The Man Who Can't Be Moved

“It’s going to be at least four to six weeks,” Flower laments on the other end of the line; understandable exhaustion and rightful concern trickling through his rapidly cracking ‘proud papa’ façade. “Before we can even think about bringing them home.”

For the past half an hour he’d done nothing but brag about what a phenomenal mother Vero is -he can’t seem to stop singing her praises when it comes to how brave and resilient she’d been through not only the pregnancy, but an emergency c-section she’d had to undergo without him present when her water broke three weeks before her scheduled 34 week c-section- and his three precious little babies; he’d sent numerous pictures of the triplets -two boys and a lone girl- he’d taken with his cell phone camera to my iPhone. The enormity of the situation is hitting him hard and fast; he’d been caught up in the craziness of our remaining games in the Philly series and he hadn’t exactly had the time to concentrate on what was going on. Now that he’s had a couple of days off and he’s been able to spend every waking moment at UPMC, reality is smacking him square in the face; he’s a father to three babies that who while not exactly on death’s door, need medical intervention to get them through the first few weeks of their lives. I feel bad for the guy; he’s not only got our further success in the playoffs sitting on his shoulders, but his saddled with concerns for his children’s short and long term health.

“They’re in the best possible place,” I remind him, as my left hand holds the cordless phone to my ear and my right scrolls through the recently received pictures on my cell.

I won’t lie; the images of those tiny bodies being invaded by an obscene amount of tubes and wires are extremely unsettling. I’ve never seen babies that small before. Extremely frail and fragile arms and legs, no clothing covering them as they lie on diapers spread out underneath them, their eyes covered by gauze to protect them from the bilirubin lights inside of their incubators that are working hard to rid them of the jaundice that threatens their livers and causes their skin to appear bright yellow. I’m not entirely sure what I’d expected them to look like, but I know that this is not it. I’d prepared myself for them to be tiny and rather sickly looking yet I hadn’t gotten myself ready for the images to be ten times worse than anything my brain had cooked up. And it’s impossible to not put myself in Flower’s shoes; I can’t stop myself from wondering about how I’d deal if something went wrong and my own babies were born exceptionally early and faced a long, difficult road in the NICU and possibility life long effects from being premature.

“They’ve got the best doctors and nurses keeping an eye on them,” I add, and setting my iPhone down on the glass table top, stretch my legs out and prop my bare feet on the chair across from me.

It’s nearly midnight and while the guests have been gone for hours and the clean up completed, I find myself lounging on the deck; drinking numerous bottles of water in an attempt to flush all the alcohol I’d consumed out of my system and enjoying a cool and crisp late April evening and the relative solitude of my backyard. Home is my sanctuary; the one place I can retreat to when the rest of the world seems to be crumbling around me and where I can forget all about stress of the playoffs. I’m not a hockey player here; I’m not the guy that turned around the entire course of game six and was pummelled by Dan Carcillo in the process. I’m just a regular guy; a somewhat boring husband that takes out the trash and mows the lawn and procrastinates when it comes to the massive ’honey do’ list his wife has taped to the fridge.

“Every day babies are born a lot sooner than yours are, mon ami,” I try to sound as optimistic as possible. There’s no doubt in my mind that the triplets are going be okay; both Vero and Flower are ferociously tenacious and incredibly strong both physically and emotionally and if those babies have inherited even a little bit of those characteristics, they’ll surprise everyone with their progress. “And they’ve got tons more complications and issues that keep them in there for months. It’s just until the jaundice is cleared up, non? And until they learn how to properly feed and put on weight?”

