Anyway, I was due to have the baby in a few weeks. The baby’s room was ready. We didn’t find out the gender (I wanted a surprise) and did the bedroom in primary colors. I had a gorgeous white sleigh crib with matching rocking chair, dresser, and changing table.
I’d had a baby shower already and we were ready with all sorts of white, green, and yellow unisex clothing. I had a going-home outfit for a boy and a going-home outfit for a girl. My hospital bag was by the door. My husband loved to work out with boxing and I was pretty sure that this little one was going to be a little kickboxer with the way I was getting beaten up from the inside.
***
“Tia?” Tommy woke me. It was 6:00 in the morning, a week before my due date.
“Hm?”
“Wake up, baby girl. Gotta talk to you.”
I sat up.
He held me close to his chest.
“I just got a call from the lawyer assigned to your father. He’s… baby, he’s dead.”
“He’s what?”
“Greg O’Connor was found dead in his cell. His lawyer just called.”
I jumped up to standing.
“You removed his protection and---” I started to accuse.
“I didn’t. I never did.”
“You didn’t?” Tears streamed down my face. My heart was aching.
“I had nothing to do with this, baby girl. I swear. I don’t know how it happened. We still had those protective measures in place.”
Dad.
All I could think was, “I’m an orphan at twenty years old.”
Our baby will have zero grandparents.
Zero.
“They’re saying it looks like a suicide.”
***
They cremated him. I never saw him dead. I was glad I hadn’t seen it at least; I didn’t think I could take seeing him on a slab.
We had a service at a cemetery for my Dad. Dare, Angel, Lisa, Tessa, Luc, Eddy, Bianca and Nino plus her Mom and her aunt. Ruby, her brother Connor, Beth, Mia, Rose and Cal, Rose’s parents, they all came. Even Susie, my former social worker came. They all tried to be there for me. I left a voicemail for my Aunt Carol with the details after calling three times and her not answering, not returning my calls. I hated to leave it on her voicemail but she wasn’t answering.
She didn’t come.
I was almost nine months pregnant at my dad’s grave. And it hit me hard. But Tommy was holding me up, taking care of me. He was amazing.
A week later, I was in bed, watching TV in the dark. During the day. The curtains were closed.
“You gonna get outta bed?” Tommy asked, moving the box of Sugar Crisp to the nightstand and then opening the curtains.
“Worried I’m gonna commit suicide? Evidently, it’s what the O’Connors do.”
“Not fuckin’ funny. And you’re no longer an O’Connor. You’re a Ferrano. You’ve been in bed for days. Let’s go do something. Time to live, baby girl.”