No More Mio Amore

Chapter Eighteen “It's Christmastime, Pretty Baby”
 

Friday, December 24th 2008
Brian’s P.O.V.

As I love you through the glass, the hours seem so slow to pass.
I stroke your skin and hold your hand; this isn't exactly what I had planned.
I want to hold you forever, but you have to rest.
I must listen to the doctors, for now they know best.
Reluctantly, I lay you in your isolette,
the days pass and you need it less and less.
So sleep and grow my baby, and dream of clouds of foam,
And I will love you through the glass until you can come home. –Unknown


I look up at Debbie, my vision marred by tears that have fallen down my cheeks as I read the plaque with Gus’ footprints at the top.

I won’t brush the tears away because I accept that they are a part of me, a part of the man I am now. You know, I don’t think I’ll ever be the same man I was before Gus was born. Or, perhaps the correct word is ‘boy’. I’m barely recognizable to myself as the boy who feared expression of emotion unless he was high, drunk or angry. That sounds too much like my father, or the boy my father tried to make me become.

It’s amazing how different I see myself now that I have to imagine that I’m looking through Gus’ eyes too. I’m still scared that I’m going to fuck everything up. But I’m sure that every parent has those fears. I know that it doesn’t matter what background you come from, when you have a baby, you’re scared to be their parent. You’ve never felt so helpless and yet completely in charge as you do, knowing that you are the one who will shape the man or woman or whoever the fuck they become.

“Here, Sweetie,” Debbie says in a consoling voice, handing me a crumbled Kleenex from her purse.

I take it, nodding my head in thanks and wipe my eyes and nose. Tears are nothing to be ashamed of, no matter what my father or any HE-MAN may want to think. I won’t ever let Gus think that he’s less of a man, not for any reason, and certainly not because he has a heart.

A heart? Well, I suppose that is what I have, now. A heart that beats for someone, now. I’m Brian Kinney, and I don’t give a fuck what anyone thinks of me, right? Therefore, if what I’m saying or doing doesn’t fit in the mold of who I was before Gus, well I say all the better! And you know what? If someone doesn’t like it, I couldn’t care less. I know whose opinions I should value, now. There are very few people's opinions I take to heart, and I realize, almost stupidly, that one of those people is Debbie. How I could’ve missed it, is amazing to me. I guess I always thought she had taken me on my first impression and that there would never be any coming back from it. I was wrong. Dead wrong. Thankfully.

“I thought we could prop it up back here,” Debbie tells me. She turns her back, giving me a moment to compose myself; she motions to the countertop next to the sink. “Then when you go home, you can hang it in his room.”

I stand up and take the plaque over to the counter, prop it up with one of the thick baby books and step back to admire it. “It looks good there, but it’ll look even better on the wall of his room.”

Deb rests her head on my shoulder for a minute and we just stand there, reading the poem and looking at the impressions of Gus’ tiny little footprints. The only sounds in the room are the machines attached to Gus. He’s out of isolation, but he’s still the only baby in the unit. He’s the only baby in all the NICU, actually. He’s the only child in the greater Pittsburgh area who has to spend his first Christmas Eve in the hospital.

“He’ll be home for the New Year,” Debbie speaks, as if reading my mind.

I walk over to Gus’ isolette and look in on him. He’s sleeping, which is all he does lately. “We don’t know that for sure,” I reply, touching the glass of his new cradle cover. “But maybe, Easter?”

Debbie’s hand rubs up my back and settles on my shoulder, she squeezes it, relieving a lot of my tension in the one movement. I feel my knees practically buckle from the stress relief.

“Christ, kiddo, you’re wound up tighter than a virgin on prom night,” she chuckles.

I laugh at her remark but my laughter turns into a deep sigh when she starts massaging both shoulders. “I should really make an appointment at the spa,” I say, capturing her hands to stop her motions. “Thank you.”

“Anytime, Sweetie, you know I’m good with my hands.”

I grimace at the thought and her laughter echoes through the room. “You should get going,” I tell her. “You have to be bright-eyed and bushy-tailed if you’re going to play Mrs. Clause to all the kids at the GLC tomorrow afternoon.”

“Oh,” she swats my arm. “You know I do just fine on a few hours of sleep, Brian. Besides it's early. I don‘t have to be there until noon. Come to think of it, you should come tomorrow, have lunch, see all the kids. Michael will be there with David and his son.”