“The doctor wants them all to be five pounds and feeding a hundred percent on their own before he’ll release them. They can’t be taking any of their meals through those tubes in their noses and they have to be consistently putting on weight. Not put some on one day, lose twice as much the next. And the jaundice isn’t the only thing that they’re worried about. There’s all kinds of tests that they’re going to have to go through. They’ve all got heart murmurs so that has to be checked out, they have to have their eyes looked at because being that premature can cause the retinas to detach. And the nurses are always on the look out for bleeding in the brain and…”

“Flower, listen to me. I know what it’s like to be worried constantly about this kind of thing, okay? And I also know what it’s like to hear all the bad stuff that people are telling you even those there’s tons more good things that they’re saying. You focus in on the negative shit and you dwell on it and it fucking plays on you. Do you know how many times I’ve read all the bad parts in that stupid ‘What to Expect When You’re Expecting’ book? Do you realize how often I’ve skimmed through all the sections about all the shit that babies can have wrong with them? Chromosome problems and genetic defects and so on and so on. It’s a total mind fuck. You have to start thinking about all the positive things and stop focusing on the bad ones. ‘Cause it will screw you up. Trust me. I speak from experience.”

“You know what the scariest thing out of all of this is? The fact that you are speaking from experience,” my friend chides. “You want to know what is even a bigger mind fuck than all the bad shit? The fact that you’re married and have kids on the way. You’re Max fucking Talbot. You’re not supposed to be a one woman, family man; you’re not supposed to be domesticated.”

“I sowed enough of my wild oats,” I say, and snagging my bottle of water off the table top, drain half of it in one swallow. “It was time to retire that side of my life. Time to settle down and devote myself to one person and have my entire world revolve around them. Don’t worry; I passed my little black book down to a rightful successor in Wilkes-Barre that shall remain nameless. And I’m serious about this not freaking yourself out shit. The babies are in the best possible place. The doctors and the nurses are taking good care of them. And it shouldn’t matter how long they’re there for, just as long as they’re a hundred percent healthy when they get out.”

“True sign of the apocalypse,” Flower laughs. “Max Talbot being the rational, wise one. I hate to say this, but you’re right. A hundred percent. Being here is what’s best for them. I’m just worried, you know? Every time I walk into the nursery I get nervous that I’m going to hear something bad about one of them. Or all three. So far they’re doing good, but…”

“But nothing. You need to just have faith. Put your trust in God. Now I know we’re both not exactly the most religious people on the earth…”

“…lapsed Catholic at best,” he agrees.

“…but we’ve still got faith in something greater than us,” I finish. “Trust me, Flower. Everything’s going to be okay. If God can give someone like me all these second chances and make things okay with Em and the babies, you’ve got nothing to worry about. You’re practically a fucking saint compared to me. Just try to relax, alright? You’re not doing Vero or the babies any good by getting all worked up like this. They need you to keep it together. You need to be the rock. And trust me; I know how stressful that can be too.”

“It’s just a lot of shit on my plate at once,” he laments. “It’s a lot to deal with.”

“And you’ve got a lot of people around you that are willing to help you out,” I remind him. “You’re not alone in this. You’ve got your family and Vero’s, not to mention all of us. If there’s anything you guys need, you know you can rely on the majority of the guys, right?”

“Can I rely on you to take me out tomorrow night and get me completely fucking shit faced? ‘Cause that’s what I really need right now. Drown my sorrows in some booze. Spend some quality time with Jack and Jose.”

“Because that just makes everything so much better,” I mutter. “What good is that going to do? Getting drunk? Other than give you a nasty hang over to deal with in the morning? And to be honest; I’m trying to stay on my wife’s good side. Ever since that whole thing with Noot showing up on our doorstep, I feel like I’m treading on very thin ice. I know it wasn’t my fault, but…” I lower my voice as the light in the kitchen flickers on from behind me and I hear rustling through the open patio door. “…but I don’t think Em trusts me a hundred percent. No matter what she says otherwise. I think she thinks I would have gotten up to no good had she not been around. Like if Noot had showed up while she was still in Montreal. That I wouldn’t have been able to say no.”

“You’re being paranoid,” Flower declares. “Em knows you wouldn’t do something like that. Same way you know if you did, she’d rip your balls off and show them down your throat. And then divorce you and take your kids somewhere far, far, far away where you’ll never find them. Ask me, that’s incentive enough to keep your dick in your pants.”

“Loving her is incentive enough for that,” I retort. “It has nothing to do with being scared of her. Well…now that I think of it…” I down the remains of my water. “…maybe it has a little bit to do with being scared of her.”

