Can't Fall in Love Without You (Christian Yelich)

2

Christian stared at the tiny baby girl he had wrapped in his arms, bundled up against his bare skin. She had been asleep for the past hour, perfectly content and unaware of how drastic and painful of a turn her father's life had just taken. He couldn't stop looking at her face.

It was her face. Sloane's face. God, she was beautiful. How could someone that beautiful be taken away from the world so quickly? How could the brightest part of his day cease to be? He didn't want to exist without his wife. He was completely uninterested in an existence without her.

He was irreparably broken, and he knew nothing would feel how it did before this moment. His life would be permanently divided into two parts: a life with Sloane and the emptiness without her.

At least she left him a part of her. At least he had that.

He brushed a finger against his daughter's cheek. Her skin was so soft. She was so perfect. He knew he couldn't give her everything she needed. But he'd have to try. He'd have to make do. He'd have to be enough for her.

"Mr. Yelich," a voice interrupted his thoughts, but he couldn't bring himself to respond. He had nothing left in him to give.

"Mr. Yelich?" the voice repeated, this time as a question.

Christian looked up at the speaker, but he didn't say a word to her.

"I'm so sorry to interrupt you, and I know you're going through unbearable pain right now, but we need to finalize the birth record. Have you given that sweet little girl a name?"

A name. Sloane had a whole list of names she loved, but her and Christian had only agreed on one after endless evenings of discussion: Ivy. Ivy Yelich. No middle name needed according to his beautiful, assertive wife. But he was going to add one now.

"Ivy Sloane Yelich," he muttered, his tone flat and his expression hollow.

Christian stopped looking at the woman and brought his eyes back to his daughter's face, where he felt they belonged.

The woman nodded and left the room, leaving Christian alone with his grief, which is exactly what he wanted. Loneliness was just going to be his natural state from this point forward.

Every time he considered making a telephone call – to his parents, to her parents . . . to anyone, he couldn't. It would make it real. It would make it a reality he couldn't escape. It'd be final. She'd be gone.

He picked up his phone again, an influx of comments from his latest celebratory post on Instagram dominating his screen. So beautiful, you guys! Congratulations you two! Mazel tov! Looks just like her pretty momma!

The only thing he could think to do in response was throw his phone hard against the wall, cracking the screen into pieces. Who needed a phone when the dead couldn't speak to you?

This was the emptiness without her. This was his existence, and it was all his daughter, his perfect, tiny Ivy, would know. Emptiness and pain.

***

They walked him through all the steps, as if a few simple instructions would prepare him for life alone with a baby as a single father and professional baseball player. This is how you feed her. This is how you burp her. This is how you change her diaper. This is how she should sleep in the crib. Never like that. Always like this.

A few demonstrations couldn't replace the woman with whom he was supposed to share all these experiences. He always thought she'd lead and then he'd follow. Now it was just him leaving a hospital alone with a newborn on a freezing November morning in Milwaukee, and he wasn't prepared. He'd be surprised if he even got past the car seat inspection.

He did, though. He managed. And then he even managed to get home. Tears pouring out of his eyes the entire drive to his apartment. Their apartment. Whatever it was now. The apartment that was once theirs? Who knew? He definitely didn't.

"Fuck," he muttered under his breath when he realized the sensor to open the garage door wasn't where it was supposed to be. He didn't need this right now. He was already swirling around the drain, and any extra inconvenience could potentially ruin him, regardless of how minor.

He parked on the main street instead of turning into the alley to get to his underground parking. "Jesus fuck," he repeated, trying to stop himself from having a breakdown where other people could see him. People who very much knew who he was.

He stepped out of the car and walked around to the passenger side door to attempt to get his newborn out of her car seat. He struggled with the mechanism, and, before he could complete his task, he found himself slipping on the ice that he didn't realize was beneath his feet. "Fucking Milwaukee," he whispered under his breath right after his ass hit the ground.

"Are you okay?" he heard a woman ask. He wasn't really in the mood to socialize. He was too occupied by getting back to his feet and not completely losing it in public.

"Yeah, fine," he muttered, trying to brush her off, not looking back at her. Completely uninterested.

"Are you sure? I think we live in the same building, and I definitely have some car seat experience." The woman happened to have a lot of car seat experience, but that was beside the point. "I've seen a lot of first-time dads struggle." She definitely knew a struggling dad when she saw one, and this one was really having a rough time. She knew better than to ask any questions.

For whatever reason, her offering to assist him with exactly what he needed help with caused him to defrost slightly. "Yeah, honestly, I have no fucking idea what I'm doing." He was throwing in the towel. Already.

"Here, let me show you. Do you mind?" she asked, pointing at the passenger door.

"No, be my guest." He watched the woman bend down slightly and then expertly detach the baby carrier. She did it slowly and tried to make a window for him to watch the steps she took.

She then moved out of the way, so Christian could take charge of the situation. "Thank you," he said, offering her the closest thing he could do with his mouth that may have slightly resembled a smile.

"No problem. She's beautiful." She grinned at both Christian and the newborn. "But you both need to dress more warmly. This isn't hoodie weather," she referred to both his and Ivy's outfits.

Christian just nodded. "I'm in apartment 604 if you need anything," she finished, leaving him to his own devices . . . because she could tell that's exactly what he wanted.