Maybe Tomorrow

The harsh blue light of my computer screen pierces my tired eyes. This is what my life has come to, what 10 years of climbing the corporate ladder has brought me. My forehead drops like a dead weight onto my desk, blessing it’s stark white surface with the grease and sweat of a man that should have left the office hours ago.

“You alright there?” asks my boss Jo from her corner office, typing as she speaks.

“Yeah, I’m all good,” I call back, “just that time of the afternoon. Brains not working.”

“It’s 7pm, go home to your pregnant wife, we’ll be okay,” says Charlotte, sitting across from me as she types while she speaks, Jo’s perfect little copy.

To the outside observer, Charlotte’s being very kind and thoughtful. But I know the deception this woman hides behind her cheap smile. We both know that Jo will eventually be promoted, leaving a position that needs filling. Charlotte and I are fighting for that future position like rabid animals. Well, rabid in our desperation. We fight more like politicians, pretending we are friends while trying to outshine the other and impress our corporate overlords.

Selfish woman. I need that money. I have a baby on the way and need to give her the best life possible. It’s two months until she’s due, but I think about her every day. How much I already love her. How much she will depend on me. How much… my eyes feel heavy. My vision grows hazy. I feel so tired. I just need to… close my eyes for a…

I’m shocked awake by the sound of a baby crying. No, not crying. Wailing. My heart thumps in my chest, people stand around me, white coats, blinding lights, piercing cries. I can’t process anything.

And then I see everything.

My beautiful wife lies in the hospital bed, as gorgeous as ever as her blonde hair sticks with sweat to the side of her face. She looks exhausted. The doctor picks up my newborn daughter and hands her to me. I hold her in my arms and see pure joy beaming out from her. Bright blue eyes looking at me with curious delight.

I’m overwhelmed with a sense of love and joy. I then look around and see the nurses, the doctors, the medical instruments, and my exhausted wife. A wave of sadness overcomes me. I don’t understand what happened, but I missed the birth of my child. I’ve never felt like such a failure. I blink and it all disappears once more. I’m back in my office, opposite Charlotte again.

I try to make sense of what just happened. Was that all a dream? I check the calendar on the corner of my computer. December. Two months have passed, this can’t be right. I open my phone and look at my photos. Dozens of pictures of my wife and my child together. I open my messages and read our chat history. As I skim through the last two months, I see countless texts asking when I will be home, and countless more with updates and photos from what they did that day. One message mentions her name. My daughter's name is Ella. My eyes sting raw as tears well up in the corner of my eyes. I quickly wipe them away in case Charlotte or Jo sees.

Charlotte shoots me a self-satisfied grin. “You slacking off there?”

I quickly put my phone away. “No, just checking something.”

The pain of loss becomes the burn of determination as I continue working. Jo is still here, she hasn’t put in her notice yet. I need to secure this promotion. For Ella.

I hear a soft buzz behind me. With laser focus I continue to type, maintaining a workhorse pace. The buzz becomes louder in my right ear. I try to ignore it and continue. The mosquito lands on my arm. Frustrated, I lift my hand up and slam it down on the mosquito, the slapping sound of skin on skin echoing through the cold room.

Everything’s changed again. I sit in a small plastic chair that’s providing no support for my adult body. Noise fills the room again. This time, yells of joy. I absorb the picture before me. 20 children sit at a long table eating cake and candy and fairy bread. Behind them are the parents standing or sitting in tiny plastic chairs. They make polite small talk while they pretend that they aren’t bored.

Ella sits at the end of the table. As she talks to other children around her, she wears a party hat and holds a big helium balloon with the number ‘10’. My stomach sinks. She’s 10. She’s 10 and she speaks and she has friends. Is this a cruel joke? Is God punishing me?

My wife stands up and makes an announcement, her hair is shorter, stopping at her shoulders. “Alright, eating time is finished. Wash your hands and then you can all go play.”

Ella runs off with her friends. Feeling a deep longing to connect with her I walk over and sit down on the ground. “What are you doing? Can I play too?” Ella looks at my wife who gestures for her to play with me. She looks back at me like a stranger.

“Ummm yeah.”

She explains the rules of her game and we play for a bit. She’s so intelligent and confident, I can’t help but smile. As the game finishes, she tells me she is going outside, I say okay and hold out my arms for a hug. She turns and runs off. I squeeze my eyes shut in pain and open them to a familiar sight. My cold, empty office.

I check the calendar and stare in horror at what it presents me. 10 years have passed.

“You don’t have to stay late, we can finish from here,” Charlotte’s voice calls to me.

