by Tori Rigby
Mom sighed, and again I braced for impact. Please, don’t say no. I held my breath, each second that passed feeling like an hour.
“Then, I guess that’s where we need to go,” Mom said.
My heart leapt into my throat. I threw my arms around her, despite how frustrated I was with her secrecy. “Thank you.”
She patted my back. “I want you to know your birth parents, sweetie. If this is what it takes, then so be it.”
I squeezed her. “I love you, Mom.”
“I love you, too.”
After a quick smile, I wandered back to my room, anxious for the day I’d meet my birth mother.
Luckily, the rest of November went fast. We checked the mail every day for any sign of the prison’s response, but it wasn’t until the Monday before Thanksgiving that it came—my application had been approved, and Jodi had agreed to meet with me. We scheduled our trip to the prison for December 2. It was a medium-security prison that housed only women. Pulling into the parking lot, I was shocked at the size of the place. It was like a small community college, and if it hadn’t been for the barbed wire fence around the outdoor recreation area, I’d never have been able to tell it was a prison. The security was what I expected, though, and after Mom and I were patted down, we entered the waiting room and gave our names. The place smelled old and musty, and a light buzzed in the ceiling.
I sat in one of the green, plastic—and very uncomfortable—chairs. My legs bounced as I waited for my name to be called. Would Jodi cry tears of joy when she saw me? Would she tell me to come see her again? Butterflies threw a dance party in my gut.
At 10:15, a guard entered and shouted, “Visitors for Jodi Greer.”
Mom and I followed the man down a long, brightly-lit, white hall and into a visitation room. Prison guards stood at perfect intervals along the walls, and a few inmates, dressed in dark green jumpsuits, sat at small tables. Almost all of them had tattoos on their forearms, and I was shocked by the difference in ages. One appeared in her twenties; the other had to be at least sixty. Every one of them, though, looked like they itched to destroy the universe.
The guard led us to a table and instructed us to sit. My heart sprinted, and I wiped my clammy palms on the legs of my jeans. This was it. I was going to meet my birth mom. If I didn’t pass out first.
A woman was led into the room. Instantly, I knew it was her. Jodi’s light-blonde hair was pulled into a messy ponytail, and her face was so like mine—small nose and lips, high cheekbones. It was as if I’d jumped ahead in a time machine and saw my thirty-four-year-old self.
I gripped Mom’s hand under the table.
Jodi sat across from us and eyeballed me, Mom, then me again. “When the prison told me I had a young girl who wanted to visit, I figured it’d be my niece. Do I know you?”
Her voice sounded like mine, except gruff after years of—what I guessed was—smoking. Small lines ran beneath her blue eyes, and a few grays colored her hairline. Up close, Jodi looked older than thirty-four.
But I hadn’t missed what she said: I had a cousin. The list of questions I wanted to ask was forever growing.
“I’m Susan Hamilton, and this is Andie. We were hoping you were the one who placed her for adoption sixteen years ago?” Mom asked.
Jodi narrowed her gaze, then a tentative smile built on her face, and her eyes turned glassy. “Oh, I see it now. I was wondering if you’d ever come find me.”
I smiled then tried to speak, but when my mouth opened, nothing came out. Mom caught my gaze and spoke for me when she realized I needed help, “Andie wondered if you could tell her a little bit about yourself.”
Jodi looked me up and down before she spoke. “Well, I’m not really sure what you want to know, but I had you when I was eighteen. Your dad was a summer fling who ended up goin’ overseas for college. The guy was a tool.”
Sounded like Carter and me. I bit my lip.
“I was never much good at the school thing,” she continued, “but I tried. Liked books, though. Read a lot. I don’t know. You got any questions?”
Too many. But we only had fifteen minutes—the prison made people visit a few instances before they allowed any real time—and I’d spent I don’t know how long staring at her like a crazed teenager meeting a celebrity. Mom squeezed my hand, and, again, I tried to talk. But my jaw felt wired shut.
“Ten minutes,” the guard near our table said.
Had five minutes really gone by already? Come on, Andie. Taking a deep breath, I spit out the first thing that came to mind, “Why did you give me up?”
