bitty. You did it, he's here. Because of you."

I smile weakly and he kisses me some more, dropping his lips to any open patch of skin he can reach, even if it's sweaty.

"They're wrapping him up," Jackson says. "Oh my god, he's so big."

"Are you ready to meet your son?" a nurse asks.

"Yes," Jackson says to her, then returns to me. "He's here, beautiful. He's ready."

I extend my arms, ready to take him, ready to feel the weight of my son in my arms for the first time. The nurse cautiously sets him in the cradle I've made, and I hold his little form close, all bundled up. I feel for his hand, but it seems to be tucked in, so I find his face instead and stroke his soft cheek with my pointer finger.

Jackson lets out a sound between a chuckle and a sob next to me, and I realize he's still crying.

"He's gorgeous, April," he says. "Oh my god, he's so damn gorgeous."

I see darkness. I hear everything - Jackson's sniffles, the baby's coos, the doctor talking to the nurses about how I'll need stitches - but all I see is darkness. Like usual, like any other day, like my newborn son isn't lying right here in my arms.

I start to cry. I'm in seclusion once again, but this time it's not calming. I'm excluded from this moment, from meeting my son, while everyone else participates in it. They can see his face, they can see how beautiful he is, but I can't. I created him, but I don't get to witness what I made.

Jackson kisses my shoulder as I cry, pressing his lips there for an extended amount of time. When he lifts up, he starts speaking right away.

"His skin looks just like Pey's," he says. "That light caramel. In the summer, I bet it's gonna be bronze just like hers. It's beautiful, baby, it's so warm."

I sniffle, quieting my cries to listen to him.

"His lips are so pink. A perfect little rosebud, you know… how Peanut's were pursed when she was born. Like he's gonna kiss you, just like that. And his nose, his little nose… it's yours, baby. That cute little nose that I love. It's perfect. And his eyes, well, you know our babies always have my eyes. That's why they're such stunners."

I laugh a little bit, shoulders bouncing.

"And all that hair. It's sticking up like yours does in the morning, every which way. Curly as hell, too. We're gonna have a great time trying to tame that. But hey, I learned how to braid. Maybe we should open up our own salon for kids. Our babies as the models, of course."

I smile some more and lean against my husband, the baby in my arms now clearer than ever. He gave me a brand new image, breathed life into the dream I cultivated for what our baby would look like.

Jackson kisses my cheek twice then combs his fingers through my damp hair. "He looks like an angel," he whispers, softly so only I can hear. "He's an angel."

I lean forward and press a kiss - the first kiss - to our son's forehead. Then, with my lips still on his skin, I murmur, "Gabriel."

THREE YEARS LATER

With Jackson's fingers interlaced through mine on one side and Gabe's on the other, we make our way towards the main entrance of the school.

"Daddy!" Peyton enthuses. "My classroom is this way."

Tonight is Peyton and Gabe's Open House, where kids introduce their parents to their teachers and give them a tour of the school and classroom. Being that it's Gabe's first year, a three-year-old preschooler, and Peyton is finally in kindergarten, it's a special event for both of them.

"Me first!" Gabe insists, tugging on my hand.

"Oldest first," Peyton insists, standing near Jackson. "Right, mommy? That's what you said."

"I did say that," I muse. "Gabey, we'll go see your classroom right after Sissy shows us hers. Alright? You just have to wait your turn."

He makes a disgruntled sound as I hold his chin with my thumb and first finger. He pouts, but keeps my hand and walks with us while Peyton leads the way to her class - room 105.

"We're here!" she announces, standing in front of me. "Mommy, be careful, 'cause we made a paper chain and it's hanging in the door and you might bump your head on it."

"Thanks, babe."

Jackson squeezes my hand for support, and I give him a squeeze back. As we walk inside the room, Gabe unlatches and I hear his footsteps run off in a different direction.

"Did he leave?" I ask.

"He just runned to the craft table," Peyton says. "There's tons of 'struction paper and glitter and stuff. Also, he's getting kinda messy."