But it sounds different. She sits in Jo’s chair looking aged and tired. Next to her is a girl in her early 20’s working on a project with her. I squeeze my eyes shut and rub my temples. I’m trapped under the weight of time itself. I dread what I will see when I open my eyes.

A dinner table. Roast chicken. My wife is next to me, now with hair no longer than a few centimeters. Across from me sits Ella with a girl next to her, they both look like they are in their early 20’s. Oh god she’s in her 20’s.

 “How did exams go?” my wife asks.

“They were okay, hopefully I passed, I was drinking a lot that week.” Ella gives a teasing smile to my wife.

“Don’t tell me that. You’re supposed to tell me that you were very well behaved and stayed up all night studying.” My wife smiles, proud of her lighthearted joke. “I’m sure Katie kept you in line. She’s a good girl, you got lucky with this one.” She says as she gestures towards the girl sitting next to Ella.

I only just notice that Ella and Katie are holding hands underneath the table.

I feel so lost, like a stranger that just walked into the home of a happy family, trying to pretend like I belong. Ella looks so comfortable with Katie, I hope they’re happy together.

The aching in my chest returns. I long for connection with my daughter, but I don’t know this woman, she is nothing like the pure concentrated joy that I held in my arms at the hospital. I have to say something. What do I say? Say something encouraging.

I interrupt my wife mid-sentence. “You’ve got an amazing work ethic as well Ella, you made it to uni, you should be very proud of yourself”.

The conversation stops. Lingering words fade in the air like smoke. They all turn to look at me, the conversation had moved on and I interrupted with that nonsense. What an idiot. Ella makes eye contact for a second and then looks down at her plate, uncomfortable at my very presence. “Oh. Thanks dad.” She hands me a cheap smile in pity.

Ella stands up. “I’ll get dessert ready, is everyone done with their plates?” Ella says as she takes the dirty plates and walks to the kitchen.

I get up and follow. “I’ll help.”

Ella walks into the kitchen, back still turned to me and yanks at my heart. “It’s okay dad I’ve got it”.

“I just thought I could help you.”

“Dad I’m not a child, I can serve up some dessert.” She slams the door to the kitchen. 

Back in the office. I can’t take this. The fluorescent lights above weigh on me with an oppression I can’t describe. I’m ready to tear this whole place apart. I don’t care about Charlotte, I don’t care about her lackey, I don’t care about this soul draining job. I slaved here to provide for Ella and I provided nothing. The lackey approaches, now looking much older. I laugh hysterically. I guess she is my boss now. I’ll be trapped in this hell forever.

“Can I talk to you?” my new boss says, her light purple lipstick smeared in the corners of her mouth.

“What is it?” I reply.

“Well, I just wanted to offer you a job. A new position has opened up in another department and I think you’ll be great for it. You’ll be managing a team and will get a substantial pay rise. What do you think?”

I wait for it. I've played out this scenario in my head so many times before. My hard work finally pays off, I get the promotion, I’m fulfilled, I’ve finally made it. But in reality, it feels much different. I feel…

Empty. I’m sitting on a faded red couch with a pillow wedged behind my back. Across from me sits Ella. She looks so mature, so self-assured as she holds her baby. The pain in my chest returns, like an old friend.

“Can I hold her?” I ask.

“Of course dad,” she replies as she hands me the innocent soul. Her blue eyes remind me of Ella. Her little hands reach out towards me and I give her my finger to hold. That’s when I see how wrinkled my hands are. My skin is dry and shriveled. My hands shake, and a cold ache runs through my joints. I look back at Ella.

“Why am I in so much pain?”

She looks back with soft compassionate eyes. “You’re sick dad. You have pancreatic cancer.” The way she says it, it sounds like she has said it many times before.

“How long do I have left?”

“The doctors say one year.” She looks down at her child and tears form in her brilliant blue eyes.

“I don’t understand. I try to hold on to you, but time after time you age and it all passes me by.”

“I know, it all went by so fast.”

I look at my daughter and the incredible woman she has become. I break down. “Ella, I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you. I missed so much of your life.”

She smiles softly. “It’s okay dad, it wasn’t just you. I resented you, but I should have made more of an effort to get to know you. And now you’re almost gone.” She mirrors my tears with her own.

“It’s okay,” I say as I beckon her over.

She comes and sits next to me, leaning her head on my shoulder as she strokes the fragile hand of her son. She looks up at me, her watery blue eyes reflecting back my entire life, my entire universe before me.

“What do we do?” she asks.

“We spend the next year together.”

She nods slowly as she cries, squeezing me tight. I rest my head on top of hers and close my eyes, ready for what comes next.