Jodi’s eyebrows squished together. “Well, I didn’t want to, if that’s what you mean. But I had to.”
“But why?” My voice shook.
“‘Cause I knew you’d be better off with someone else. Like your mom, here. Seems like you two get along.”
Nodding, I bit my tongue, hard, to keep the tears from falling. I used to have the ability to keep them in my head. Where the heck had it gone?
“Then you get it,” Jodi said. “I couldn’t take care of you. I always wondered where you got off to, but I never regretted my decision.” She paused, tapping her finger on the table. “I ain’t done much good in my life, but I did good by you. Knowing I gave you a chance. And seeing you now proves I was right. You’re beautiful. And it seems your mom did all right raising you.”
She has, I wanted to say, but a lump the size of a bowling ball was stuck in my throat. I reached across the table, desperate to gain some connection with my birth mother other than words and teary glances. A guard stepped closer but stopped when I held my palm up. Jodi smiled and put her hand in mine. Grinning through watery eyes, I squeezed.
“It looks like you’re gonna have one of your own,” Jodi said, dropping her gaze to my small stomach then back to me. When my face scrunched—I wasn’t that far along—she chuckled. “Honey, when you been pregnant before, it doesn’t take much to see it in others. You planning to keep it?”
I nodded. “I think I’ll be able to handle it. I mean, I don’t know why I wouldn’t be.”
Jodi squeezed my hand. “Do whatever you think is right. Your gut won’t lie. Mine sure didn’t, and look how you turned out.”
I smiled.
After a few more questions, like did I have any siblings—no—and where did my cousins live—just over the border into New Mexico—the guard announced our fifteen minutes were up. I fought the urge to cling to Jodi’s hand as she stood. I hadn’t spent nearly enough time with her.
“You write me. Let me know how you’re doing, ‘kay?”
I nodded, my mouth drying, and she backed out of the room with a wave. When the door from the visitation area to the cellblock closed, I covered my mouth, my chest hitching. Mom put her arm around my shoulders, and I leaned into her. I’d been so afraid that Jodi would have considered me a burden, that she would’ve hate me for ruining her life, like I originally loathed my baby for messing up mine. But that was so far from the reason she’d placed me for adoption.
“She had loved me, Mom,” I said, my voice shaking.
“I know, sweetheart. I could’ve told you that. The fact that she put you first says it all.”
I hugged her as a fugitive tear fell from my eye.
“You ready to do some shopping?” Mom asked.
Sitting up, I wiped my cheek and smiled.
chapter twenty-two
“All right. Well, you’re eighteen weeks now. How are you feeling?” Dr. Brandt asked at my obstetrician appointment on Thursday.
Like last time, Mom sat in the waiting room. Why I was still super uncomfortable having her present for these conversations, I didn’t know. But she’d pretty much be on her phone the whole time anyway—she’d been talking with a lot of people lately—so I tried not to feel too guilty about visiting the doctor on my own.
“Good,” I replied.
“Has the morning sickness eased?”
“Yeah. I’m hungry all the time, though.”
“That’s good. Just make sure you’re drinking a lot of fluids and eating healthy foods.” She looked at her chart. “Your vitals are great, your blood work is clean, and you’re gaining weight. So, let’s see how the baby’s doing. Go ahead and lie back.”
I followed her instructions and jumped when she squirted a big glob of cold, sticky liquid on my expanding belly. Dr. Brandt pulled the ultrasound machine closer and rolled the probe-thing back and forth across my lower abdomen. At first, I was annoyed she’d pointed the machine away from me, but, within seconds, I heard the heartbeat and didn’t care. I closed my eyes and let the rhythm take me to another place.
“Looking good, Andie. Baby looks healthy.” She continued to hit buttons on the machine and move the probe around my stomach. “Do you want to know what you’re having?”
My eyes snapped open. I turned my head to look at her. “You can tell?”
She nodded. “It’s up to you, though. Some women don’t want to know until it’s born; others do. Whatever you want.”
