Nick moved in the week before Thanksgiving. He came with two duffle bags and an armful of roses, a bouquet for me and another for Margaret. When he tapped on her door, thanked her for having him and handed her the flowers, she had a smile that stretched from ear to ear. I think she was happy for me and happy for herself also.
As I’ve said Nick was easy to love; he always had a smile and an ear willing to listen. He could tell a joke, sing a song or dance the shoes off your feet. And at night when we’d climb into bed together, he made love to me as if I were the only woman on earth.
After only a few days I knew I hadn’t made a mistake this time. Ours was the kind of relationship I had always wished for. With Nick there was no pretense. We actually enjoyed the same things: smooth jazz, good books, rainy days and lazy mornings of cuddling beneath the comforter. That winter we spent most of our Sundays curled end to end on the sofa listening to Amy Winehouse or Kenny G and thumbing through the pages of a book.
Every day seemed like another perfect little helping of life. We lived for that day and enjoyed every moment of it. There was never a thought of wanting anything more than what we had.
Perhaps somewhere in the back of our minds we both knew it could happen, but neither of us believed it would. Before Nick moved in we’d discussed it.
“I’m forty-four years old,” he’d said. “That’s too old to be starting a family.”
“Don’t worry.”
I explained that for almost a year after I’d given up the baby, Ryan and I tried to have another one.
“Unsuccessfully,” I added. “He wasn’t the problem, I was. Before I left the house, he had his new girlfriend pregnant.”
The thought of this made me teary-eyed but not because I still loved Ryan. I had moved on where he was concerned; I no longer cared about him. I didn’t even love him enough to hate him. But losing Baby Girl had left a forever hole in my heart.
“I wish I could have another baby,” I said sadly. “But I doubt I ever will. Apparently God has decided that since I gave the first baby away, I don’t deserve a second one.”
At the time Nick said all the right things. He was sympathetic. Understanding. He said not to blame myself. He even pulled out the old tried-and-true “Everything happens for a reason.” And at the end of the day we agreed that simply having each other would be enough.
~ ~ ~
In July my period was late. A few days one way or the other was not much of a concern. But a few days grew into a week and then two weeks. Even then I thought it unlikely I was pregnant, but to rule it out I bought one of those home pregnancy tests.
That evening after dinner I disappeared into the bathroom and watched in amazement as the stick turned blue. Even though I knew Nick’s feelings about this, I returned to the living room with a goofy-looking smile on my face.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
“Better than okay,” I said. “I’m pregnant.”
He looked at me with the wide-eyed expression of shock and fear people often get when they’ve been stabbed with a knife or shot through the heart.
“I thought you said you couldn’t—”
“I didn’t think I could,” I cut in. I pulled my hand from behind my back and showed him the stick. “See, blue. It’s a miracle.”
Nick was still sitting there with that gunshot look. He took a deep breath and spoke in slow, evenly spaced words.
“I can’t do this,” he said. “You knew, Cheryl. You knew up front how I felt about having a family.” He lowered his face into his hands and shook his head as morosely as I’ve ever seen a man do.
“A baby is a huge responsibility,” he added with a groan, “more than I’m capable of handling.”
For the remainder of that evening we didn’t speak ten words to one another. I think we were both waiting for the shock of my announcement to settle. Each of us needed time to get through our own thoughts.
I know what was in my mind; I was hoping Nick would change his. I was certain beyond a shadow of a doubt that I would never consider giving this baby up. The pain of losing Ryan was long gone, but the pain of losing my Baby Girl was still with me. Never again, I vowed. Never again.
I loved Nick, loved him dearly. He made me happy. He made me feel loved. He gave me a million reasons to smile and sing and dance. A million reasons to feel joyful. Still, if push came to shove and I had to choose between him and my baby, this time I would choose my baby.
And Thus It Was
For the next three or four months there was little said about my pregnancy, but the easiness of our being together seemed to slip away. Not all at once but inch by inch. While in the earlier months we made love several times a week, it was now only on occasion and when I was in my sixth month it stopped altogether.
Nick remained thoughtful and considerate, but now instead of flowers he’d come home with a Dairy Queen Frosty, which was what I craved. I continued to work, and he continued to wake me each morning with a slide-by kiss and a cup of coffee. We even stayed with our routine of spending Sunday morning lying lazily in bed, but now I was on my side of the bed and he was on his. Between us there was generally a pile of books and newspapers.
I think we both knew what would happen, but the time would come soon enough and until then we would simply enjoy each other’s company. I know this sounds strange to say, but it was almost like a metamorphosis. We went from being lovers to being friends. Maybe it was because we both understood friends can part without the terrible heartache that haunts lovers when they go their separate ways.
In February I took Nick out to dinner to celebrate his birthday. Instead of going to an intimate French restaurant as we used to do, he chose a steakhouse with a well-lit interior and great food. That evening was the first time we discussed what we both knew would happen.