I chuckle and say, "It's fine."

"Okay. Look!" Peyton continues. "This is my desk. See my name tag, daddy?"

"I do. It's beautiful. Did you make that?"

"Yep. Mommy, I colored it pink and purple. Our favorites. Right?"

"Of course," I say. "The best colors in the world."

"And it's right in the front of the room, mommy. It has a blue chair that connects, and the lid of the desk even lifts up. Look!" I hear the creak as she assumedly opens her desk.

"Wow," Jackson says.

"Mommy, it's organized and not messy at all. Just like your desk at home. Just like how you keep it. See?" She takes my hand and pulls it inside the desk. "Feel."

I move my hand around and feel her things in neat stacks, pencils lined up on the side. "That's so good, baby," I say. "I'm proud of you."

"And!" she says, hurrying away. "This way, mommy!" she calls from further across the room, and Jackson leads me to her voice. "I wanna show you what I drawed. Look, daddy. See us all?"

"I do. One question, P, where's my hair?"

"You shaved it off baldie!" she squeals, laughing. "Mommy, I drawed Daddy baldie like when he shaves his head down. But I gave you really long, pretty red hair. And here's Gabey. He has his curly ball hair head. And me. I have braids with the fun beads, like Auntie Izzie buys me."

"It's beautiful, babe," I say, soaking in the description she gives.

"Mr. and Mrs. Avery!" I hear, and recognize Peyton's teacher's voice - Miss Hannah. "I'm so glad to see you here. I was just chatting with Gabe. Hey there, Miss Peyton."

"Miss Hannah!" Peyton says. "I brought my mommy and daddy to see everything. I'm telling Mommy about everything with words 'cause she can't see. But she says when I do that, it's like she can really see 'cause I tell it so good. Right, mama?"

"Exactly right," I say.

"Well, if there's one thing Peyton's good at, it's using her words," Miss Hannah says, directing the statement towards us. "She's a pleasure to be around. You two should be proud."

"We are," Jackson says, snaking a hand around my lower back. "Right, Pey? We're proud of you."

"You say it, like every day all the time," she says, and I hear the eye-roll in her voice without having to see it. I laugh because of it, and Jackson snickers, too.

"It was so good to see you," Miss Hannah says, touching my elbow. "Are you still volunteering with the Girl Scout troop on the 17th?"

"I'll be there," I say.

"Mama! My turn!" Gabe demands, probably still from his spot at the craft table.

"Oh," I say. "That's my cue. I'll see you soon, Miss Hannah."

We say our goodbyes, and find our way to where Gabe and Peyton both sit at the table now. As we stand and wait for them to finish their projects, a few other kids and their parents come in and I hear the sound of a chair scraping back as Peyton stands up.

"Kalani!" she shouts. "Hi!"

"Peyton!"

I hear footsteps as a little girl who must be a friend of Peyton's rushes over, and Jackson lets go of my hand to help Gabe clean up.

"Mama, this is Kalani. She's my bestest new friend in class. Can we have a playdate soon?" She doesn't give me time to answer before continuing with, "This is my mommy. Do you like her hair? I helped brush it today."

"Hi, Kalani," I say, smiling down towards Peyton's voice.

I don't hear an answer, even as I furrow my eyebrows and listen for a small kid's voice. Nothing comes.

"We'd love to have you over sometime," I say. "As long as it's okay with your parents."

"Kalani," Peyton says, an edge to her voice.

There's a sharp intake of breath, and then a childlike whisper where they think their voice is quiet, when it's really not at all. "Peyton, why are her eyes like that?"

It's been almost four years since the accident, four years since I went blind, four years of having stark white eyes. But even so, time doesn't heal all wounds. And each time I hear a comment about my eyes - benign or not - that wound opens up a bit more. I know Kalani is a child, she's not at fault for being scared or curious, but I still haven't quite learned how to deal with situations like this.

"Don't say that," Peyton says. "That's mean. I don't want a playdate anymore."

