All the Good Parts

by Loretta Nyhan

We sat on a bench outside the cafeteria, next to a long window overlooking the employee parking lot. “Want to count BMWs?” I asked, suddenly nervous. I wasn’t sure how much I wanted to share with Paul. My impulse was to tell him everything, but my impulses were usually followed by intense mortification, so I let him lead.

  “I have a Mercedes, so no. Why acknowledge the enemy?” Paul took a sip of his coffee, grimaced, and placed it on the floor. “Are you going to talk about it?”

  “What?”

  “You’ve got this look, like you want to open your mouth and spill your guts, but you’re afraid to start. Is it Maura?”

  “No, thankfully. She’s going to be fine.”

  “I’m happy to hear it.” He shot me a look. “Do you want to tell me or not?”

  “I don’t know where to start.”

  “Well, what’s bothering you the most?”

  I couldn’t come out and discuss that. I’d build up to it. “My sister and her family are moving to Ireland.”

  “The ones you live with?”

  “Yeah. There are no other ones. My parents have passed on, and it’s just me and Carly.”

  “So you’re going to be alone. Is that it?”

  “It’s like being alone is one thing, but being lonely is so much worse. Right now I see only loneliness when they’re gone. Big stretches of it.”

  Paul shifted in his seat. “Is that why you want a baby?”

  “I wanted a baby before they’d decided to move. But maybe I knew something like this would happen eventually? Does that sound like a horribly selfish reason?”

  “People have babies for all kinds of reasons, and many of those are lesser than yours.” Paul considered this for a moment. I got the feeling he was really thinking about what he wanted to say. There was something comforting in that. “Why is the reason so important to you? Can’t you just say, ‘I want someone to love,’ and move on to the practicalities? Like evaluating the two-hundred-dollar dossier. The perfect math genius super jock?”

  “Still an option. He’s in the running.”

  “With whom? Please don’t say my comatose father.”

  I took a breath. “Don’t be weird when I tell you.”

  “I’m always weird,” he said, smiling faintly. “But I promise to withhold judgment.”

  “My brother-in-law has offered to help me.”

  What followed was a long, drawn-out pause that made me want to throw myself down the stairs. “That is weird,” Paul finally said.

  “You promised not to judge.”

  “That was simply a statement. No judgment attached . . . though, really? Your sister approves?”

  “It was her idea.”

  Paul nodded. “I don’t have siblings, so maybe there are some things I can’t understand.”

  “There are lots of things I can’t understand, most of all my feelings about this.”

  “It’s a hell of a farewell gift.” Paul bent to pick up his coffee cup and froze. “Will you have to . . . ?”

  “No! Turkey-baster method.”

  “That works?”

  “It just so happens I have a medical professional on call to oversee the proceedings.”

  “Well, in that case . . .”

  “This isn’t what I would have chosen, you know.” The tears threatening to fall surprised me. “I don’t want my kid’s life to be started with a joke. But I don’t usually get what I want. I didn’t want my father to die, and I don’t want my sister to leave. I don’t want your dad to feel like he can’t live any longer, and I don’t want to feel like my life is some kind of prolonged adolescence where all I do is worry about how I’m supposed to live life until one day I’ll wake up old and all I’ll be able to worry about is how to die. I’ll miss all the important middle stuff. I’m trying to pay attention to the middle. I’m trying to really live in the middle.”

  Paul made fists with his hands and held them tightly at his sides. I didn’t know what he was stopping himself from doing. Did he want to avoid comforting me or knocking some sense into my crazy, thick skull? “Do you think it’s possible to jump into the game at halftime?” he asked. “I mean, if you’re in the middle of the middle, is it just a slog to the end at that point?”

  “I hope not.”

  “Well, then I want to join the competition. Put my name in the mix.”

  I leaned back to look up at his face, but he could have been playing a high-stakes poker match—it gave away nothing. “What are you talking about?”

