by Kate Hewitt
‘Heather. Hi, I’m Grace.’ I hold my hand out for her to shake, which she does rather limply. Then I step inside and usher her in, chatting about how nice it is to meet her, and was there traffic? I laugh lightly at something Tina says that isn’t all that funny, but ice breaking is something I know how to do, putting people at their ease even as I make a snap judgment. Right now I need to feel like I’m good at something.
Yet Heather doesn’t seem at ease as she walks toward my living room and then stops on the threshold, staring down at the thick cream plush carpet.
‘Should I take my shoes off?’
She’s wearing a pair of dirty knock-off Keds, no socks. ‘It’s fine,’ I say. ‘Honestly. Would you like something to drink? Herbal tea? Green juice?’
‘Green juice?’ Heather stares at me blankly.
‘This is great,’ Tina assures me. ‘Thank you so much for having us.’
‘I have sparkling water,’ I tell Heather. ‘Or just tap water. Whatever you like.’
‘Um, sparkling water, I guess. Please.’
‘I’ll have the green juice,’ Tina says, and she gives me a reassuring smile before I get the drinks. When I come back to the living room Heather is strolling around, leaving gentle indentations in the plush carpet as she gazes at the artwork on the walls, which is all abstract and, now that I look at it, kind of ugly.
I don’t have any personal photographs in here; I keep those in my bedroom and study, mostly of me and my dad through the years, as well as one arty black and white of my mom when she was in college. They’re too private for strangers to look at, not that I have strangers in my apartment all that often, or ever. Except for now.
‘So.’ My voice comes out too loud and Heather jumps a little as she turns around. ‘Was Kevin not able to come today?’
In the ensuing silence, the air practically crackles. Heather stills. I am instantly regretting my question, an attempt at small talk that has obviously failed. ‘He has a chronic injury to his back,’ Heather says, ‘and he isn’t able to leave the house very much.’ Her tone makes me think it’s her standard excuse for Kevin’s no-shows.
‘I’m so sorry.’ She doesn’t reply and I gesture toward the two sofas upholstered in soft, gray leather. ‘Shall we sit down?’
Heather moves obediently to the sofa and sits, her head slightly bowed. I feel a sadness emanating from her that makes me feel sad myself, sad for her, for whatever shitty circumstances brought her to this decision, but her sadness also alarms me. Tina said Heather had decided to go ahead, but I’m not feeling that right now. I take in the tired lines and faded eyes, the sense of both acceptance and despair that hangs about her like a shroud. I don’t want to feel sorry for her, I don’t have space for it, and yet I do. I really do.
‘You have a nice apartment,’ Heather says rather dutifully, and I murmur my thanks. I can see how she’s taking everything in, from the paintings on the wall to the modern sculpture to the pile of expensive coffee table books I never even open, and I feel nervous about what she might think.
This house was an interior decorator’s blank canvas, and yet right now it seems to reveal too much about me. A lack in me, because it’s so impersonal, like an upscale hotel. I should have personal photos around, and well-thumbed paperbacks, a cookbook left open somewhere.
Oh, this? I was just thinking about whipping up a quinoa and chickpea salad. Although maybe Heather doesn’t even know what quinoa is. I’m not sure I do, no matter that I’m supposed to be some organic expert now, thanks to All Natural.
‘So, Heather, maybe you could tell Grace why you liked the look of her profile,’ Tina says. She sounds as if she’s instructing two four-year-olds to share.
Heather swings her glance between Tina and me and still doesn’t say anything. Is she overwhelmed? Unsure? Is she wishing she hadn’t come at all? Her skin is pale and freckly, and there are violet circles under her eyes. I smile encouragingly, waiting for her to begin.
‘I guess I picked you,’ Heather begins slowly, choosing each word with care, her hands clasping her fake leather bag in her lap, ‘because you are – I mean, you want to be – a single mom. And I… I admire that.’
She admires me? I want to feel pleased but I’m not sure I believe her. And, I realize, I’m kind of a weird choice for her, aren’t I? I would expect someone like Heather – although I realize I’m making assumptions – to want the typical family, complete with white picket fence and slobbery dog. I wonder why she doesn’t.