I shake my head at her. “The last thing I want to do is be around a bunch of screaming kids waiting to play with something from Vic’s goodie bag of surprises.”

“Santa’s bag,” she replies in mock anger. “The way you said it made it sound so dirty, Brian. Shame on you.” She smiles at me, so I know she thinks it’s just as funny as I do.

“Really though, I’m going to spend the day with my kid, who neither screams nor cares for toys,” I tell her, looking on the bright side. “Not that you guys haven’t gone crazy with the gifts,” I continue, motioning to the bags of presents under the tiny inflatable Christmas tree sitting beside my chair.

“There’s a few in those bags for you, if I’m not mistaken,” she tells me, grinning evilly.

I roll my eyes at her. “Say your good-byes, grandma. We’ll see you tomorrow night.”

“What about Cynthia? Is she coming?” she asks, putting her hands in the holes of the incubator and stroking Gus’ back.

“Yes, she managed to forgive me and should be showing up in a few minutes,” I reply, looking at the clock. “No doubt she’ll be bringing tons of gifts for him too.”

“If you weren’t gay, I’d order you to marry that woman,” Deb jokes before kissing the top of the isolette.

“If I weren’t gay, I would’ve married Lindsay,” I tell her, feeling an odd shiver rush down my spine at that statement.

She walks back over to me, her expression a little too pity-filled for my liking. “Brian, have you,” she takes a deep breath as she stops in front of me before continuing, “have you been out to their graves? I'm going to bring them some flowers tomorrow, before dinner. I thought I might put a picture of Gus out there for them. You could come.”

No. I couldn’t. “You do that,” I say. “But I’ll be here, all day, where I’m supposed to be.” I haven’t yet ventured out to the cemetery but I don’t want to tell her that.

She blinks a few times, probably trying to accept my reply and I think she’s about to say something else to try to convince me to go with her, but she nods her head at me, apparently deciding to let it go. “Okay, well, I’ll see you tomorrow, Sweetie. Tell Cynthia I said Merry Christmas.”

Yeah, right. Like I’m actually going to say that? Okay, I may have told Gus “Merry Christmas Eve” when I woke up this morning, but that’s entirely different. “Bye, Deb,” I reply, walking her to the door. Oh, fuck it. “Merry Christmas.”

She’s wise enough not to look back at me, as she exits, but I can tell from the slight hop in her step, she’s probably grinning about those two words as though they’re the best damn Christmas gift she’s ever gotten.

I walk back over to Gus, pick up my camera and snap a couple of photos of him laying on his new Christmas blanket and in the Christmas outfit Debbie bought for him. I wasn’t sure if it would fit him, because they didn’t have a preemie size and she was only able to get zero to three months, but he surprisingly filled it out. It’s as though he’s a normal baby now. Of course, I mean sans the wires and incubator. However, it’s one big step. He's still tiny, but he looks more like the full-term babies in the nursery.

I put the camera down, wash my hands and slowly open the isolette’s lid. The creaky sound of it opening startles Gus awake. Now that he’s back in a covered cradle, he once again wakes up every time I take him out. In the open cradle, I was able to take him out and hold him without him waking. I guess it could be looked at as a good thing, however. I know that each time, he’s awaking to the sound, he isn’t deaf. Not like the baby that left for his home last night.

Gus starts to whine, so softly I know that it isn’t a cry of pain, distress or hunger. He’s just irritated that I woke him from his slumber. But he’s due for a bottle and I want to feed him before Cynthia gets here. She had plans to have dinner with her great Aunt this afternoon so I wasn’t able to get time to go to the loft to have a shower or get anything to eat. Debbie brought me a few lemon bars and I could’ve asked her to stay with Gus, call me crazy, but I actually wanted to spend time with her while she visited.

Somehow, between the crap Mikey and I have had between us lately, and my presumption that she would confirm my worst fears; I forgot how great Debbie is during a crisis, mini or major. The woman truly is an enigma. In five minutes she’ll call me on my shit, give me ridiculous orders disguised as, what turns out to be, incredible advice, and then tell me she loves me and surprises the shit out of me by praising how good of a man I’ve become! I’m not saying that I didn’t have my justified reasons for wanting to keep her and everyone else at a distance since Gus was born. However, I’m fucking glad she’s been visiting for the last three days straight, since Gus was moved back into this unit. There’s a relief I feel when she’s around that I’ve come to look forward to.
 

