Love's Awakening (5 page)

“Okay,” Celia said slowly. “Okay.”

*****

Shirley arrived unannounced about nine o’clock in the morning. “Want to go to the hospital with me?”

“Where’s Richard?” Celia asked.

“He stayed with David last night.”

Celia avoided the earlier question. “I’m getting a bassinet or cradle for Caleb. The crib swallows him up.”

“Good idea. I’ll go with you, then we’ll visit David. Caleb will be good medicine.”

“Don’t know if he’ll be allowed in David’s room.”

“We’ll find out.”

“Shirley.” Celia reached for her mother-in-law’s shoulder, trying to convey gentleness in the touch. “It’s best if I don’t see David right now.”

Disapproval puckered Shirley’s lips. “You saw him already.”

“Yes, to tell him the baby’s name and to show him a picture.”

Shirley fished a tube of lipstick from her purse. “Revlon. Best brand.”

“Okay,” Celia said.

“My son loves you.”

“Maybe. He hasn’t been treating me well.”

Shirley carefully applied her lipstick and replaced the tube. “David needs you right now. Put everything else aside.”

Celia could not verbalize her answer.
David
called
me
a
fucking
idiot
for
miscalculating
a
decimal
point.
He
called
me
a
whore
like
my
mother
because
he
thought
I
was
flirting
with
a
grocery
store
clerk.
And
that’s
just
two
in
a
long
list.
Celia refused to simply grin and pretend nothing happened.

“Is he cheating?” Shirley asked.

“Probably.”

Shirley steered Celia to the couch. “David’s not perfect. He makes mistakes. All people do.”

Celia had a feeling what Shirley would say next. Probably Richard had cheated, Shirley kicked him out, they fought, but eventually found their way back together.

“When I was younger, I cheated on Richard,” Shirley said quietly.

Celia tried to find Shirley’s eyes, but Shirley avoided her. “I made a mistake and hurt Richard immensely. It took a couple of years for him to trust me again, but you know what? I cheated. I still loved him with all my heart. The cheating did not mean I loved him less. My husband and I fought for each other and learned from our mistakes. David is your son’s father. He loves you. I remember when he called to announce he was engaged. He’d never sounded happier. He went on and on about you, your hair, your laugh, your eyes, your humor.”

“Why’d you cheat?”

Shirley brought out her Revlon again. “I was lonely. Richard was in the army and overseas.”

“Oh.”

Shirley patted Celia’s leg. “So,” Shirley said. “We’ll buy the bassinet or cradle—my treat—and go to the hospital.”

“All right,” Celia mumbled. She would stay five minutes and leave.

David looked much the same as he had the day before. Same spider web of a head, same everything. However, Richard had aged ten years. Shirley handed over a key to the hotel room where they were staying. “Room 341. See you tonight.” They kissed goodbye—quick pecks on the lips—and Celia searched for love in Richard’s eyes, in Shirley’s eyes. Did not find it.

When Celia got home, a plastic Safeway bag hung from the front door. David’s toothbrush. Oliver had remembered.

*****

The next week passed in a fog for Oliver. He worked. He went to classes. He avoided his family, most of all Celia. A cancerous tumor gnawed at his stomach.
You
have
to
tell
Celia,
you
have
to…

Two weeks after the car wreck, Oliver’s cancer proved unbearable. He woke up at eight a.m., before the alarm, and retrieved the photo from his nightstand top drawer. He looked at it every morning now. Every night, too. It was a wedding photo, the only picture Oliver had of Celia. Her lips revealed a playful, dancing corner and a sly knowledge. Sensuality brimmed. Her strapless dress gave way to a delicious swell of breasts. Her curves were shapely and seductive.

This morning, Oliver studied the photo until his alarm went off at ten minutes after eight. Celia’s smile and her mysterious expression were easy to get lost in.

Oliver had to tell her. Soon, before the cancer devoured his stomach.
Dad
was
transgender.
And
he
tried
to
kill
himself.
I
mean,
she
tried
to
kill
herself.
Kind
of.
Ugh.
Oliver was so bad with the pronouns.

He could not bring himself to ring the townhouse doorbell, though. He told himself it was because his grandparents had moved in with Celia for the time being. Telling Celia with Shirley and Richard around would not do. Celia would need time to work through the revelations at her own pace. She and Oliver could decide together if or when to tell Shirley and Richard. The other, more real reason Oliver was scared: Celia was accessible now, she was different. The change was slight, but it was there. Definitely there.

Oliver kept replaying Celia’s touch on his arm after she received the gift certificate to Chili’s. Before, Celia would not have touched him.

Celia had looked awful, no doubt about it. Purplish suitcases under her eyes. Limp hair. Until the car wreck, Celia had been too beautiful, too perfect, she had been elevated, she had been Oliver’s father’s wife. This post-pregnancy, grieving Celia was different. The old Celia would never have called Oliver at one a.m.

Oliver ignored the beginnings of a headache and grabbed his cellphone.

Celia answered on the third ring with a pleased, surprised: “Oliver. Hi.”

Oliver’s heart fluttered.
Brisk.
Businesslike.
His gaze strayed to the trash can, where he dumped sexy black panties two days ago. The lingerie came with a card reading:
Call
me.
Love
always,
Lori
. Yesterday, Lori had followed up with a visit that involved crying and screaming on her side.

Yes, Oliver was definitely better off without Lori. He hadn’t bothered to tell her about his father’s wreck. Lori didn’t deserve to know, and he wanted nothing to do with syrupy sweet fake sympathy.

“Celia, hey,” Oliver said. “Did you find the toothbrush?”

“Yep. Thank you.”