  Paul unclenched his hands and rested them, palms down, on his thighs. He sat up straighter and set his jaw. “Your brother-in-law has made you an offer. An admirable one. I’d like to make a counteroffer. I’m not a bad person to . . . tangle with, DNA-wise. I take care of myself, and my health is impeccable. My face isn’t much to look at, but my teeth are naturally straight, and I can offer height, and . . . uh . . . good musculature.”

  I made a strange choking sound.

  “I won’t ask for partial custody if that’s important to you. I can even draw up legal documents, all in your favor.”

  I thought of Garrett’s sweet face when he agreed to help me, and of Jerry’s sincerity. I knew why they’d offered—and I loved them for it—but Paul’s motives were murky. “Are you really serious?”

  “I think you know me well enough to answer that.”

  “I don’t know what to say.”

  “You’re still deciding. You shouldn’t say anything until you know what’s going to come out of your mouth. First rule for judges and criminals.”

  “Which one am I?”

  “Don’t be paranoid,” Paul said, getting up and stretching. He poured the contents of his coffee into a planter and took my empty cup. “I like that I’ve shocked you. I don’t think I’ve ever really shocked anyone in my life.”

  “Shocked only begins to cover it.”

  “Now, it’s time to distract you,” he said. “Let’s go see my dad.”

  Only one nurse remained in Jerry’s room, and with a meaningful glance at me, she smiled and said it would be a few minutes before the doctors would return. They’d propped Jerry up only slightly. His mouth turned down at the edges, dry at the corners and slack with disuse. I wanted to rush forward and hug him, but I resisted, letting Paul approach his father. Paul’s apprehension filled the room, his hesitation setting the foundation for the inevitable barrier between father and son.

  “Get over here,” Jerry said, his voice sawdust.

  Paul drew closer, bringing his ear to Jerry’s mouth.

  When Jerry started talking again, his mouth moved like every word was painful to form. “I didn’t want to leave you. I just wanted to be with her.”

  “It’s okay, Dad.” Paul’s words were perfunctory, an attempt to hide the hurt. I went from wanting to hug Jerry to wanting to shake him.

  Don’t make him feel like the second choice. Don’t make him feel like he isn’t worthy.

  “Let me finish, asshole. I came back for you. I coulda gone on. I walked away from the white light for you.”

  “I’m supposed to be grateful?”

  “I don’t want a goddamn medal for it. That’s not the point.”

  “What do you want, then? I found you lying on the floor. I called 911. I yelled at them, screaming that they weren’t coming fast enough, like a jerkoff on some stupid reality show.”

  Paul was wilting. It was like watching a mountain start to crumble from an avalanche. His head tilted away from Jerry, his shoulders slumped, his strong legs shifted in place, like they could no longer take the burden of his too-large body.

  Jerry’s good hand reached up, stroking Paul’s cheek. “You’re not the asshole. I’m the asshole. Don’t you understand? You haven’t done anything wrong. I didn’t want to go without telling you that. I love you, and that has nothing to do with me or your mother or anything else. It’s love, pure and simple.”

  Paul’s body finally gave. He gently laid his head on his father’s chest and began to sob,
the kind of cry terrified children make when a trauma is over and they’re finally safe to let it all out. Both of their hearts were laid open, bare and vulnerable, and it felt monstrous to stand there watching them beat.

  I backed into the hallway quietly, closed the door, and went home.

  CHAPTER 34

  Nursing 320 (Online): Community Health

  Private Message—Darryl K to Leona A

  Darryl K: Time is ticking . . .

  Leona A: What does that mean? What happened? Did the doctor say something?

  Darryl K: Calm down. I was talking about you. We are not discussing the C word today. I mean it. I’m now convinced talking about it has made it spread. So shut it.

  Leona A: We can talk in code to trick it.

  Darryl K: No, Leona.

  Leona A: Fine.

  Darryl K: All righty. So. You still aren’t running off to Ireland, are you?

  Leona A: A small part of me wants to. Most of me doesn’t. In this instance there are only two choices. I feel like, for something this important, there should be a full list of alternatives.

  Darryl K: What about the other thing?

  Leona A: Oh, so we are speaking in code.

  Darryl K: You know what I mean.

