by Kate Hewitt
And this already feels like a pretty complicated situation, never mind delicate.
I drive to Heather’s house bearing gifts; I’ve put some thought into what to bring – a bottle of wine, although I don’t know if Heather or Kevin drink it, and some Godiva chocolates in their shiny gold box. Then presents for her three girls, because I want them to feel included.
I asked Tina about them, because Heather hasn’t said much about her daughters, and she told me their names are Emma, Amy, and Lucy. They are eleven, eight, and four. I buy sparkly lip balm for Emma, a glittery hairband for Amy, and a plush toy for Lucy. Nothing too outrageous or overwhelming, just a gesture of my goodwill and gratitude.
Heather lives in a tiny box-like ranch house on a semi-suburban street of similar houses, all of them weathered, shabby, and small, plenty with weed-filled yards and broken-down cars in their driveways, but others with neatly tended yards, flowers in the window boxes, flags on the front stoop. Somehow those houses make me feel sadder.
I ring the doorbell and try not to peer through the diamond-shaped window at the top of the door, knowing I’ll look nosy and anxious. Then a girl opens the door, hard and fast, and stands there with her hands on her hips, her eyes narrowed.
‘You must be Grace Thomas.’ She sounds accusing.
‘And you must be… Emma.’
‘No,’ she said in a well-duh voice. ‘I’m Amy.’
‘Oh, right—’ She’s already flounced away. I stand there uncertainly, feeling like a teenager on a first date.
Then Heather appears, looking flushed and flustered. Her hair is back in a ponytail, secured by a big pink scrunchie. She’s wearing the maternity jeans and t-shirt I bought her on our shopping trip, and her belly has really popped. I stare at it, amazed by its fecund roundness. My baby.
‘Grace, hi. Come in, come in.’
‘I brought some things. Chocolate, wine—’
‘Oh, you shouldn’t have.’ I can’t tell if she means it or not. I hand her the bottle, which she holds by the neck, like it’s a dead chicken.
‘Wow, fancy chocolates. The girls will love those.’
I have the individual presents for the girls in my bag, but now I’m not sure if I should break them out. Maybe it will seem like overkill, like I’m bragging with my generosity, bribing them somehow.
I follow Heather into the living room. A heavy smell of stale cigarette smoke, old beer, and the overlying scent of synthetic floral air freshener permeates the room, which is dominated by a large flat-screen TV and a sectional sofa upholstered in fake suede. There is also a La-z-Boy placed prominently in front of the TV, and Heather’s husband Kevin is sitting in it.
I think I’ve been most nervous about meeting Kevin, and yet looking at him now I think how small he is. He’s a slight man, with thinning brown hair and muddy eyes. He looks like he’s been beaten down by life and he’s not getting up anytime soon. He doesn’t get up from the La-z-Boy when I come into the room. He doesn’t even mute the television.
‘Kev, this is Grace.’ Heather stands there, looking between us, twisting her hands together. Kev nods at me.
‘Hi,’ he says, and turns back to the TV.
Well, he’s rude. I expected that. But I was also expecting some beefy tattooed guy who’d crack his knuckles and grunt. Put Kevin McCleary in a suit and a pair of glasses and he’d look like a mediocre accountant.
‘Nice to meet you, Kevin,’ I say, and I can’t help it, I sound like a schoolteacher. Then I let out a startled ‘oof’ as a small, solid body barrels into my legs. I step back instinctively, but grubby little hands clutch at my thighs and a chubby, snot-nosed face looks up at me, blinking.
‘This is Lucy,’ Heather says, and her voice is full of affection. I try to smile.
‘Hey, Lucy. I’ve got a little present for you.’ I fumble in my bag for the plush toy, a little white seal. Kevin shifts in his chair, maybe mutters something. I hand the seal to Lucy, who coos over it for approximately three seconds and then throws it to the floor.
‘Lucy,’ Heather says, so half-heartedly I grit my teeth. I’m being touchy about everything, but only because I feel so insecure. Lucy runs off and Heather turns toward the kitchen.
‘Thanks for having me over,’ I say to no one in particular. ‘It was so kind of you.’