“I’m forty-five years old,” he said solemnly. “That’s too old to be having babies. I love you, Cheryl Ann, but…”
I reached across the table and took his hand in mine.
“I love you too,” I said, “but I gave up my first little girl, and I’ve never gotten over it. I can’t let myself make the same mistake again.”
“I wouldn’t ask you to,” he offered.
I gave a saddened laugh. “I couldn’t. Motherhood does something to a woman’s heart. Makes it bigger and more capable of loving, I suppose.”
He smiled at my words.
“The love a mother feels for the baby growing inside of her is overwhelming, bigger than anything you can possibly imagine.” I stopped and rearranged the silverware on the table, moving the knife and fork until they were perfectly aligned.
“With my first baby I was young and frightened. I thought I could never make it on my own. Now things are different. I’m older and stronger. I’ll do whatever I have to do to keep this baby safe and give her a good home.”
“It’s a girl?”
I nodded. I’d known for almost a month that my baby was a girl, and this time the ultrasound had shown there were no abnormalities.
“I guess God decided to give me a second chance at being a mother, and this time I’m determined not to screw it up,” I said.
“That’s nice.” Nick looked across the table, and in his eyes I could see both gloom and admiration. “I’m happy for you, Cheryl, but I’m sad for myself.”
He was on the verge of saying something more, but the waitress came and set two platters of steak in front of us. As she prattled on asking if we wanted steak sauce, catsup or any other thing, I could almost see Nick’s words drifting away.
Some things are probably better off left unsaid. That night I went home believing there was a thimble-sized grain of hope that once Nick saw the baby and held her in his arms, he would be swept away by the same kind of parental love I felt.
~ ~ ~
The days and weeks moved on, but Nick did not. In fact he became more thoughtful than ever. When I began to prepare for the baby, he gave the small yellow room a fresh coat of paint and assemble
d the crib.
In the last month of my pregnancy he even took over all the cooking. Every night when I came in from work, I’d smell something sizzling on the stove. After dinner we’d sit together on the sofa, me at one end, him at the other. More often than not my legs would be draped across his lap, and he’d be massaging my swollen ankles.
We had all the earmarks of a happily married couple eagerly awaiting the arrival of their first child, except I knew we weren’t.
All the small signs were there. The wistful look in his eyes when I stepped from the shower naked and he saw the full blossom of my belly. The slump of his shoulders when he passed by the growing stack of pink and white baby blankets. Every day there was some new thing added: a rocking chair, a car seat, a changing table, all of it in preparation for her arrival and conceivably his departure.
Nick grew quieter and more withdrawn as the days narrowed to less than a handful. The night before I went into labor, he held me in his arms and kissed me as tenderly as you would a baby.
“I hope you know how much I love you,” he whispered. “How much I’ll always love you.”
He didn’t say it, but that night I heard the sound of goodbye in his words.
In the pre-dawn of morning, when there was barely a glimmer in the sky, I felt the first stab of pain. My back had begun to ache hours earlier and I’d tossed and turned, unable to get to sleep. I waited until there was a second pain and then a third before I nudged Nick’s shoulder.
“It’s time,” I said. “I think I’m starting labor.”
“Okay,” he answered and rolled out of bed.
Fifteen minutes later we were on our way to the hospital.
Violet was born at 2:37 that afternoon. I named her after the color I’d seen in Ophelia’s eyes. I hoped she would be like Ophelia, gentle, kind, loving and wise. I wanted her life to be as magical as I imagined Ophelia’s to be.
Nick was beside me the whole time. He held my hand, wiped my brow and allowed my pain to become his. When she was placed on my belly still covered with mucous and streaked with my blood, he bent and whispered that she was beautiful.
The look on his face was as prideful as that of any new father, and for a brief moment I thought perhaps he would stay and come to love her as I did.
~ ~ ~
Two weeks later Nick was gone. It happened on a Sunday. I’d gotten up early because I heard Violet whimpering and thought she needed to be fed. I went to the nursery, lifted her into my arms and held her to my breast. We sat in the rocker, which creaked back and forth as she hungrily sucked my nipple.
I can’t say how much time passed. An hour, maybe two. Once she drifted off to sleep again I tucked her back into the crib and returned to the bedroom. Nick was tossing the last of his things into the second duffle bag; the first one was already filled and tied.
“You’re leaving?” I said.
He nodded. “I have to. The longer I stay, the harder it will be.”
“Maybe if you stay long enough you’ll lose the desire to go.”
He stopped and looked across at me. “It’s possible I would. But that wouldn’t be the best thing for you, me or Violet. I’m too old, Cheryl. I’m set in my ways and too selfish to share you with a baby.”
“But she’s your baby too.”
He turned back to the duffle bag and continued packing. “I don’t want her. I’m not cut out to be a father. You knew from the start—”
“Yes, but I thought once—”
“You thought wrong.” He slung one duffle over his shoulder, tucked the other one beneath his arm and walked past me without stopping.
“Nick…”
I heard the apartment door click shut then peeked from behind the curtain and watched as he left the house.