  Leona A: Yeah. I’m teasing because I’ve got no answer for you on that one.

  Darryl K: If it seems like you don’t have any choices, it’s because you aren’t looking hard enough.

  Leona A: Oh, I have choices. That’s the problem. Who was it that said hell is having too many choices? One of those French guys?

  Darryl K: Sartre. Pronounced in the same spirit as . . . Favre.

  Leona A: Of course you would know that.

  Darryl K: Details, please.

  Leona A: Donal offered to help me.

  Darryl K: In a clinical way, or hopping into bed with you under your sister’s nose?

  Leona A: Turkey baster! Are you kidding?

  Darryl K: Maybe I’m getting a little cynical. Sorry.

  Leona A: A little?

  Darryl K: Okay, maybe more than a little. So . . . don’t take this the wrong way, but what’s the catch?

  Leona A: There isn’t one. There are no conditions.

  Darryl K: Oh, no, honey. There always are. When someone is extending a kindness of that magnitude, there are conditions. Carly and Donal might not be aware that they even exist, but believe me, they will surface.

  Leona A: Way to burst a bubble.

  Darryl K: I didn’t say you shouldn’t accept their offer. Just think about all the variables before you do. Do you want to say yes, or is the hunky sperm bank donor more practical?

  Leona A: Well . . . here’s the latest—I’ve added another to the list. My possible future gene pool now numbers three—Donal; Dream Man, anonymous sperm donor; and Paul, the used-to-be-an-asshole-but-is-actually-kind-of-interesting son of Jerry, my home-health patient.

  Darryl K: Stellar genetic material there.

  Leona A: Shut up.

  Darryl K: I’m actually not kidding. All three have their attributes.

  Leona A: Maybe I should draw a chart. I’m good at that.

  Darryl K: Maybe you should make a decision. I’m kind of hoping the reincarnation thing pans out, but right now, it looks like we all have one go-around. Don’t waste time. Are you having trust issues? Is that it?

  Leona A: I trust Donal completely. I won’t have to trust Anonymous Dream Man, as he’s vetted by the fertility place. Paul’s the wild card.

  Darryl K: I didn’t mean the guys. I meant, don’t you trust your opinion?

  Leona A: Good question. Can I get back to you on that?

  This Brophy family meeting was officially rated PG-13. Patrick, Kevin, and Josie were playing upstairs with the rare-as-a-unicorn paid high school babysitter. I sat at the kitchen table with Carly, Donal, and Maura, the latter included because of her newly hatched status as a kick-ass woman in training, and the fact that she overheard Carly speaking to Donal about their offer. Three of us were drinking wine. One of us was sucking down a neon-green Slurpee.

  “This is weird,” said the Slurpee sucker.

  Donal exhaled. “Yeah,” he said. “But maybe if we discuss it a bit, it won’t be.”

  “But not the gross parts,” Maura added.

  “There’s nothing gross about human reproduction,” Carly huffed. She stood and brought the bottle of wine to the table. Her hands trembled as she moved to refill our glasses.

  For a moment I felt like telling them all to forget it, that we should go to bed and get up in the morning and pretend nothing was changing our lives. Nothing at all. Instead, I said, “I need some clarification before we proceed.”

  “You never talk like that,” Maura said, rolling her eyes. “You sound like a lawyer. Or a teacher.”

  I glared at her. “This is an important part of the process. I need to know what your parents’ expectations are . . . afterward.”

  Carly and Donal looked at each other. “We don’t have any,” she said, and Donal nodded, adding, “We weren’t trying to get you to come to Ireland with us, if that’s what got you worried.”

  “What if you resent the baby?” I asked my sister. “What if you start to hate me? What if this causes a rift between us that can’t be fixed?”

  Thinking about life with my sister living thousands of miles away was bad enough, but a life in which I knew she couldn’t stand to be around me was so much worse. Something dawned on me. “That’s why you didn’t offer this before. You knew it would cause problems, didn’t you?”