I follow Heather through a dark little dining room crowded with furniture and junk to a tiny kitchen with ancient linoleum and even older appliances. She bends down to peer into the oven.
‘I think it’ll be ready soon.’
‘Great. It smells delicious.’
Heather straightens and gives me a nervous smile.
‘How are you doing, Heather?’ I ask. ‘How are you feeling?’
‘Oh, you know. Good.’ She pats her bump self-consciously. ‘I’m thirty-two weeks now. Not too much longer.’
‘I know, I’m so excited. I can’t wait to meet her.’ The words feel forced, even though I mean them utterly. But this crazy dance we’re doing together makes me so dizzy. We’re dodging minefields at every moment, the awkwardness of a relationship that really isn’t there even though we’re trying to act like it is, and sometimes it has felt like it’s real. But it’s not going to last. In about eight weeks I’m hoping never to see Heather or her family again.
‘Have you started getting ready?’ she asks brightly, her voice a little too loud. ‘You know, clothes, a nursery…?’
‘Well, yes.’ Suddenly I feel shy, almost embarrassed. ‘I’ve decorated the nursery. I’m doing an elephant theme.’ Does it sound silly? I can’t tell. ‘I used to love elephants when I was a little girl.’
‘That sounds really cute.’
‘And… I found this.’ Before I can stop myself, I’m taking out the fuzzy gray sleepsuit I saw in one of the baby boutiques on Madison Avenue before picking up the rental car. It’s got elephants’ ears lined with pink velveteen. I couldn’t resist.
‘Oh, wow.’ Heather has a slightly funny look on her face as she takes the sleepsuit from me and examines it, her fingers stroking the soft velveteen. I feel like I shouldn’t have brought it out and I fight the urge to snatch it back. Then she looks up and smiles. ‘It’s so sweet.’
‘Thanks.’
She hands it back to me and we stand there awkwardly, both of us trying to smile.
‘Kev’s got a new job,’ Heather says after a few seconds, and by her tone I can tell this is big news.
‘Wonderful. What is it?’
‘He’s selling cellphones. It’s not too bad on his back, working in a store.’
‘That’s fantastic.’ I glance back at Kevin, still slouched in his chair, watching the TV with an avidity that suggests stubbornness or perhaps just determination. ‘Really good news.’
‘It’s been a long time coming,’ she admits in a low voice, so Kevin can’t hear. ‘He was on disability for three years, and then it got cut but he couldn’t go back to his old job, not with his back the way it is. But I guess you know all that, from Tina.’
‘A bit…’
Her eyes sparkle with unshed tears and she blinks them back as she lifts her chin. ‘It’s been really hard, but we’re doing better now. We really are.’
‘Great,’ I say slowly, but a big, gaping hole of dread is opening inside me. What is she telling me? That since they’re doing better they can keep this baby? Surely not? Surely that’s not what this dinner is about?
‘It doesn’t change anything,’ Heather says, as if she can guess my thoughts. She presses her lips together, something shuttering behind her eyes. ‘It’s only part-time. I still need to work.’ She turns to check on the oven yet again. I can’t think of anything to say. To express relief seems cruel, and yet what else am I supposed to feel?
Eventually we eat, the girls all crowded together on one side of the table – dreamy Emma, bossy Amy, baby Lucy. Heather smiles at them all, encouraging Emma to talk, Amy to be quiet, Lucy to eat her dinner. Kevin is mostly silent at the end of the table, and He
ather glances anxiously at him from time to time. In the middle of dinner the phone rings; it’s her sister, and while Heather tries to hurry the call, I can tell they’re close. When she gets off the phone, she apologizes to me and tells Kevin she’s going to stop in to see her parents tomorrow.
It’s all chaotic and crazy and depressingly small, from the ready-made lasagna straight from the freezer section of Stop & Shop to Lucy’s incessant whining and Kevin’s oppressive silence. And yet. And yet, as I pick at my lasagna and listen to the chatter, I realize I am feeling envious of Heather, just as I did before, when I imagined exactly this kind of lovable crazy.
I’m envious of her life, of all the people in it; of the love she so obviously has bubbling up for her family, the love that sustains her through the billows and gales of this stormy season.