‘I’m glad you admire that, Heather,’ I say. ‘I know a lot of people might be taken aback by a single mom, even in this day and age, which is sad.’ I’m going into talk show mode, all fake intimacy and forced cheer, making me cringe inwardly, but I can’t stop it.
‘Well, I’m not.’ She sounds stubborn, like she’s fighting against the tide, and maybe she is. Maybe in her world a single mom, or at least choosing to be a single mom, is a strange and suspect thing. But it still doesn’t feel like a completely credible reason to choose me for her child’s mother.
‘And what about Kevin?’ I ask carefully. ‘How does he feel about this?’
Tina and Heather share a quick, worried look, and I tense. More uncertainty, it seems. How much is too much? When do I decide it’s not worth the risk, the pain? To come so close and then have it all snatched away? To love and lose? That definitely is worse than never loving at all. I know.
But of course it’s worth it, it has to be, because I still want this so much. And I’ll take just about any risk to find my family.
Heather turns back to me, her expression resolute. ‘Kevin,’ she says flatly, ‘doesn’t care.’
Five
HEATHER
Tina and I don’t speak on the way down in the elevator, which looks almost as luxurious as Grace Thomas’s apartment. There’s a table and a chair in it, as well as a CCTV camera in the corner. I wonder how many people pick their nose or their wedgie in here and are caught on camera by a bored doorman.
Once I might have giggled at the thought, and Kevin would have joked around about it, got right up in the camera and wiggled his thumb in his nose. I can picture it, but it’s like looking through the wrong end of a telescope, because he hasn’t been funny like that or even happy for months. Years. The knowledge is like a dragging weight inside of me, pulling everything down.
‘I’m sorry Kevin wasn’t able to make it today,’ Tina says, not for the first time. She pursed her lips when I first told her he wasn’t coming.
Now I shrug and look away. Tina has met Kevin just once, two weeks ago, to go over the initial paperwork. He didn’t say a single word the whole time we were there, didn’t even ask who we might be giving this baby to. I’m the one who has got us this far, pushing and dragging all the dead weight. It hasn’t been easy, and the only way I’ve done it is because I don’t have any other choice.
After looking at those parent profiles online, I got spooked and I started to backtrack. I couldn’t just give my child away. I wasn’t some pregnant teenager or heroin junkie; I was a married woman with three children, a respectable person in a small, close-knit community. Other people had hard times and they didn’t go and give up their kid. I wouldn’t either.
And so I convinced myself I could make it work. I swallowed my pride, went online and applied for food stamps, even though I knew Kevin would hate the thought of us accepting a handout from the government. I also took out a loan from one of those shady sharks on the street corner, the kind of guy who murmurs in sympathy as he cracks his knuckles. I knew it was crazy but when the alternative is losing your house, what are you going to do?
I paid it back two days later when Kev’s last disability check came in, plus the huge interest, which meant we had absolutely no money at all; I’d even gone through the sofa cushions and coat pockets for loose change, all eight dollars and forty-eight cents of it, which I used for gas. Kevin never questioned any of it, never even noticed.
We had the food stamps, so at
least we’d eat. Although they aren’t food stamps anymore; we got an EBT card, and it looks like just a credit card, except I wouldn’t have to pay it back. After it came, I took the girls to the grocery store, feeling generous, almost hopeful. We were eligible for nearly four hundred dollars a month for food. I could feed my girls. So I let them toss things into the cart, a few treats, nothing too big, and when Amy asked if we could buy one of those rotisserie chickens for dinner, because they smelled so good, I said sure, why not? We had the money, for once. They deserved it.
Then we got to the checkout, the food already packed in bags, and I went to pay. I tried to be subtle about it, just sticking the card into the machine like it was no big deal, but the cashier saw and shook her head.
‘Sorry, but not everything here is eligible for food stamps.’
I went still and cold inside, the card, with BENEFITS written in big, black letters on it, suddenly seeming obvious, still clutched in my hand. Then the cashier started taking stuff out of the bags and stacking it on the side. A bottle of economy-brand shampoo, some toothpaste, a six-pack of beer for Kevin, that damned chicken. Amy let out a little cry of protest and Emma looked at me in confusion. Lucy pressed close to my side, her thumb in her mouth.
