Izzy
Lou Cohick
“Stop doing that.”
“Doing what?”
“That.”
Rose reached across the table and pushed at the side of Daniel’s face with slender fingers. It was one of those Fridays in April. There was a basket of fries between them, and Daniel had insisted on drowning them all in vinegar.
Rose grabbed a fry and mushed it into Daniel’s smirking lips, which only made him grin wider. He needed to be on a plane in an hour, but he considered watching Rose twirl her finger through the curls in her hair all night instead.
“You’re banned from doing the smirky thing.”
“Oh? Why?”
“Because it’s rude.”
Daniel raised an eyebrow and Rose laughed, eyes squeezing closed and exposing dimples. He could have stared forever.
“Fuck you, Daniel.”
“Yeah, of course. Sorry.” Daniel grimaced; Rose’s grip on his fingers cutting off circulation. There was more screaming, and Daniel turned away.
“Oh, my god. You literally have all of the same parts. You know how this works!” Rose was in the middle of pushing as she rolled her eyes.
Daniel wanted to point out the fact that this was exactly why he had not wanted to be the one carrying the baby. That having the same parts did not mean he wanted to use them. Ever.
Daniel opened his mouth to speak.
Rose glowered at him.
“Very true. Sorry. Great job. You’re doing amazing — ”
“Shut up.” Rose squeezed his hand more tightly.
“Yep. I just — wow.” There was another wail and Daniel’s stomach clenched.
“I will make you leave.” Her hair was frizzy and she spoke through grit — ted teeth. The midwife cast a glance at them in time to see Daniel grin.
Two years, four months, and six days it had taken to get here. Endless appointments and blood tests and hormone checks and donor procedures. And at the end of it all, there was Izzy: all seven pounds and three ounces of her, with what Daniel considered to be an impressively unnec — essary powerful pair of lungs. Izzy had her mother’s everything, and Daniel was fine with that. One day Izzy flashed a smile. His smile.
Daniel’s hands shook. He’d never once hesitated to jab the needle into his thigh. Not once in seven years. The baby cried in the other room.
“Are you done yet?” Rose appeared in the doorway, bouncing up and down gently, trying to soothe a screaming Izzy.
The needle hovered in the air and Daniel pushed out a breath. “No. Give me a minute.” How would he tell Izzy? What if her friends found out? What would she say? What would the other parents think? Would they exclude her like people did him? Daniel closed his eyes and forced his hand to cease its shaking. Izzy kept crying, and Rose called again. Daniel took a deep breath and stabbed, pushing down on the plunger, the half milliliter of Testosterone Cypionate sinking into his muscle. His eyes watered. When the Band-Aid was applied he went to the other room, plastering that smirk on his face.
Daniel held his daughter’s hand in the middle of the crowded movie theater. He was looking back and forth between the two doors in front of him.
“Dad, I have to pee,” Izzy said, a little impatiently. She danced in her spot, yellow sandals tapping on the floor with every step.
“I know,” Daniel muttered to himself, glancing down at his five-year-old before looking back at the doors. Every once in a while, someone would walk in or out, only making Daniel more anxious.
“Come on,” Izzy urged, pulling Daniel’s hand so his arm extended towards the women’s restroom. His daughter looked at him a little perplexed. “Mommy goes with me.”
Daniel nodded and swallowed the anxiety residing in his throat. Izzy was his daughter, and she just had to fucking pee. It wasn’t supposed to be that difficult. With a sigh, Daniel picked Izzy up and walked them to the parking lot, carefully buckling Izzy into the seat in the back of the car. He apologized the entire way home and washed the pee out of the car seat with a tightness in his chest.
Five pairs of feet pattered through the kitchen and outside, shrill giggles following almost as quickly. Daniel watched as Izzy ran towards the edge of the pool, curly hair bouncing with every step. The other girls fell into formation behind her, making faces that Daniel couldn’t see, waiting for the kindly woman on the other side of the pool to snap the picture.
The house was a mess of silly string, streamers, and confetti, the aftermath of an impromptu fashion show. Music from the back yard filtered into other parts of the house.
Daniel leaned with his elbows on the kitchen counter, tapping the paper cup with his fingertips. Twenty-seven white polka dots on a purple background and the number 8, silver and sparkling. Pieces of cake on small plates were scattered on nearly every surface. The man looked up when there was a splash in the pool. More giggling. The corner of his mouth twitched, pulling his lips up in a lopsided way.
“Dan.” Rose was standing in front of him, holding two used plates of mangled cake.
“You gonna stare at the cup all day?” The plates plopped into the trash bag taped to the edge of the counter.
“Maybe.” Daniel walked around the counter to brush his lips against her cheek, picking up an empty pizza box. The two paused to watch the through the sliding glass door.
“Eight.”
Daniel smiled, leaning into Rose. She felt sturdy. “And beautiful.”
“Thanks to me.”
He laughed and shoved the box into the bag with the used plates.
It was hot. The umbrellas Daniel had dug into the sand a few yards back shielded his nearly translucent skin from the sun, but it did nothing to stop the heat. He’d worn a white t-shirt to make it more bearable. The only relief came from the water rushing up to his ankles, and the air around him smelled like SPF 100 and seaweed.