“A whole lot to do with it,” he corrects. “A whole fucking lot. I better go. The babies are due for a feeding in half an hour and I know all we can really do is sit there and watch it going in through their noses, but…”

“Go and be with your family,” I gently order. “They’re the most important thing. The only important thing.”

“I seriously hate this new Max,” he teases. “It feels like the sky is about to fall. You being all wise and making all sorts of sense. Tell Emma-Leigh that I’m sorry we missed her birthday. Vero feels terrible ’cause of it. I wish we could have…”

“Totally beyond your guys’ control. Em understands that. Now get lost. Go and get your pretty little wife and take her down to the NICU. Kiss the babies for me.”

“Christ…” he mutters. “…you’re even becoming a sentimental fuck in your old age…talk soon…”

“Later…” disconnecting the call, I toss the cordless onto the table and leaning back in my chair, place my hands on the back of my head, entwine my fingers together and close my eyes.

***********

It’s a beautiful, relaxing night; cool breeze tousling the leaves on the surrounding trees and tickling my bare feet and legs and the sounds of chattering and laughing coming from inside of the house. My old man’s been teasing Em about something; she’s giggling hysterically and calling him ‘dad’ as she playfully scolds him and threatens to take a spatula to his ass. Ever since we’d cut ties all together with her parents -and every other asshole up in Sault Ste Marie- she’s never been happier; she’s much more calm and jovial and she doesn’t have nearly as many anxiety attacks and the nightmares regarding her uncle have all but vanished. Although this afternoon there’d been something ‘up’ with her; she’d emerged from the house an hour after her talk with Autumn and it had been more than obvious that she’d been crying. Despite incessant prodding by both me and Peyton, she’d refused to say even one word about what had happened; she’d simply plastered a smile on her face and pretended as if there was there nothing bothering her.

“Want some company there, handsome?” my wife’s voice pipes up from behind me as she steps out onto the deck; clad in a pair of Winnie the Poof sweatpants and one of my sweatshirts as she carries a bowl of cereal -or at least what I’m assuming is cereal- and a steaming mug of tea in the other.

“Depends. Is the company some really hot, sexy brunette with two kidlets on the way?”

“That is an affirmative,” she pauses at the back of my chair and drops a kiss on the top of my head before stepping alongside of me and dropping her belongings on the table. “Was that Flower?” she inquires, as deposits herself into my lap and ten turns herself sideways so her ass rests on my left thigh and her legs dangling over my right. “Is everything okay? Vero and the babies are alright?”

“Everything’s fine,” I assure her, as she leans forward to grab her late night snack; a bowl of Corn Pops cereal in chocolate milk. “He was just stressed out and needed to vent. He’s worrying about all sorts of irrelevant shit and it’s fucking with his mind. I told him to yank his head out of his ass and just worry about what’s going on right now.”

“You’re becoming very wise in your old age,” my wife observes.

“What the hell is it with you people? Flower said the exact same thing. I’m only twenty-five. Not sixty five. It’s not like I’m middle age or something.”

“Middle age?” she laughs. “You consider sixty five middle age? Baby, no one lives to be a hundred and thirty.”

“I could be the first in history,” I tease, and playfully tug on the hood the dangles from the back of her sweatshirt. “Am I ever going to get to wear my own clothes ever again? I buy you all this maternity stuff and you still raid my closet and my dresser.”

“It’s a small price to pay, don’t you think? You’re the one that got me into this predicament after all. So everything’s okay?” she spoons some cereal into her mouth. “With the triplets? Things are good?”

“As good as can be expected,” I confirm, as I slip one hand up the rear of her sweater in order to rub her back through the t-shirt she wears underneath and rest the other on her thigh. “Ray Shero showed up at the hospital to see them today. Brought Vero this huge ass arrangement of flowers and gift baskets for each of the babies.”

“That was awful sweet of him. Doesn’t he have people he normally has do things like that for him?”