From behind me someone let out a loud, drawn-out sigh, and the cashier gave me a smile of tired sympathy.
‘Sorry, hon, but it’s the law. You’ll have to pay cash for those.’
But I didn’t have any cash. I thought that was the point of an EBT card, of the whole system. You didn’t need any cash. I saw a woman I recognized from school waiting in line behind the guy who had sighed and was now tapping his foot, craning her neck to see what was going on.
‘Mommy,’ Lucy said, tugging on my sleeve. ‘Why can’t we buy the chicken?’
‘What do you want to do, hon?’ the cashier asked. She was trying to be nice but I could tell she was impatient too. The line was growing longer. I felt my face flush, my whole body, with hot, prickly shame. The mom from school caught my eye, and without even thinking through what I was doing I grabbed Amy and Lucy’s hands and walked right out of the store, Emma hurrying behind, leaving all the food in the bags, the chicken and shampoo and beer piled on the side.
‘Mommy, what are you doing?’
‘What about our chicken?’
‘Quiet,’ I hissed, and I marched, my head held high, my whole body trembling, all the way to our car, dragging Amy and Lucy with me. I buckled Lucy into her car seat while Amy flung herself into the front seat even though she knew it wasn’t allowed, and Emma climbed quietly into the back.
‘What are we going to eat?’ Amy demanded.
‘Be quiet, Amy,’ I snapped. ‘Be quiet. I need to think.’ I rested my hands on the steering wheel and stared straight ahead, my heart still pounding hard from the whole horrible scene. I had no money. No food. Less than a quarter tank of gas in the car. Kev’s disability was gone, my income only covered our rent, and if I had this baby, we wouldn’t even have that. I laid my head on the steering wheel and closed my eyes.
I knew I could go back in, get the stuff the EBT card would pay for at least, but at that moment I couldn’t manage it. Not emotionally. Not even physically.
‘Mom…’ Emma sounded scared. ‘Mom, what’s wrong? Are you okay?’
‘I’m just tired.’ I ached with fatigue, with hopelessness. I couldn’t see a way through the darkness. I felt too tired even to try.
‘Mommy…’ Amy now, her defiance gone, and that made me feel even sadder. ‘Mommy, look up.’
And so I did, dredging up a smile with what felt like the very last of my strength. ‘It’s okay,’ I told my girls, trying to mean it. Something hardened inside me, and my voice came out stronger. ‘It’s going to be okay.’
That night I told Kev about the adoption idea, and he gave me that dead-eyed stare of his and shook his head.
‘Are you fucking kidding me?’
‘Don’t swear.’ He didn’t normally, not since we’d had kids. Amy was probably still awake; she was always the last one to drift off, and the whole shopping trip had unsettled her. We’d ended up eating plain spaghetti; Lucy had whined about wanting sauce. Amy and Emma had both eaten in silence, wide-eyed and frightened, and the misery I’d been feeling hardened all the more into resolve.
‘Adoption?’ Kevin hissed at me. ‘Our own child?’
‘I know.’ I bunched my fists, fighting tears. ‘I know. But you tell me what to do then, Kevin. You tell me how to fix this.’ I wanted to feel sorry for him. I always tried, but he made it so hard sometimes, parking himself in that chair and staring at the TV for hours on end, never offering a suggestion, a solution. I knew he was hurting and frustrated, maybe even depressed. I knew, and yet sometimes that wasn’t enough.
‘If we give this baby up for adoption,’ I continued in a low, steady voice, ‘the adoptive couple will pay all the costs. Contribute to our living expenses, too, at least a little.’ Although I wasn’t thinking of a couple. I recalled Grace Thomas’s profile, that faint, sure smile. In my mind she was already the adoptive mother, not one of those smug couples who already had everything.
Kev shook his head. ‘What the hell are we supposed to tell people?’
‘The truth: that we can’t afford another baby and we want to give someone else a chance to be a parent.’ Saying the words felt like swallowing bits of broken glass, but I was determined now. I couldn’t put my girls through another day like today; I couldn’t put myself through it. Kevin made a sound of disgust.