  “No.” She took a large sip of wine and swished it around her mouth as she stared at the ceiling. “I just—” For once my sister was at a loss for words. She took another swig of wine and said quietly, “Maura, please leave the room. I want to talk to Daddy and Auntie Lee alone.”

  Donal scooted his chair in so Maura could pass, but she put her small hand on his arm. “Don’t. I’m staying.”

  Carly’s voice turned steely. “I just asked you to leave.”

  “No,” Maura said with more fervor. “I’m old enough to hear this.”

  “What did you say?”

  “I said I would like to stay,” she replied, putting some muscle into it. “Please, Mom.”

  Carly was silent a moment. “Okay,” she said, squaring her shoulders. “You want to be treated like an adult, then I’m going to oblige. But even if you don’t like what I’m about to say, you keep your mouth closed until I’m done, then you can respond. Understand?”

  “Yes,” she whispered, her face going so pale the stitches resembled sticks on snow. However bold she felt just seconds before, she was afraid of what Carly was going to say. I was afraid of what Carly was going to say.

  “I met your dad in a bar downtown—” my sister began, throwing a quick smile toward Donal.

  “I know that,” Maura interrupted. “What does this have to do with—”

  “Maura.”

  “Sorry.”

  “I thought he was cute and funny, and he had this odd way of bouncing on the balls of his feet when he walked across a street.”

  “I still do that,” Donal said proudly.

  “He was great, but I wasn’t in love with him when I found out I was pregnant with you—”

  “For heaven’s sake—” I interrupted, tempted to lunge forward and slap my hand over her mouth.

  “No, this is relevant,” Carly insisted. “She says she’s old enough to hear it.”

  Maura bounced in her chair. “Stop! You’re hurting Daddy’s feelings.”

  “No, she’s not,” Donal said. He squeezed Carly’s knee. “I think I know where this is going.”

  Carly placed her hand over her husband’s and continued. “So, I liked this nice man, Donal. A lot. I wondered if it might turn into something more, and I was thrilled a few months later, when I realized I did love him, so very much. But . . . he wasn’t my first love.” At this, Carly jabbed a finger in Maura’s direction. “You were. I loved you
from the moment I found out I carried you in my body. It was miraculous and soul crushing and borderline obsessive—everything first love should be. A girl never forgets her first, because that’s the one who opens her heart for everyone else. I couldn’t have loved your father or your brothers and sister as much as I do if it wasn’t for you. I will be grateful to you for the rest of my life.”

  Maura went completely still, staring at Carly like she’d never seen her before.

  “I’m sure Auntie Lee remembers what happened to me during that time, but I’d forgotten how strong those feelings were, how much they changed my life for the better,” Carly said, her voice gentle. “Auntie Lee wants to feel that love more than anything else, and Daddy and I want to help make that happen for her.”

  She reached across the table and tenderly brushed a strand of russet hair from Maura’s cheek. “My beautiful girl, I think you’ve learned that things don’t always happen how you want them to, and that’s okay, because sometimes the end result is so joyful it erases all the painful stuff that happened while you were on your way. Do you understand?”

  Maura dipped her head.

  Carly turned to me. “We want to help because we want to help. That’s all there is to it.”

  “Which is your sister’s way of telling you the only expectations we have are of ourselves, that we should love our niece or nephew with everything we’ve got,” Donal contributed.

  I couldn’t open my mouth, for fear my heart would come tumbling out. Instead, I settled with giving Carly’s hand a squeeze.

  “Mom?” Maura said, finding her voice. “Can I respond now?”

  “Of course.”

  “The night you guys met each other. Which bar was it? I forgot.”

  Carly gave her daughter an odd look. “Kitty O’Shea’s. The one at the hotel on Michigan Avenue.”

  “Daddy, you bought us lunch there once,” Maura said, and then she burst into tears, sobs racking her small shoulders. Carly got up and held her until the wave passed, kissing the top of her head and murmuring something I couldn’t quite catch in her ear.

  Those words weren’t meant for me. This moment was not mine, not even to witness. Donal, probably sensing this, placed a hand on Maura’s back. “Let’s leave Auntie Lee alone. She’s got some thinking to do.”