“Can I please just talk to him?” A whisper laced with a desperate plea.

“He’s asleep.”

“Please. I won’t wake him.”

There was a deep and long inhale. “Hold on.”

She gets out of bed, still dressed in the scrubs that she came home in earlier in the day. It’s a little past 1 in the morning, and she partially regrets answering the phone. She walks out of her room, and not more than two feet away, she pauses in the open doorway of her newborn son. The phone is still hugged against her cheek, and she can hear the liquor on the other side of the line.

When she looks inside, she realizes that since being home with her son, she hasn’t gotten the chance to just stare and take in the essence of the room, no matter how bare it looks. The room is white with a hand-me-down crib and a simple rocking chair. The blinds are closed, but the night’s light seeps in, giving the room a blue moonlight hue.

The crib is placed against the wall, away from the window. She leans on the doorframe, and it feels as if someone is inside her chest pulling strings, tightening everything until pebble-like lumps begin to form. She swallows them down. She takes a deep breath in and says, “I can hear the background noise.”

“I’ll walk away.” The background noise begins to fade, and all she can hear is his drunk, heavy breathing sounds. “Okay. Can I talk to him now please?”

“Do not wake him.” She irritably whispers. She moves her face away from the entrance of the door. “Juro por Dios, que si lo despiertas -“

“I won’t. You can put me on speaker.” He cuts off her escalating warning. “Lo prometo. No lo despertaré.”

She sighs. She looks back in and begins to walk towards the crib. “Okay. I’ll let you know when you’re on speaker.” She puts her phone on speaker and turns the volume down as low as possible. Low enough that she can hear him without waking the baby. She sighs. She looks down into the crib and sees her baby peacefully breathing. She lays her phone on the top edge of the crib. She really doesn’t want his drunkenness to wake up her child. “Okay. You’re on speaker, and you’re at his crib.”

“Thank you, Rosa.” He begins to talk so delicately soft, and low. “Hi Manny. Manuel. Mijo mio.”

The tightness comes back. She can feel the pull in her chest, but she doesn’t pull her face away from the crib or the phone.

He starts to drunkenly whisper-sing “Silent Night.” “Silent night, holy night, all is calm, all is bright, sleep in heavenly peace, sleep in heavenly peace.” She can hear the crack and tightness in his own voice. “Te amo, mijo.”

She takes the phone off speaker and presses it back to her ear. “I have to go to sleep.”

“Okay.” He sniffles and then coughs. She senses he’s trying to cover the lump in his throat by clearing it. “Thank you. I’ll talk to you soon.”

“Goodnight.” She says, sighing, exasperated.

She hits the end button without considering if he had anything else to say. She closes her eyes and slowly rolls her head up to the sky. She feels the stretch at her throat instead of a lump. She opens her eyes back up and sees a white ceiling taunting her little prayer she just tried to say in her head. Her eyes dance on the ceiling for a second before she looks back down inside the crib. She reaches down and gently rubs the top of his full head of baby curls.

She leans down and very delicately and softly kisses the top of his head. “Te amo, mijo.” She pulls away before her tear marks his head.