And Heather’s daughters clearly adore her, even difficult Amy. Lucy climbs into her lap during dessert and Heather absently strokes her hair. Amy makes a big fuss over not being able to have Sprite instead of milk, but at one point in the evening she leans her head up against Heather’s shoulder and Heather puts her arm around her, the gesture unthinkingly affectionate. Even Kevin puts his arm around her at the end of the meal, murmurs thanks into her ear and Heather smiles, closing her eyes briefly.
Yes, I am envious. I am terribly, chokingly envious. Who is the wealthy woman now? The privileged one, who takes the blessings of her life for granted? Right now it doesn’t feel like it’s me.
Then Kevin retreats to his La-z-Boy and the girls disappear into the bedroom, and Heather and I are left alone. Heather starts clearing the table, and I rise to help her. ‘You don’t have to…’ she protests, and then stops. What else am I going to do? Sit and watch her wait on me?
‘You must be feeling tired,’ I say as I scrape plates into an overflowing trash bin. ‘Are you still working?’
‘Oh yeah. I can’t afford to take any time off. If the baby comes at a good time, I won’t even have to miss a day.’
I am appalled and silent. Not one day? And I thought I worked hard. ‘Do you need anything?’ I ask. ‘Maternity-wise?’ I nod at her outfit. ‘The clothes working out okay?’
‘Oh, yeah. Thanks.’ Heather looks strangely guilty, and I wonder how many of the clothes she’s worn. The black cocktail dress, fun and sexy as it was, was not the most practical purchase for her, and now it makes me feel both stupid and ashamed. I should have let her pick the clothes herself, instead of getting carried away on my own.
‘But do you need anything else?’ I press. I have an urge to give her something. To ease her life, at least a little bit. Money, sadly, is the only thing I have to offer. ‘Some more clothes?’ I suggest. ‘Or… toiletries? Something…?’
Heather hesitates, and I can tell she wants to say yes to something, but she’s too proud.
‘Look, why don’t I just write a check? For whatever extra expenses you might have? It’s easier that way.’
She frowns. ‘I don’t think you’re supposed to do that, not on top of everything else…’
‘It’s fine,’ I assure her, even though I suspect it probably isn’t. But Tina doesn’t need to know. ‘I want to make sure you’re comfortable, that’s all.’ I take out my checkbook, grateful to have something to do.
When Heather takes the check, her eyes widen. ‘Five thousand dollars…’
Maybe it’s too much, but it will make me feel better, and hopefully it will make her feel better too. ‘For whatever you need,’ I say firmly. ‘Treat yourself.’
‘Grace…’ Heather looks at me, and for a second she almost looks angry. I feel guilty, as if I’m trying to buy her off, but that isn’t what this is about. At least, I don’t think it is. Then Heather nods and presses her lips together. ‘Thank you,’ she says, and we leave it at that.
I make my excuses a little while later. Heather has her three girls line up and say goodbye to me; Emma whispers it, Amy just scowls, and Lucy picks her nose. I tell them all how great it was to meet them, and Kevin says goodbye from his chair.
Heather walks me out to my car. ‘I’m sorry about Kev,’ she says in a low voice. ‘I know he seems grumpy, but it’s just he’s so tired in the evenings. His back really hurts him.’
‘Of course,’ I say. ‘Completely understandable. I’m sorry about his back.’
‘I just wanted you to know us,’ she continues in a halting voice. ‘And for us to know you. Especially the girls. I… I want them to know who their sister is going to. So they have an image in their head, you know, later…’
‘Of course.’ I feel a lump forming in my throat as I picture it. Will they remember this baby, memorialize her as if she’s died? It feels so sad, and yet it’s hopeful for me. ‘That’s a good idea. It makes a lot of sense.’
‘People around here think it’s weird, that I’m giving this one away.’ Heather rests a hand lightly on top of her bump. ‘And I guess it is weird. Most people don’t do this kind of thing, do they?’ She glances at me uncertainly. ‘They make it work somehow, you know?’
I have no idea what to say. The last thing I want is for Heather to figure out a way to make it work, and yet… if I were in her position… I swallow hard. ‘Do you think you could make it work, Heather?’ I ask, each word tenuous, painful.