I gripped the bottom of my shirt. Did I want to know? I’d bought just the essentials with Mom at the thrift store, since we weren’t sure what I was having. It might be kind of fun to look through baby catalogs with Jill though, jotting down items that I wanted to save up to buy instead of watching Star Trek.
“I want to know,” I said before I could change my mind.
Smiling, Dr. Brandt turned the machine so I could see the screen. Inside a grayish shape that reminded me of a flattened coffee filter was a black blob. And inside that was the fetus. I touched my throat. That little thing, with a head and torso and arms and legs, was inside me. Was my baby.
“You’re having a boy,” Dr. Brandt said.
I’d told myself I wasn’t going to shed any tears today, but they came anyway. A boy. As if by some magic spell, my love for him grew.
Dr. Brandt cleaned off my belly and told me to dress while she printed a picture. When I stepped into the hall, she placed the first photo of my son in my hands. In the waiting room, Mom jumped up, worried by the tears on my cheeks, but as soon as I handed her the photograph and told her the news, her face mirrored mine. Arms around each other, we walked to the car. Again, we stopped for ice cream on the way home, and at Sprinkles Ice Cream Parlor, I picked out a name—Ethan.
Waiting for Neil to come over after school the next day was agonizing. Jill had texted me to let me know her mother needed her help again at the store that evening. Which meant there’d be no rushing my visit with my boyfriend so I could get to the girls’ weekend. And his uncle had given Neil the day off work in exchange for Black Friday. I filled the day with as much studying and homework as I could to keep busy. The faster I finished junior year, the better; the baby was due in April—barring any complications, of course. But about every hour, I pulled out the picture of Ethan, just to look at him. Each time, I cried like someone turned the garden hose on in my head. Somehow, I needed to figure out how to turn off the crazy emotion switch. My nose was sore from blowing it again and again, and my eyes looked like they’d been tattooed with Christmas-red ink.
When the doorbell rang at three o’clock, I leapt out of my chair and sprinted for the front door and then yanked it open with a grin. Finally. Then my heart skipped a beat.
Neil’s left eye was black, and a cut above his left brow had been stitched closed.
“What happened?” I asked, grabbing his hand and tugging him inside. I touched his left temple with my fingertips.
He winced and tipped his face away from my hand. “I’m fine. It’s nothing, unlike your Rudolph nose.”
“Gee, thanks. Seriously, what happened? Please tell me you didn’t get into a fight.”
“I didn’t get into a fight.” With a shrug, he left me standing in the foyer to gobble food from our kitchen. It’d become an every-day occurrence. Well, weekday occurrence. I never did see him on the weekends. Last time I’d asked him to skip a Saturday of working for his uncle, Neil had warned me the “consequences would be dire.”
As Neil stared into the open refrigerator, I put a hand on his back. “You know I can’t let you walk in here, looking like that, and not know why.”
He sighed, grabbing a container of leftover mashed potatoes. “Mom had a bad night. That’s all you need to know.” Shutting the fridge door, he walked away from my touch to pop the bowl into the microwave.
I ground my teeth. “She hit you again?”
“Andie, let it go.”
“No! She can’t do that to you.”
He slammed the microwave shut. “And what would you have me do? Call the cops on her?”
“Maybe.”
Neil pressed the start button and spun around, pinching the bridge of his nose. “She’s my mom. I’m not going to have her thrown in jail. Besides, I’ll be eighteen in a couple weeks, and then I can move out without having to go through all the emancipated shit Beth did. I’ll get my part of my Dad’s lawsuit money, and I’ll only have to swing by and check on her once in a while.”
I frowned. The microwave beeped, and Neil grabbed his lunch.
“If anyone asks, though, I got the shiner in a boxing match where I won five hundred bucks.” He smirked and sat at the dining table.
Rolling my eyes, I joined him, took the spoon from his hand, and stuffed a bit of potato in my mouth. He glared at me.
I shrugged. “Baby’s hungry.”
“You know, you can only use that excuse so often before someone starts thinking you get kicks from stealing food.”
I grinned and played with the corner of the textbook sitting on the table. What would Neil say when he saw the picture? I hoped he’d say something along the lines of that’s awesome. But would he be moved, like I was? The baby wasn’t his, so would he even care?