‘What else am I supposed to do?’ I demanded in a low voice. He couldn’t have it both ways. He couldn’t act like I had to deal with it on my own and then get mad when I did. ‘Do you want me to have an abortion? Is that it? I’m already fifteen weeks. I’ll feel the baby kick any day now.’ My voice choked, and I sucked in a hard breath. Those little flutters would just about kill me.
‘An abortion?’ Kevin looked genuinely horrified, and then he shook his head. ‘Heather, no. No! I’d never want that. Our own kid…’
‘I know you wouldn’t.’ I was relieved that he’d said it, because even though this felt like the hardest thing I’d ever done, I knew that would be harder. ‘But what then, Kev? Tell me what to do.’ For a second I let myself remember the way he was when I told him I was pregnant with Emma, seventeen and scared. He’d pulled me into a hug, my head tucked under his chin. ‘Then we’ll just have to get married,’ he’d said, making it sound so wonderfully simple. I felt so safe in that moment, safe and happy, sure of my future. Our future.
But now, fourth time around, Kevin just stared at me for a long moment and then he dropped his head into his hands with a sound like a moan. It was the opposite of everything I hoped for, and it brought me near to tears.
‘Kevin…’
‘I fucking hate this.’ His voice was low but not angry. Angry I was used to, angry I took on the chin and soldiered on with slumped shoulders, and right then I’d have preferred it to the despair I heard in his voice, the despair he usually tried to hide. ‘I fucking hate that I’m stuck in this stupid chair, that I can’t even provide for my fucking family.’ He raised his head and then he took the remote control resting on the arm of the chair and hurled it at the TV.
Thankfully it missed, causing a dent in the wall rather than one in our TV. He winced and sagged against the chair, and I knew he’d strained his back just by that one movement.
‘This isn’t your fault, Kevin.’ I picked up the remote control and put it back on the arm of the chair. ‘You had an accident and you can’t work…’ Even if sometimes I wish he’d just try.
‘Tell that to the fucking lawyers.’
‘Please don’t swear.’
He looked away and I continued steadily, ‘This doesn’t have to be a bad thing.’ I knew I was speaking to myself as much as to him. ‘We’d be making someone happy. This child would have a great life, and we could give our girls the lives they deserve too. Everybody wins.’
‘
Sure as hell doesn’t feel like winning to me.’
‘Breaking even, maybe. I don’t see any other way, Kev. I really don’t. And the truth is…’ It hurt to say it, but I knew I needed to. ‘We need the money. All the costs would be covered, plus some living expenses.’
His lip curled. ‘So you want to sell our kid?’
‘It’s not like that.’ Why did he have to act like I was happy about this? Didn’t he realize how it was tearing me up inside so I didn’t know if I’d ever put myself together again? I’d just be bits and broken pieces. ‘There’s a limit to how much you can take from the adoptive parents. Usually it’s just the basics covered – hospital costs, maternity clothes, that kind of stuff, plus help with bills if you need it. And we do.’
Kevin shrugged like it didn’t matter, but we both knew it did. ‘And this baby would have a really good life,’ I pressed on. ‘We could be happy about that.’
‘Better than I could provide, you mean.’
‘Well, yes.’ How could I not admit that? ‘But it doesn’t have to be a bad thing. It just… is. Wouldn’t it be nice to know this baby is having a good life?’ A better life, maybe, than the three girls we’d kept, although I didn’t say that. I tried not to think it.
Kevin didn’t speak for a long moment and then he picked up the remote control. ‘Do whatever you want,’ he said, and clicked the power button. A second later the room was filled with the sound of football. I stood there for a few seconds, fighting both fury and despair, wanting to say something to get him out of his sorry-for-himself stupor, even if it was something mean, but I stayed silent. It wasn’t worth it, even if I felt like screaming at him that I couldn’t keep everything going. I couldn’t keep doing this all on my own.
I walked into the dining room and I emailed Open Hearts to ask Tina for an appointment. When I told Kevin he had to go in with me, he just nodded. In the office, a few days later, he stayed sullenly silent, and didn’t even look at Tina or me, just scrawled his name. Later, when he’d left the room, Tina said something about needing to make sure he was okay with this, and I shook my head.