“Normally. But I guess he wanted to talk to Flower one on one. Told him while they were down in the NICU that this -and I quote- ‘better not ruin your focus’.”

“He actually said that?” Em’s eyebrows shoot up and she gives a derisive snort when I nod in confirmation. “Wow…what a nice guy…” sarcasm drips from her voice. “…I don’t understand at all why his wife left such a wonderful, upstanding man such as himself.”

“I am telling you, he ever says something like that to me? I will punch him in the fucking face. No joke. I will knock him out and then gracefully accept my trade to Edmonton. Like what is wrong with him? Why would he say something like that? This is serious shit. Serious real life shit.”

“You can’t teach someone compassion, Max. They have to be born with it. And apparently, he wasn’t blessed with that particular attribute. You also have to remember that hockey is a business for him and that there’s hundreds of millions of dollars of revenue depending on him being able to put a winning team out on the ice. He’s not there to make friends with any of you. He’s the boss and you’re all his employees. Simple as.”

“Why do you have to be the rational and mature one?” I chide, and lightly pinch the inside of her thigh. “Why do you have to see things in black and white like that? Couldn’t you just agree with me for once that he deserves a punch in the face?”

“Oh I totally agree with you that he needs a punch in the face,” she says. “There’s no doubt in my mind that he’s a first class prick. It’s just he’s the guy that in essence, pays our bills and puts a rough over our heads. So let’s just keep the temper on a simmer and not look a gift horse in the mouth, okay? Or not punch one in the mouth in this case.”

“Yeah…I guess I do kind of have to play nice…he does sort of pay the bills…” I press a kiss to her temple and then squeeze her knee. “…after all, I need the money to put all the food on the table and in the cupboards that you’re eating.”

“Don’t you judge me!” she cries. “Don’t you dare judge me, Maxime! I can’t help it that I’m constantly hungry! I can’t help it that your sons are so bloody demanding! They’re not even born yet and they’re eating us out of house and home!”

“That’s it…blame them…blame them for everything…that’s how it goes around here, isn’t it? Blame the males for every thing?”

“Damn straight,” she chirps, and then plucks a Corn Pop from the bowl. “Wanna see my trick, daddy?” she inquires, eyes sparkling playfully. “Wanna see what your boys can do? Check this out…” she sit’s the piece of cereal on the top of her stomach. “Wait for it…wait for it…wait for it…see!” she squeals and laughs hysterically as a solid kick to her belly sends the Corn Pop toppling to the ground. “I’m lame, I know. Small things amuse small minds, I guess.”

“I love you,” I state in all seriousness; no words can describe the rush of emotion that had surged through me the second she’d referred to me as ‘daddy’ and again when she’d said ‘your boys’. “All three of you.”

“We love you too,” she says with a gentle smile, and then presses a kiss to my lips.

“So…” I run my hand up and down her thigh. “…is this where you finally tell me what exactly went down between you and Autumn?”

“No…this is where I tell you for the fifteenth time that there’s nothing to tell you. How many times do we have to go through this? Autumn and I just had a little chat; cleared the air. We agreed to be bury the hatchet and be civil with each other. Nothing major.”

“Nothing major? You came out of the house an hour after her and everyone could tell you were crying. Don’t piss on my shoes and tell me it’s raining, Emmy-Lou.”

“Max, I’m severely hormonal. Insignificant shit makes me cry these days. It was honestly nothing, baby…” she gives me a brilliant, reassuring smile and then slips a spoonful of cereal between my lips. “…nothing whatsoever,” she adds, and gives me a chaste peck. “I did what you asked me to do. I made nice with her and I’ll continue to make nice with her. So don’t you ever again say I never do anything good for you.”

“You do a lot of good things for me,” I inform her, and then slide my hand along the inside of her thigh. “But would it be too much to ask for one more thing?”

“It depends,” she grins. “Is it dirty?”

“What I have in mind? Extremely dirty.”

“Well in that case…” placing her bowl on the table, she turns to me and clasps my face in her hands and captures my mouth with hers in a sizzling, toe curling kiss. “…I’m not hungry anymore.”