He popped open the trunk of his car, tossed the two bags in, then slammed it shut. Before he climbed into the car he stood there looking back at the house. I can’t say for sure he was crying, but I believe he was. He gave his head a sorrowful shake, then swiped his cheeks with the back of his hand and climbed into the car.
After he drove off I stood there for several minutes looking at the empty parking spot. When a white Pontiac came and backed into the spot, I turned and went back to the nursery.
I lifted Violet into my arms and again sat in the rocker. I knew that now it was just me and my tiny little angel. When she began to fuss I pushed the chair back and forth and sang softly.
“Hush, little baby, don’t say a word; Mama’s gonna buy you a mockingbird…”
Working Mom
At times it seemed as if my life was one long, drawn-out succession of wrong choices and starting over. Now here I was, starting over yet again, this time with a baby who would depend on me for everything.
You might think this would be a daunting situation, but it wasn’t. Yes, I knew I would miss Nick. I had grown used to turning in my sleep and finding him beside me. I’d grown used to having the comfort of his shoulder beneath my head. But for four long years I’d lived with the heartache of losing Baby Girl and when I weighed one against the other, I knew deep down I wanted to be a mother even more than I wanted to be a wife.
With only three weeks of maternity leave left, I had to make the most of every minute. Violet went wherever I went. After she was fed, diapered and dressed, I buckled her into her carry seat and off we’d go.
My first challenge was to find a daycare center. All too soon my leave would be up, and I had to have someone who would care for Violet. Not just a place that would take infants but a place that would nurture her and help her grow. We spent five afternoons visiting daycare centers before we found Sara’s Playpen.
Sara specialized in babies and toddlers, the children most daycares shied away from. The problem was that Sara’s Playpen was small and near capacity.
The day we visited, Sara had one of the babies in her lap. She sat in a rocking chair similar to mine, creaking back and forth just as I did. I liked that. I also liked Sara. She had a soft voice, and the room was meticulous, clean and bright. Each of the three cribs lined against the wall had the baby’s nametag attached to the side bars.
“I have to return to work in two weeks,” I said. “I’m hoping you can find room for Violet.”
Sara gave me an apologetic smile. “We’re full up. I only take three newborns at a time and as you can see…” She gave a nod toward the three cribs lined against the wall.
After seeing the other daycares, I was desperate to put Violet here where there was someone to hold her and rock her as I would.
“Please,” I said. “I’m a single mom. I have to work. She’s my only child. Isn’t there—”
“Isaac is almost six months,” Sara said. “He’ll be moving to the intermediate room, but not for another three weeks and until then…”
I jumped on it. “Will you take Violet in three weeks?”
“If you don’t mind waiting.”
“Not at all,” I replied enthusiastically.
I hurriedly filled out the paperwork and gave the bookkeeper a check for the first week. As we walked out the door Violet woke, and although they say such a thing is impossible at three weeks old I could swear she gave a sigh.
Once I had nailed down a daycare spot for Violet, I began to show her off to my friends. We had lunch with Nicole, visited the classified department gals and spent an afternoon at the apothecary.
Two minutes after we arrived Ophelia turned the sign on the apothecary door to “Closed,” and the three of us sat on the back porch enjoying the fresh air. It was a perfect day, splatters of warm sunshine dancing across the floor and a light breeze that carried the scent of new mown grass.
Ophelia sat in the wicker chair, and I placed Violet in her arms. She was near eighty at the time, but cuddling the baby gave her the glow of a young mother.
“Violet has your eyes,” she said and lovingly traced a crooked finger along the edge of the baby’s chin.
I told her Nick was gone and explained all that had happen
ed.
“I thought he would change his mind once he saw her and held her in his arms,” I said, “but he didn’t. He left without ever really getting to know her.”
Ophelia hesitated, waiting for the melancholy sound of my words to fade away. She looked at Violet and then back to me.
“Perhaps it’s for the best,” she said. “A man unwilling to accept his own child has a selfish heart. There’s no wisdom or compassion in a selfish heart; it beats only for itself. You expected him to be more than he was capable of being.”
I understood the wisdom of Ophelia’s words and tried to hold them in my heart so that in the dark of night when I ached to feel Nick’s arms around me I could remind myself I had made the right decision.
Those last few weeks before I returned to work were filled with magical days of holding Violet to my breast, watching her grow and seeing the changes that came with each day. Although much of her time was still spent sleeping, she was starting to coo and gurgle happily.
The days were wonderful, but the nights were long and lonely. I kept remembering Ophelia’s words, but I also remembered the feel of Nick’s mouth against mine and the weight of his arm across my waist as we slept curled together.
It is said that a woman’s heart has many chambers and while the part that for so long ached to hold Baby Girl was now filled to overflowing, the other side, the side that gives itself to a man, was now empty.
Empty, yes, but not filled with agony as it was when I left Ryan. I missed Nick, but I had no hatred for him. He simply was who he was. He had never lied. This time the fault had been mine. I expected more than he could give.
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