****
 

I’m nearly finished with Gus’ bottle when Cynthia strolls into the unit, dressed in a pair of plaid pajama pants and red, long-sleeve shirt. “So, have you converted to lesbianism?” I ask, once she reaches us, placing a horde of Christmas presents near the inflatable tree.

“I wanted to look festive and I certainly wasn’t going to show up in my Christmas dress,” she defends. “Fuck off.”

“Shh,” I mock. “You’ll teach Gus bad words before he even leaves the NICU.”

“You’d love that,” she retorts, grinning. “He’ll be telling all those evil doctors to fuck off as they’re saying their goodbyes to him.”

“I can only hope,” I joke. “And, just to let you know, I’ve already arranged with Sherry to wheel you and Gus out in a wheelchair the day we leave.”

“Oh, well I guess that’ll make us even, Dada.” The bitch has this suspicious sneer to her high-pitched voice and she’s looking at me as though… Fuck.

“What’s going on?” I ask, rising from my chair and glaring at her as I walk Gus over to the changing station. "What did you do?"

“Nothing, nothing you need to know, yet.”

As soon as I place Gus on the padded plastic he starts wailing, obviously pissed, that not only have I taken his bottle away from him but also because I’ve set him down. “Oh, Sonny-boy, it’s not all that bad.” I unbutton his sleeper and as I do, he manages to let out the grossest, smelliest fart in the world, which apparently was the reason he was crying because he’s stopped the wailing. His face crinkles and I swear to God he has a smug look on his little face. “You little shit.”

“Oh man!” Cynthia laughs as Gus passes gas, harder, longer and smellier than the last.

“Oh, fuck!” I think I’m going to throw up. “You nasty kid!” I shove my shirt to cover my nose but it does little to hide the smell.

Cynthia starts bouncing beside me and clapping. “Yay, Gus! You did it,” she praises like a crazy woman.

“What the fuck did he do? He practically shit a hole through his pants!” I gasp through gagging breaths and hold up his legs for her to see the back of his diaper. “He fucking shit outside his diaper! This is too gross,” I tell her, feeling my stomach turn. I drop his legs and back away.

“What are you doing?” she asks, holding her nose and sounding like a chipmunk.

“Please,” I beg. Yes. I’m fucking begging. You would too if you smelled this! “Cyn, it’ll be my Christmas present from you.”

“I already got you something,” she snickers at my plight. “Get your ass over here and clean up your kid’s first, truly shit-filled diaper. Be proud, Dada,” she giggles, “this is the first of many.”

I grab some tissues from beside the sink, shove them up my nose, don a pair of disposable gloves and step back over to my son. He stares at me with a strange look as I open his diaper. I’m appalled at what I see. “Of fuck, it’s everywhere. How am I supposed to…?”

“Cover it!” Cynthia yells, taking over and covering Gus’ spraying with his diaper.

I can’t fucking move for a minute. I'm shocked still, piss dripping off my chin. Piss! Dripping off my fucking chin!

Cynthia’s loud laughter startles me and I have to hold back from grabbing the poop diaper and throwing it at her face. I grab half the stack of wet wipes and drag them from over my forehead down to my collar bone. Sure, he only managed to hit my chin and neck, but I’m not taking any chances. I glare my deadliest look I can muster at her. “If you ever tell anyone about this. I will never talk to you again.”

She keeps giggling. “Brian, I…”

“I mean it,” I interrupt her. “Never!”

She covers her mouth, giggling behind her hand, still, even though she sees how pissed I am. I really want to grab the diaper and throw it on her, but… the only thing that stops me is that I know, at some point, Gus will get her too. I turn my attention back to Gus, who is staring up at me, looking completely innocent and content. “We’re going to have to work on your timing and aim, kid. Next time you wanna shit through your pants, do it when one of the nurses or Aunt Cynthia is changing you.”

“Well at least you can go take a shower when you’re done.”

"Shut the fuck up," I growl. I take a deep breath and begin the horrendous, monumental task before me.
 

****
 

3rd Person P.O.V.

“What on Earth are you doing down here?”