She jerks a little, startled, and we are both silent, waiting for her answer. ‘I doubt myself,’ she admits in a low voice, not looking at me. ‘I think I’m chickening out somehow, or that I’m not strong enough.’
‘Heather, you’re very strong. The strongest person I know, in fact.’ And I realize I mean it. ‘Look,’ I blurt, my heart racing and my palms slick, hardly able to believe what I’m about to say. ‘If you think there’s a way this could work for you guys, to… to keep it – her – then you should make that happen. I don’t want you to live with that kind of regret.’
She turns toward me, her eyes wide. ‘Do you mean that?’
No, no, a thousand times no. I struggle not to scream the words. But much better now than later, right? No matter how much it hurts. And maybe Heather needs this from me. Maybe I need to be the kind of person who would say it. Mean it. ‘Yes,’ I say as steadily as I can. ‘I do. If you think there is a way you can keep this baby, then I think you should. If you want to, I mean. If you…’ I can’t finish.
Heather is silent for another long moment. A car horn sounds in the distance, and a dog barks. Then she lets out a long, shuddery sigh.
‘Grace, I appreciate you saying that. So much. More, I think, than you could know… but I can’t. I know I can’t, deep down. Not with… everything the way it is.’ She sighs again, the sound coming from deep within her, and then she straightens, shooting me a quick, tremulous smile. ‘This baby belongs to you. I know that. I think you know that. At least, I hope you do.’
My heart leaps at her words and relief rushes through me, making me feel weak, my limbs watery. ‘Thank you,’ I whisper. ‘I will take such good care of this little girl.’ I hear the throb of emotion in my voice; feel the force of it in my chest. ‘I already love her so much.’ I’ve never meant anything more.
Tears sparkle in Heather’s eyes and she blinks them back. ‘I know you do.’ She takes a quick breath, ‘Do you want to feel her kick?’
‘You mean… now? Is she kicking now?’
Wordlessly, Heather reaches for my hand and places it on her bump, which is harder and tighter than I expected, like she’s got a basketball stuck under her shirt. We stand like that for a moment, my hand on her belly, her hand on top of mine, and then I feel it: a kick, surprisingly hard, right into my palm, like a promise. I laugh out loud, and Heather does too, although the sound is shaky.
‘Amazing,’ I say, and we stand there for another few moments, our hands on top of one another, forever connected by the tiny, persistent kick of the baby that binds us together.
Eleven
HEATHER
Five thousand dollars. After Grace leaves I sit on the toilet – the only place I can get an
y privacy – and stare at that check. Part of me wants to rip it up, which is crazy. I feel angry, which doesn’t make any sense, because Grace has been so generous. But it’s not about her generosity, which is so easy for her. It’s about me taking this money. It feels like I just sold my baby, like there’s a big, glowing dollar sign above my bump. Tears crowd my eyes and I press the heels of my hands to the sockets, willing them back.
Tonight was harder than I expected. Things have been going pretty well. Kev finally got a job, a favor from a friend, even if it’s only ten hours a week and he’s paid on commission, which ends up being hardly anything at all. Still, he’s going out, bringing something in, and that’s important for him as well as for me. We’ve turned a corner that we hadn’t even had in our sight for a long time.
Things had started to seem better with my parents and Stacy too, the whole neighborhood. People still stepped around us but it didn’t feel so hostile. A few moms at the school have asked how I’m feeling, even if they don’t always look me in the eye, or at my bump. Stacy has been a rock, bringing over meals, arranging babysitting so I can get out. One afternoon she brought over a bag of pregnancy stuff she’d held onto – disposable underwear, maternity pads, the kind of stuff I’ll still need even without a baby.
I got a little teary as I looked at it all and she didn’t say anything, just gave me a hug. I burrowed into her for a few seconds, and after that I was okay. I’ve been okay. So why do I feel so shaky now?
If you think there’s a way this could work for you guys…
But there isn’t. I know there isn’t. And I’m angry that she gave me an out, because I can’t take it and that makes me feel guiltier than ever. I should have taken it. I should have been able to.
‘Mommy, are you in there?’ It’s Amy, pressed up to the bathroom door by the sounds of it, her lips against the keyhole.