Oliver took a deep breath. “Are you free tomorrow night for dinner? My place.”

Chapter
Five

“I’m not here to see you,” Celia told David later that day. “Not really. I have an appointment with a shrink across the street. Figured I’d stop in.”

No response.

Celia continued: “No, it wasn’t my idea. Janet’s. You know how she is. Therapy heals all wounds. She recommended him. Figured I’d give it a try.”

Did she imagine that David’s right eyelid twitched?

“Dr. Mark Lucas. He’s a big-name psychologist. Supposedly. I’ve never heard of him.”

The eyelid twitched again, and Celia squeezed David’s hand.

Coma. Odd word. A heavy, multi-layered blend of four letters that struck fear in so many hearts. Yet it reminded Celia of a condiment.
I’d
like
ketchup,
pickles
and
a
touch
of
coma
with
my
hamburger,
please.
Wait.
Sir!
An
extra
packet
of
coma,
please.
Mmm!
How
about
that
coma.
What’s
the
secret
sauce?

Not only was David in a coma, he was likely paralyzed from the waist down.
May
I
have
combo
#3
please?
A
chicken
sandwich
with
paralysis—partial,
please—and
a
side
of
coma
fries.

Shirley said it was a miracle that the injuries from the crash had not killed David. No “yet” existed with Shirley. David would live and be okay, and that was all there was to it. “It’s a sign from God,” Shirley argued. “God’s telling us David is a miracle. There will be more miracles.” Whenever Shirley went on like that, Richard looked away, a shadow in his eyes.

Celia did not buy the spiel either. She wondered what exactly her mother-in-law saw. Was she in denial, thinking that as long as she prayed and praised God, David would be okay? Shirley’s religion was as newfound as a baby’s smooth bottom. Before the accident, Celia had never heard Shirley use the word “God” except in occasional phrases such as “God damn it!”
Foxhole
atheist.
As for Celia’s religious inclinations, she was not sure and was in no hurry to find out. She was drained, exhausted. She was a girl Pinocchio going through the motions, yearning to be human—yearning to connect with her son and yearning to understand the person she had married.

“Bye,” Celia said, and David’s eyelid trembled goodbye.

*****

Fifteen minutes later, Dr. Mark Lucas said: “Not only are you a brand new mother, your husband is in the hospital, unresponsive. He had been emotionally abusive. And probably cheating.” A deep frown imprinted Dr. Lucas’s face. Maybe because Celia had been thirty minutes late. “So, you’re dealing with a lot of emotions.”

Einstein.
“Right.”

“Were you satisfied with David before the emotional abuse began?”

“Uh…” Celia’s knee-jerk impulse was to say yes. “I think so. David used to do many things right. He massaged my feet. Helped with dinner. Made me feel loved. Looked at me with deep brown eyes and made the world safe.”

“What drew you to David?”

“His sharp mind. He could analyze the hell out of anything.”

Dr. Lucas quirked an eyebrow as if to say:
That’s
all?

Celia sighed. “David projected stability. He was a rock.”

“Why was that an issue?”

“When I was a child, my mother and I always scrimped and scrounged. She was an alcoholic. Money went toward her drinks. I don’t know who my father is. She blacked out and woke up pregnant.” Celia clenched her right hand, hating how she made herself sound. “The whole package drew to me to David, okay? On our first date, he told me about his first wife, who died of leukemia. I could tell he was a man who treasured love.”

“Interesting.”

“My stepson thought, maybe still thinks, I was a gold digger. Oh, he never said so out loud, but it was pretty clear. But I wasn’t a gold digger! I loved David. I love David.”

“Go on.”

“David used to be a good listener. I miss telling him the little things. Like, you know, the other day I saw a poodle wearing a pink shirt and with pink bows in its hair. Really? Come on. Why do people feel the need to give poodles these ridiculous frou-frou haircuts? And names like Rocky or Keifer or Tiffany?”

Dr. Lucas did not laugh.
Damn
, Celia thought.
That
was
probably
his
poodle.

“How was your sex life?” Dr. Lucas asked.

“Okay.”

“You were satisfied.”

Celia hesitated before answering. “We didn’t have sex after my fourth or fifth month of pregnancy. If that. Our last time, David couldn’t…you know. He threw a fit, blaming me. He said I needed to work on my bedroom skills and that I was a lousy lover.”

“How did you respond?”

Celia ignored the lump at the bottom of her throat. “I don’t remember.”

The timer on Dr. Lucas’s desk went off, playing a Beethoven sonata. His frown imprint conveyed:
Please
be
on
time
next
week.

*****

The next morning, Celia and Janet packed up Caleb and headed to the mall.

“You excited to buy real clothes again?” Janet asked.

Celia snorted. “No. Ask me again in two months, when I have more of my body back.”

They went into a new store called Space. Celia had not told Janet that a specific event—pizza at Oliver’s apartment that night—was driving the shopping trip. She was not sure why she’d kept quiet. Having dinner with her stepson was innocent. Maybe the hesitation was because Janet did not like Oliver. Or maybe the hesitation was because Celia liked having a little place to herself, a little knowledge to herself. The urge to escape, to not be Celia Hall, to not be David’s wife, to not be Caleb’s mother, had pounded at Celia since the car accident.

When
did
time
alone
become
such
a
bad
thing?
Her mother and Janet hovered. Richard had the tendency to pop up behind furniture and point out that so and so thing needed polishing or fixing up and that he would be glad to do it. Shirley was driving Celia batty, with being always on about David this, David that:
David
smiled
today,
I
swear
it.
This
is
nothing;
he’ll
be
back
with
us
soon.