"Peyton," I say, scolding her lightly. "It's okay. Remember what I told you? Not everyone has a mom like me. It's normal for people to wonder."

"It's not nice," Peyton says. "I wanna go." She takes my hand. "I wanna go now, mommy. I don't wanna be in my classroom anymore, can we go to Gabe's now?"

"Sure," I say, then reach an arm out for Jackson. "She's ready to go," I say.

"Oh," Jackson says. "Sure."

We shuffle out of the room, led by Peyton, and make our way into the hall. Once we're there, Peyton melts against my legs and wraps her arms around my thighs, pressing her face into my jeans. I reach down and pet her hair, feeling Jackson materialize at my side.

"What's going on?" he asks.

"Her friend asked about…" I don't finish the sentence. At this point, I don't need to.

"Oh," he says. "Are you okay?"

I shrug. "Let's just go see Gabe's room."

"My room!" he cheers. "104, 104, 104!"

We go inside and he shows us everything - from his locker cubby, his spot on the rug, the math corner, reading corner, bean bags, and everything in between. We say hello to his teacher without a word from Peyton, but I just keep her close without trying to weasel a conversation out of her. I think we both need to let what happened settle before we talk about it, if we talk about it at all. Sometimes, letting it roll off the shoulders is the better option.

When we go home, Jackson turns on the grill and the kids help me set the table on the back porch for dinner. Once all the plates, cups and silverware are in place and the meat is cooking, Jackson sits with me on a patio chair - his body behind mine, cocooning me with his legs on either side of my hips, my back against his chest.

He trails his fingers up and down my arms, then kisses my hair. "You okay?" he asks.

"Fine," I answer, leaning further back against him. He wraps an arm around the front of my chest, straight across my sternum. He presses another kiss to my head, then one to my ear.

"Did what that little girl said bother you?" he goes on.

I tip my head from side to side. "Of course it did," I say. "I don't like knowing that my eyes scare kids."

"Mmm…" he hums, moving his head lower so his lips can attach to the side of my neck. "But you don't scare our kids."

"Of course I don't. It's all they know."

"You know Pey would defend you 'til the death, right?" he says. "She won't ever let people talk shit."

"I know," I say. "But it's still always gonna be… you know, a thing."

"Yes," he says, moving the hand across my chest down to act as a seatbelt around my belly. "But so are the gray hairs in my beard that Gabe's friends laugh at. Also, my big ass."

"Your ass is not big," I mutter, smacking his wrist.

"You only say that 'cause you can't see it," he says, and we both laugh.

"I try not to let it get to me," I say, after we've calmed down again. "But when I hear things like that… I don't know, it's a reminder."

"I know," he says.

"I know you do," I say. "I just had to say it."

"Well, here's another reminder," he says. "We have two awesome kids. And when I say awesome, I mean it. And none of us would be here right now if it weren't for you."

"Blindness and all."

"Yeah, your blind ass," he says, kissing my temple. "But seriously, April. Really. You do more in a day than a sighted mom could do in a week. While dodging that bitchy Pomeranian, no less. And beating the shit out of me with your cane."

I bump him with my shoulders. "Enough out of you," I murmur.

He smiles, I feel it against the slope of my shoulders. He believes that I brought our family to this point, where we are today, but I'm not sure if that's true. It wasn't just me, or just him, or just the kids. It was all of us. As a unit, we saw ourselves through the dark and into the light. Some days we fall back and realize we're still trying to get there, and I have to remember it's not about the end destination. It's about the path taken to get there. And I think the path we're on is a pretty damn good one.

"Hey," Jackson mutters, tightening his arm around my belly. "Gabe and Pey are watching those birds on the gate again." He laughs quietly. "They love it."

"Corky's gonna come running out here any second and chase them away."

"Shh. Don't jinx it. They're happy," he whispers, then pauses for a moment. "Have I ever told you that they both have your smile?"

I smile that same smile to myself now, reaching to hold the side of his face. I turn my head, kiss him softly, and say, "Every day."