My mom once told me I was an accident. But later on, she told me that what she said was also an accident. We had gotten into a little argument about my piece of crap father, and let’s just say it didn’t end well. On the day my youngest sister was born he called me and said he was on his way to Twin Mountains Hospital. Yeah, that never happened.
He was actually on his way to the airport where he and my mother met, with a one-way ticket to California and his new 19-year-old girlfriend, Zuma. Mind you, he was in our lives for a long time. No one had expected he’d been cheating, except me. I like to think I have a sixth sense about certain things or people—especially about my father. When I came back in the hospital from our outside phone call, a dismal cloud hung over me.
“He’s on his way, he should be in here soon,” I said, not daring to look my mother in the eye.
“That son of a gun should’ve been the one who took me to the hospital, not you!” my mother yelled before crying out in pain. She was gripping onto the railings of the bed with a face of agony. If there’s one thing I’m thankful for, it’s that I won’t have to see someone give childbirth for a long time. I was there for all of my younger siblings’ births. After the second time, it’s almost like you don’t notice the loud cries and beeping machines.
My mother’s scream snapped me out of my gaze.
“Yeah?” I scooted the chair closer to her. She looked up into my eyes and smiled for a split second.
“Could you please give me your hand?” Her jaw clenched as she extended her hand. I gripped it, knowing what to expect by then. Maybe this time I’ll beat my record of two fractured metacarpals! The heart monitor beeped rapidly, and I could feel the pressure on the bones in my hand. My mother screamed in pain as the doctor and nurses guided her, then came out my youngest sister, Ava. The room was filled with her cries, along with my mother’s cries of joy. I could tell that Ava would be her last, and a part of me thought I would miss being in the hospital during those times when she needed comfort.
When my mother came home, it was an absolute mess. While she was in the hospital, she was too filled with joy to realize my father never came to see her. A couple days later when we brought Ava home, there was a note on the fridge explaining everything. My mother burst into hysterics and fell to her knees in the middle of the kitchen. As much as I wanted to break down with her, I had to make sure my younger siblings were okay. None of them knew what was going on, and I didn’t know how to deal with it all. My mother went from a happy wife to a distressed single-mother in the span of a week.
“Mom, I’m pretty sure everything’s gonna be okay. Maybe he’s on a business trip or something?” I asked, holding Ava in my arms. She stared blankly at me, probably wondering who I was and what was happening.
“No, he’s not. What will I tell your brothers and sisters? My family?” My mom sniffled and wiped her nose on her sweater. “You know, my parents never liked your dad. As soon as the word gets around to them, they’ll never let me hear the end of it!” She shoved a mug filled with coffee off of the counter, it shattered on the floor. Ava’s cries filled the house, and I attempted to calm her down by rocking her.