“Sari was barely three pounds,” he said softly. “The pediatrician said holding her against my bare skin would be beneficial, so for several hours a day I sat with her, staring at the name tag stuck to her incubator. It had starfish along the edges.”
I pressed a hand to my chest as he showed me a picture of Sarina inside her incubator wearing a tiny hat covered in pastel sea creatures, and then another of him feeding her from a bottle, again bare chested, but this time with a receiving blanket tucked around his daughter.
“The nurses told me to talk to Sari, that she’d recognize my voice and it would help with her development. It seemed strange to have a conversation with a sleeping baby,” he said with a chuckle, “so I told her the adventures of a starfish who lived on a coral reef, thinking the storytelling was good practice.”
The burn started, and I swiped a finger across the corner of my eye.
“The doctors and nurses listened in on the tales of Sarina the Starfish, and everyone started calling Sari ‘Baby Starfish.’” The softness of his expression as he scrolled through the pictures melted me inside. “Anyway, I practically lived in the NICU for five weeks before the pediatrician said Baby Starfish was ready to go home.”
“That’s a tough start.” Closing my eyes, I imagined the bustle of the NICU staff, the bewildered parents, and the steady beeping of multiple machines. Sadly, I’d witnessed incredible devastation as well as overwhelming joy during my visits to the NICU to counsel parents on various prescribed medications. “I’m glad she’s okay.”
He blew out a breath. “Watching a crowd of doctors and nurses hovering over your child, prodding and sticking needles and tubes into your helpless baby”—he shivered, his lips twisting—“it hurts just thinking about it.”
I kneeled on my chair, sliding my arms around him. “It’s over. She’s healthy and happy.” It struck me that he hadn’t mentioned his wife. “Did Alysa ever come to the NICU?”
That familiar crease knotted Jake’s forehead. “Never. After three days, the doctor discharged Alysa, and Stella took her home. It wasn’t so bad, though. I had Tía, Dean, and Dara, so when I took Sari home, at least I had a chance to shower, eat, and catch some sleep. Between the three of them, they filled my fridge and freezer and provided small breaks. I didn’t cook or buy groceries for weeks.”
“Wasn’t Alysa there? You said home.”
“Stella and Ben’s home. Alysa struggled with postpartum depression and with the realities of having a premature baby.” Jake took my hand. “I haven’t been completely upfront, but I didn’t know how you’d react.”
I eyed him. “To what?”
He lunged to his feet and traced his earlier path, scrubbing a hand through his hair as he paced.
“You’re scaring me.” Heaviness settled on my chest.
“Once Sari stabilized, they did a ton of testing.”
I nodded. Further tests seemed brutal after all the necessary interventions, but I could recite the standard list. Vision, hearing, cognitive … “Jake?”
Jake halted and turned toward me. “Turns out I spent hours telling Sari stories that she couldn’t even hear.”
“She’s deaf?”
“Acute hearing loss is what the doctor called it, though they don’t know how or why. Now she wears hearing aids in the hopes she’ll pick up at least a few ambient sounds. The audiologist is constantly assessing her, and we’ve been to see numerous specialists and therapists.” The sad smile was accompanied by the slightest shrug. “It’s a lot, right?”
I shook my head, peering at him. “Idiot.” At that moment, I didn’t know who in this mess made me the angriest; Jake for keeping secrets, the selfish woman who’d checked out without any concern for her family, or me for letting this man suck me in with a line of half-truths and omissions. “How could you not share that earlier?”
He stood there, arms dangling at his sides, shoulders stooped. “You’re angry.”
“Stellar observation.” I folded my arms across my chest as I rose and planted my feet. “You didn’t trust me with crucial information.”
“It’s not the leading statement I make when I talk about Sari. She’s a little girl, like any other.”
“No, she’s absolutely not like any other, and I’m not just anyone, am I?”
He straightened, his eyes narrowing. “You know the answer to that, but it seems her deafness is a dealbreaker.”
“Are you ashamed of her?”
“Don’t be crazy. Sari’s amazing. I can’t imagine life without her.”
“Oh, so you just believe I’m shallow and uncaring. That I’m incapable of loving your daughter because she can’t hear.”
He bowed his head, shaking it slowly. “Not everyone can accept Sari as she is. Her own mother rejected her. Her grandmother wants to fix her, like Sari’s somehow broken.”
That burn behind my eyes grew again. I covered the few steps between us, lifting one hand.
Jake flinched, hunching his shoulders and turning his head away.
“Hey.” I moved slowly, gently, cupping his cheek in a caress and forcing him to face me. “What was that?”
He drew shaky breath, his almost inaudible sniff accompanied by two fingers pressed to the bridge of his nose. “Nothing. It’s nothing.”
We stood there for several seconds, neither of us moving. His reaction concerned me, but now was not the time to dig into causation.
I filed my question away for a better time, instead asking, “Fix her how?”
“Surgery. An implant, even though it’s not the best thing for Sarina. Stella refuses to learn sign language and is so damn impatient. Sari gets frustrated and overwrought and acts out, then Stella calls her bratty. It takes me hours to calm her down after she’s been to Nana’s house.”
“Why let Stella take your daughter if she can’t accept her as she is?”
“You say that like I have a choice. If I refused access, Stella would come at me, fully armed, guns blazing.”
My head bobbed as I absorbed the facts. Jake had an entire life I was barred from
