we pulled in. He set his briefcase down against the door step and walked towards me. His ash brown hair with sprinkles of gray gelled neatly to the right side. He was wearing the navy-blue pinstripe suit that we had picked out together for his interview last fall with his current firm. It was perfectly fitted around his muscular, athletic build.
When I looked at him I noticed his sea-blue eyes were watery. In the decade I’d known him, I’d seen him cry twice—once at his great Aunt Kitty‘s funeral—she had passed away from lung cancer and he had been close with her growing up—and the second was after college when I’d threatened to break up with him once in the heat of an argument. I’d lost my temper and thrown my keys across the room in our apartment, and then, we spent the next couple of hours trying to find them. We didn’t find them until the next morning as I hurried to get out the door for work—they were in a bookshelf behind a thick stack of law books. We laughed so hard we cried. We were such polar opposites, but while he may not be as obvious with his emotions to the entire world like I am, he feels just as much. There were no spoken words between us, only widened eyes that quickly filled up with tears. That was when I let it all go. Once those first few tears broke free, the rest followed in an unbroken stream. I sobbed convulsively into his chest—uncontrollably—having to remind myself to breathe. My dad picked up Abby and went inside along with my mom. I was thankful for that; no parent ever wants to break down in front of their child. This day, however, I gave myself a pass. This day, my fears and worst-case scenarios had unfolded right in front of me.
Ed put his hand on the back of my neck and massaged it slightly and whispered, “Crys, we’ll get through this.”
I wanted to believe him, but I wasn’t so sure.
There was nothing that could be done now to undo the diagnosis, nothing except wait for the consultation the next morning.
Ed tucked me into our bed and lay with me for a few minutes, rubbing my back while I tried to fall asleep. He knew me so well. There were times I would talk his ear off over mindless nothings, and then there were times when my heart was aching and I just needed a quiet, loving and supportive partner. In his arms, and with his presence, at least I knew we would tackle this together. Just as we had in years past when we had lost our babies.
This would be possibly one of the worst night‘s sleeps of my life. Nothing helped me settle down—not fluffy pillows, down comforters or warm milk. I lay awake tossing and turning, replaying the day‘s events. Had I heard the doctor correctly? Maybe I misconstrued his words. Yes, that was it. That was clearly what had happened. Ugh, such baby brain. Double baby brain. I was unable to process all the information he’d thrown at me. In the morning, I’d realize it was all a misunderstanding, and I was still growing two healthy babies inside me. Unsurprisingly, the night was full of restless dreams. I fell asleep feeling the pain of that first miscarriage all over again.
We walked along the Hawaiian shore, hand in hand. We were twenty-six and it was the summer after our wedding. We giggled as the warm summer breeze sprayed a mist of saltwater on our faces. The water was sparkling blue; families were constructing sandcastles and gazing at the sea turtles napping mid-beach belly sunken into the sand. The catamarans were filled with tourists hoping to catch a glimpse of a whale. With each breath I took, I was mesmerized by the beauty of the coastline. Then, I turned and looked off into the distance and spotted a humpback whale about five-hundred feet back, breaching in midair as if to get our attention. And that she did.
“Wow, that is incredible, Ed—did you see that?” I exclaimed.
“Yeah, pretty cool, huh? That was always my favorite thing to do here as a kid, go on the whale watching tours…but funny, it‘s June, that‘s not typically whale season here.” He raised his sunglasses to his forehead to get a better look.
“Oh really?” I said. “I kind of assumed they hung around here all year long.”
“Nope, winter and spring you can see a ton of them. They travel in big pods.” He paused and smiled sweetly. “You know, they come here all the way from Alaska to give birth to their calves, since it‘s warm and safe here from any predators.”
“That is quite the hike for the pregnant mama whales.” I paused and took a deep breath. “You know, I wouldn’t mind giving birth here and then hanging out with the whales for a few months. We could become beach bums, get a place in Hana and have a little beach baby.” I pulled down the bright pink polka dot rash guard that had started to rise up and expose my stomach.
“Ha, right!” he said shaking his head the way he usually did at my far-fetched ideas.
I turned back to sneer at him and stuck my tongue out playfully. He pulled his Ray Ban sunglasses back down over his eyes, and I could see bits of sunscreen on his freckled cheek that he hadn’t rubbed in all the way.
“Hey, come here, you.” I pulled him close to me and we plopped down on the beach, scattering sand all over us. I reached for his face and gently rubbed in the sunscreen. The mid-day sun was beating down with force. I reached into my beach bag, grabbed my tube of sunscreen and reapplied some more to his pale back.
“You know, you are going to be an amazing mother,” he said, leaning in to kiss me. His radiant smile was a mile wide. “I can’t wait. I’m going to be a daddy!” he said, reaching back over to me.
“I know, me too—I’m so excited—just eight months to go, little one!” I said rubbing my still completely flat tummy.
I’d spent the last six months or so leading up to this trip in full anticipation. I’d imagined the lush vegetation, expansive beaches and rolling white-capped waves. I was ready for sun, sand, surf and deep relaxation—time to tan on the beach and dream about our life together—and our new baby! What would he or she look like? Would she look like her daddy? Would he be a spitting image of me? Would she be sweet and smart like her father or extroverted and feisty like me?
We had the whole week mapped out—hiking in Hana to hidden waterfalls, surfing lessons on Kaannapali beach, snorkeling over coral reefs and sunset dinner cruises—toasting our happiness with grape juice. We took long walks on the beach, hand in hand, planning out the rest of our lives. This pregnancy had been a bit of an unexpected surprise, but we had wholeheartedly welcomed it. We both immediately fell in love with the thought of being parents. Even though we were young, we weren’t overwhelmed or anxious by the change. This was our time—we had thought—to grow our family and grow in our love for one another.
We walked over to the little rental hut near our hotel—the one with all the brochures of life-changing adventures that the islands had to offer.
“Aloha, how can I help you?” asked the beautifully tanned and toned mid-twenties surfer working behind the bar.
“Aloha,” Ed said proudly, as if he’d been to Hawaii a million times. That was almost true: Ed‘s family had visited every year, sometimes twice, since he was three. “We would like to rent some snorkel gear for the day.”
“Of course, here are two masks and two pairs of fins,” he said, handing Ed the gear. “They’re yours for the day.”
“Oh great!” I replied, thinking there was plenty of time for swimming, maybe even taking a nap on the beach and perhaps going back around sunset.
“Be sure to check out the reefs near Black Rock,” said the surfer.
“Mahalo,” I said as I grabbed my gear. I turned and look back at Ed; we were still standing in front