“You’re staring at me. Do I have something on my face, or am I just that handsome?”
“You do realize you’re not as attractive as you think you are?” Blatant lie. Oh well.
He clutched his chest. “Ouch. That was cold, Hamilton. Like Jack Frost.” I shook my head. “But seriously,” he continued, “what’s going on? You looked like you’d been crying before I showed up, and now you’re gawking at me. Do I need to be worried?”
Biting my lip, I drew out the ultrasound picture from under my homework and handed it to Neil. “The doctor took this yesterday at my appointment.”
He dropped his spoon into the bowl and took the photo. “Man, it has got to cut down on all the booze. It’s getting a beer belly.”
“Neil!” I should’ve known the first thing that popped out of his mouth would be a joke. But for one freaking minute, it’d be nice to get some sincerity from him when we weren’t arguing or I wasn’t crying. I stood and entered the kitchen before he could see the tears welling up. Great. Here we go again. Stupid eye faucets.
“Oh, come on. You know I’m kidding,” he said.
Without replying, I fumbled in the pantry, pretending to look for something to eat. Right now, the tears weren’t falling. I wanted to keep it that way.
His chair scooted out, then hands held my hips. Neil tried to spin me, but I dug my heels into the floor.
“Hey, look at me,” he said.
“No.” My voice was shaky. Dang it. I gripped the counter when he tried to spin me again.
With hands still on my hips, Neil rested his forehead against the back of my skull and sighed. “Andie, I’m sorry. It was a joke.”
We stood that way for at least a minute, then I broke the strained silence. “Dr. Brandt told me it was a boy.”
This time when he tried to turn me, I let him. He relaxed when I met his gaze. Neil tucked a loose piece of hair behind my ear, his smile soft and his touch gentle. I put my hands on his chest.
“That’s great,” he said.
“Do you really think so?”
“Why else would I say it?”
“Because you know that’s what I want to hear.”
“Well, I mean it. You know I’m in this with
you 100 percent; I want you to tell me everything. So, it’s a boy. That’s awesome. I think my aunt still has a few things left from when she had my cousin. I could ask her to—”
I flung my arms around his neck and kissed him. Here he was, genuinely excited and offering to ask his aunt for hand-me-downs, like the baby was his. My heart fluttered. I didn’t deserve him. Not even a tiny part of him. Yet, he was mine.
A startled noise popped out of Neil, then his hands were in my hair. His lips moved in sync with mine as he gently tugged on my strands. A shiver ran from my mouth to my toes. Breathing heavier, I kissed him harder, hungry to be closer to him. Neil slipped his tongue into my mouth, and his hands wandered down my back. The hair on my arms rose, and I leaned into him, aching to feel his palms on my bare skin.
I froze. What if he was grossed out by my swelling body? Most guys liked toned girls, and I just felt like a walking balloon. Would he change his mind about me? Would he push me away?
“You okay?” His voice jarred me from my mini-panic attack. Somewhere in all of those thoughts, I must’ve stopped moving altogether. Neil’s blue eyes were so bright, so full of genuine concern. I stuffed down my insecurity and kissed him again. Neil was a better guy than that. And for as much making out as we’d done, we hadn’t moved past first base—and, deep down, I was so ready for more.
I unwrapped my arms from around his neck and moved my hands up his shirt, caressing his abs with my fingertips. His breathing grew louder, and he pulled me closer. Wanting—needing—to see him the way I had months ago, I lifted his shirt over his head. I traced the tattoo on his chest with my fingertips, outlining each letter of the words “Don’t Forget the Music,” a small pang of sorrow in my gut. I’d forgotten about it, to be honest, and hadn’t yet questioned him about it. But I was positive he’d gotten it for his dad.
Neil grabbed my fingers with one hand, stopping me before I could ask, and lifted my lips back to his with his other. Letting go of my hand, he stuck his fingers in my hair as he parted my lips with his tongue. I kissed him deeper and wandered my hands down his toned back. Please, I begged him with my heart, hoping he could hear it. Hoping my brain would recognize I was safe with him. I didn’t need to be insecure.