Rose and Izzy were off to the side, in their Target bought swimsuits, com — pletely unaware of Daniel’s peril. Knees in the sand, Izzy was staring intently into the wet sand underneath her.
“I think they’re called sand clams. I don’t know.”
Izzy smiled, scooping a handful of sand from the receding water. “They’re so small. I love them.” She brought her hands closer to her face, poking a gentle finger at one of the small shells there. The tiny clams that washed up past her knees had buried themselves in the sand and disappeared.
Their voices dipped in and out of the idle noises of the beach, and Daniel leaned back on his hands, wiggling his toes into the cooler sand. The next morning he’d be boiled, but he’d stay there as long as they wanted.
“Are you sure you can’t reschedule this babe?” Rose picked a bottle of nail polish out of the stained wooden box on top of their dresser–a light pink polish, one of Izzy’s favorites. She tapped the bottle against her hand and crossed the room to the bed. “She really wants you to be there. She’s been working for months.”
“I really can’t miss this. They’re already pissed that I rescheduled for that other music thing.” Daniel watched Rose as he threw a shirt over his head.
“It’s her last high school showcase, Daniel. It’s important.” Rose didn’t look at him.
“I told her I’ll stop by the school and walk through the gallery first thing when I get back.” Daniel was going around the room, shoving last minute toiletries and charging cords into a backpack. “She said it was fine.”
“You know she just says things like that, right? She’s just like you.”
Daniel sighed, shoulders dropping and arms out to his sides. “I’ll make it up to her. I promise.”
A car horn beeped outside, and Daniel looked toward the window. “I really have to go. You’re beautiful, and I love you.” Daniel dashed out of the room, giving Rose a rushed kiss and mumbling something about calling her when he got to the hotel.
It was a four hour drive to get there, but it took Daniel only two to get back three days later, counting each breath and calling Izzy every twenty minutes.
Izzy and Daniel had fallen into a quiet routine, getting up only to throw empty coffee cups and food containers away.
“I can drive you back to the house,” Daniel would offer over the steady beeping. He would stand up out of his chair, ready to grab his jacket.
Izzy would respond, “No. I’m fine, I can drive myself,” putting her com — puter and textbooks into her bag. Daniel would offer again, saying that it was a bit of a drive, it was late, and he really could do it, but would always be met with an awkward glance and an irritated “Dad, I got it.”
Daniel would nod, sink back down into the terribly upholstered hospital chair, and refocus his attention on Rose. “Okay. That’s okay. I love you. Call me when you get home.” Izzy would already be out of sight.
Rose died on a Tuesday. Anyone who could had already said their good — byes, and everyone else would fly in later, but now it was just him and Izzy. The beeping had stopped, and Rose’s once glowing skin was pale. There were tubes and wires and no polish covered her nails.
That night’s dinner was quiet. Takeout that wasn’t cooked all the way and flat soda. The television was on; a man with a beard gestured about the weather. Daniel looked up from across the table and watched Izzy’s fork push the rice around her plate.
A high of seventy-five on Thursday…
Daniel chewed on nothing. His knee bounced under the table. A car door slammed somewhere outside, and a neighbor’s dog barked.
“Izzy — ”
Izzy stood up from the table, letting the fork clatter against the plate. She picked up her dishes, letting them clatter in the sink, and disappeared down the hall.
Izzy stood in the middle of all the chatter, the suits, and the dresses. Her own dress was simple: black and elegant. She’d picked it because it made her look taller than she actually was. Her nails were painted with that pink color of her mother’s. Izzy only used it for special occasions, as she hadn’t been able to find the exact color anywhere. She figured her fine art class’ showcase was special enough. The other students were around, mingling with family members and eating fruit off small sty — rofoam plates. Izzy looked down at her own plate and thought that if she had to dress this nicely to stand by her painting and talk to no one for hours, they should at least get better plates. Or better food. She dropped the plate into the trashcan a few feet away.
“Shit.” He’d spilled coffee on his tie. Again. Daniel grumbled as he took another sip and looked around for a place to park. “This place is too damn big. I got here too late, and I spilled coffee on my fucking tie. Nice one, Dan.” He cut off the radio to concentrate and circled the building and the ones adjacent to it at least five times before deciding to park illegally on the street.
As he disconnected his phone from its charger and climbed out of the car — extra careful not to tip that stupid mug that was supposed to keep people from spilling it — Daniel found himself nervous. Nervous like that time it took him forty minutes to do his injection, Izzy screaming in the background, and Rose doing her best. Daniel looked at the building across the street and the banner over entrance: SENIOR ART SHOW.
Oh, God. Did it have to be that similar? Christ, it was practically the same. It looked like it was mocking him. Daniel made a face, pulled in a breath, and started walking. Yes, he should have gone to the other one. That way he would have been there when —
“Excuse me,” someone said, bumping into Daniel’s shoulder.
Daniel muttered an apology and realized he was at the front doors. He thought once more about the coffee on his tie, the lines on his face, and the fact that he hadn’t put anything in his hair, and pushed through the door. He scanned the room for Izzy.
He found her in less than five seconds, standing next to the food table. She was looking down at her phone. Daniel stopped, a little stunned. She really did have her mother’s everything.
Daniel called across the hall. “Izzy!”
Izzy looked up, confused. When she saw Daniel, she flashed his smile.