Brian looked up from his book and smiled at the woman he saw standing above him. “It’s Christmas Eve,” he replied. “There isn’t anywhere close open at this time of night.”

“Mind if I sit down?” Sherry asked, nodding toward the chair across from Brian.

“Of course not,” Brian said, closing his book and moving it to the side.

Sherry sat down and looked at Brian’s tray of food. “You haven’t decided to try it out yet?”

“I think you should take the first bite,” he replied, noticing the woman had chosen the same meal. “Then you can tell me if it’ll kill me.”

Sherry laughed, picked up her plastic cutlery, cut a piece of the gravy-covered pork steak and took a bite.

“The verdict?” Brian asked.

Sherry wiped her mouth with a napkin and smiled. “It’s devoid of any flavor, but it’s still good.”

Brian braved the first bite, and though it wasn’t anything he would’ve ever chosen to eat, his mouth watered from hunger and he quickly found himself eating a second bite, a third, and kept eating until the plate was finished.

Sherry knew that Brian wasn’t much of a talker. She also knew the man survived on very little food so she kept quiet as he ate his pork, potatoes and slimy green beans. She finished half her plate, knowing that she had left over roast beef her husband had cooked for dinner, waiting on her when she got home. When Brian finished, she broached the question, “How’s your son?”

“Don’t you know?” Brian asked.

Sherry shook her head. “I haven’t been working neonatal. I’ve been in Children’s ICU,” she explained. “They’ve been keeping me busy over there. The last time I could find a minute to check in at the NICU he was still…” Sherry trailed off, feeling as though she was stepping over the line.

“It’s okay, they moved him back to his ‘regular room’,” Brian, told her, sensing the nurse’s discomfort. “Gus is doing wonderful. They’ve got his meds regulated; he’s going to be just fine.” Brian felt his heart swell with pride as he spoke those words and finally believed them to be true. “He’s strong, he’s a fighter and he’s acting as though he never had or needed the surgery.”

“That’s great,” Sherry said with relief.

“It is,” Brian replied. “Dr. Rhine hasn’t given us a new date that she thinks Gus might come home, yet, but that’s because the team won’t be meeting until next week.”

Sherry looked at her watch for the time. “It’s nearly midnight, and I’ve got to get back up to my rounds. I take it that Cynthia is with Gus?”

Brian nodded and grabbed his book and tray. He rose from the table and walked with Sherry over to the trash and then toward the elevators. “Yes, and I’ve been informed that I’m not allowed to come back for another hour. She was visiting with her Aunt today, so I wasn’t able to go out for lunch.”

“Well, I’m glad we ran into each other. Gus’ progress is the good news I needed tonight.” Sherry replied, entering the elevator once the doors opened.

Brian followed and pressed the numbers for their floors. “Did something bad happen to one of the kids?” he asked.

“Most of the children are doing well, except one. He’s a teenager, he was attacked at his prom and well, his mother and father have another child too, and even though his mom has stayed by his side every moment since he’s been here, she left earlier today and won’t be back until tomorrow afternoon.”

“But if he’s older, don’t you think he can spend a night without his mother?”

“It’s Christmas Eve, Brian. No mother wants to leave their child alone on a holiday, especially Christmas.”

The elevator stopped, the doors opened and Sherry walked out, Brian followed her. “You know, if you want to come see Gus after your shift, I’m sure he’d love a visit from his favorite nurse.”

Sherry smiled at Brian as they walked down the hallway. “I’d love to. But, I’d planned on staying after my shift for an hour to read to that boy I was telling you about. Then, I have to get home and play Santa just in time before my grandchildren wake up. But I’d love to stop in to visit tomorrow evening.”

“That’ll be fine,” Brian told her. “This boy, you’re going to read to him in the middle of the night?”

Sherry gave Brian a sad smile. “He won’t mind, he’s in a coma. It’s really important that we keep talking to him as much as we can.” She stopped walking and pointed through a room's glass window. “This is his room.”

Brian looked in and saw a boy, laying completely still, more machines than his son had ever had attached to him, surrounding the teenager. “Could anyone read to him?” Brian couldn’t believe he’d asked the question. He hadn’t even thought it before the words were out of his mouth.

“You’d like to read to him, Brian?” Sherry asked in a surprised whisper. Before Brian could answer, she opened the door to the patient’s room and stepped inside. “Come on in,” she beckoned him.

“Oh, no…I…”

“You were just going to head upstairs and read in the waiting area right?” Sherry interrupted, turning on the light in the room.

Brian half-expected the boy in the bed to startle at the sudden glare from the lights in the room, but instead the kid’s only movement was the rise and fall of his chest. The blond, frail-looking patient’s face was swollen, bruised and pale. He wondered briefly what the kid’s chance of survival was, but forced that thought from his mind as he stepped into the room.

“This chair probably isn’t as comfortable as the one you’re used to,” Sherry told him, gesturing to the padded wooden chair beside the bed, “but it’s not too bad. You’ve got an hour right?”

Brian sighed and made the decision, one hour wouldn’t kill him. “Yeah, I’ve got an hour.”

“Well come and introduce yourself, I’ll let the attending at the desk know that you’re reading to him.” She checked the boy’s chart. “He’s not due for another round of checks for a couple hours, so you won’t be disturbed.”

Brian slowly walked toward the broken looking boy. “What’s his name?” he asked, feeling uncomfortable about being in the unconscious boy’s room.

“His name is Justin,” Sherry replied, smiling. “He’s going to be okay once he wakes up,” the nurse said softly.

Brian had heard her say the same thing about Gus, but with his son, she’d sounded much more certain. He sat down in the chair and looked at the woman. “You’re sure it’s okay that I’m in here with him?”

Sherry nodded. “We have volunteers that come in for over-night shifts, his mother asked for someone to come tonight, so he wouldn’t be alone, but…”

“It’s Christmas,” Brian said, finishing her sentence. “No one wants to spend Christmas in the hospital.”

Sherry nodded in agreement. “His mother is going to be thrilled to know that he wasn’t alone all night.”

“He looks so young,” Brian commented, taking in more of the blond’s appearance.

“I’m not sure of the details,” the nurse spoke quietly, wanting to keep from speaking about anything bad in front of the patient, “but from what I understand, it was pretty tragic what happened to him. Some kid had a vendetta against him and decided to take it out on him as he was leaving the dance with his girlfriend.”

“I’m sure it was all over the news,” Brian commented. “I really do need to buy a paper sometime soon. I feel so out of the loop.”

“There was some media coverage,” Sherry replied. “But when it involves one of my patients I tend to stay away from it. So,” she said in a lighter tone, “what book do you have there?”

Brian laughed. “Nothing he’s going to be interested in.”

“It doesn’t matter, Brian. Just hearing people talk can help him, remember how it was with Gus?”

Brian smiled. “Yeah, but a book about fatherhood? Probably not the greatest topic.”

Sherry laughed. “What one this time?”

Brian showed the woman the cover of the book.

Sherry burst out laughing. “Brian, I’d hardly call you an idiot to fatherhood.”

“Yeah, well it’s “The Complete Idiot’s Guide to Fatherhood”, so maybe I’ll learn something I haven’t from the other dozens of books Cynthia’s bought me.”

“Good luck,” Sherry said, walking toward the door. “I’ll see you tomorrow evening?”

“Sure.”

“Okay, just shut the light off and close the door when you leave, okay?”

“Got it,” Brian replied. “Merry Christmas, Sherry.”

“Merry Christmas, Brian,” she answered and shut the door behind her.

Brian turned toward the boy and watched him for a few minutes, he was startled to see Justin’s right hand twitching, hitting his thigh, quite hard. He wondered if he should call a nurse, but remembered hearing somewhere that people in comas, like newborns, often had involuntary movements.

“Fuck,” Brian spoke softly when Justin’s hand started to curl almost gruesomely toward his body. He reached out, and put his left hand into the boy’s and felt the curling hand immediately go slack in his hold.

He sat back in his chair, getting himself comfortable. Brian flipped the book open on his lap with his free hand. He looked at Justin and spoke, “I’m Brian, Justin. And this is The Idiot's Guide to Fatherhood.”

More than an hour passed before Brian stopped reading and placed Justin’s slack hand back at his side. He gathered his book, opened the door, turned off the lights and was about to shut the door when he felt prepared to enter the room and walk back to the bed. He looked over Justin and whispered, “I hope you’ll wake up soon, Merry Christmas.”
 

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