“Halley?” Griffin says.
I swallow the gripping knot in my throat and allow Adam to carefully settle Rylan into my arms.
Adam gazing down at Rylan snug in his arms was enough to bring on the storm of emotions in my heart, but the look that takes over my husband’s face as I hold our nephew for the first time is enough to bring me to tears. A river of tears. I am enamored with my nephew, but the look in Adam’s eyes is a lot like the look in Nina’s, in Griffin’s, in Charlotte’s when she had each of her three children. It’s not the same, of course. There’s nothing quite like holding and looking at your own baby for the first time, I imagine. But there’s also nothing quite like holding and looking at your heart’s desire . . . and knowing you can’t have it.
“Hi there, Rylan,” I say, my voice quaking slightly. “I’m your aunt Halley.” I swallow hard. “And I love you so much. You’re so very, very special. Do you know that?”
I look up at Adam, and his eyes say everything. Everything I need to know. They confirm that what I am feeling is justified. They tell me exactly what he said all those months ago, when he told me that he wanted me to consider having a little Rylan of our own.
I exhale a long, shaky breath, trying to keep back the tears that now blur my vision. I kiss the air above Rylan’s head and gently hand him back to Adam. As Rylan leaves my arms and once again rests safely in Adam’s, I see things as clearly as I ever have since Adam and I separated. Far more clearly than when Adam and I agreed to move past this silly separation and reclaim our marriage and our love and move back in together. Right here, right now, I can see how much my husband wants a child of his own. I can see how much he wants to share this experience with me, but not as an uncle and an aunt. Adam’s heart and soul want a baby. It’s that feeling in your heart that words cannot explain.
I’m moved by the clarity with which I can finally see what our whole time apart was about. It wasn’t about changing minds or reneging on plans. It wasn’t about taking a breather or each of us hoping the other would come to his or her senses. It was about discovering what we want so deeply, about listening to our hearts and learning what matters most in the world to us. It was about this, right here. About digging down deep, uncovering the truth, struggling through the pain and denial, and learning that sometimes nothing and everything change. In the blink of an eye, during an evening’s drive, over the course of an eleven-year marriage.
There’s no prescription for love, no indisputable explanation for how your heart feels or what you do because of love. It’s that raw, unexplainable feeling you have when you hold a baby in your arms, when you gaze into your partner’s eyes, when you accept that love comes in a variety of forms, happiness in a number of shapes, individual truths in all kinds of sizes.
Adam keeps his eyes on the gently awakening baby in his arms. He’s in awe. As Rylan stirs some, Adam makes an instinctual cooing sound and soothes Rylan back into a slumber.
I press my lips firmly together, blink free a few tears, and turn to Nina. “How are you feeling, hon? You’ve got to be so tired,” I say, moving to her side.
I welcome the distraction from my thoughts, making them now all about Nina, all about baby Rylan. Nina had a hard but healthy labor. Rylan was born three weeks early, but he arrived as expected—as a healthy baby boy, with a complication.
It’s only when Griffin walks Adam out so Adam can head back to the office, Rylan sound asleep in his bassinet by Nina’s side, that Nina tells me, “Rylan has special needs.”
“What?” I gasp. I look to the helpless infant who looks perfectly healthy. That’s impossible.
“He has Down syndrome.” Nina’s incredibly calm as she delivers the startling news. Her hands are folded, resting in her lap. Her face is gentle, with no expression of concern or despair.
“Wha—I thought you had the tests done to determine—”
“We did,” she says with stately calm. “The noninvasive ones. And they reported a high risk. As positive a result as those types of tests can yield.”
“Omigod.” I clasp a hand to my mouth. “I thought you just had the tests. I didn’t think they were . . . positive.”
“That’s a big reason we were urged to do the rest of the tests, to prove, with certainty, the results. There was still a slight chance of a false positive, but very small. We weren’t counting on it. Hoping, yes, but not counting.”
“Nina.” I sink into the vacant chair next to her. “What . . .”
“It’s okay, Halley.” She pats my hand. “We’ve been preparing for this. It was hard to accept at first.”
When she says this, I begin to recall moments throughout her pregnancy when she seemed low. Like at the ballet. What could have been the anticipated ups and downs of an emotional pregnant woman could have also been the emotions a mother experiences when she learns that the road ahead may not be quite what she expected.
“But I thought . . . ,” I say as I reflect on the ballet. When Nina and I had a heart-to-heart about such tests and Rylan’s health. “I was under the impression, at the ballet, that your test results weren’t cause for any alarm. Did you . . . You knew? You’ve known for so long?”
“Yes.” She smiles. “As sure as we could be. I had blood work done the same time we found out we were having a boy, to confirm the previous results. It was really difficult to hear, but learning Rylan was a boy!” She presses a hand to her heart. “I look at it this way. I had a one-in-four-thousand chance of getting pregnant. That was my focus. Having Rylan, here with me, is all that matters.”
“You’re absolutely right, Nina,” I say, smiling. “He’s all that matters.”
“You know, I was sad at first, scared. And then I remembered that I was pregnant, Halley. I was going to have a baby! That was the miracle. The rest Griffin and I could learn, could figure out. And you know what? Having all this time to prepare and to expect, we realize we’ve been beyond blessed. Having a special needs child will be a challenge, yes. But it also means we get to spend so much more time with him than we probably ordinarily would have. He’s our entire world now, Halley. And not just because he’s our son but because he needs us more than ever.”
She looks to Rylan. “I planned on returning to work after a few months. But now?” She closes her eyes and shrugs. “I don’t even think about work. Sure, eventually I may go back part-time, but Rylan needs me full-time. It’s a blessing. I get to not only be a mother but a full-time mother.” She sighs gleefully, and I grip her hand.
“I’ve been a part of an online moms’ group for children with Down syndrome,” she says, “and they’re so supportive and encouraging. Every day Griffin and I learn something new; we’re growing together. And now we get to do that with Rylan. They say that in the difficult things there is a lot of beauty and joy to be found. They’re absolutely right. Gee, Halley, we already love Rylan so much, and he isn’t more than a day old!” She laughs.
“Wow,” I breathe, looking to my sleeping nephew.
“It’s a feeling I can’t explain,” Nina says, making a fist over her chest. “It’s the most amazing feeling in the world. My son needs me, and I want to be there for him. Griffin is so committed, so in love with him. We have everything we could ever want. It won’t be easy—”
“But is anything easy worth doing?” I can’t help but say.
Nina’s glowing. “Exactly.”
“Why didn’t you tell anyone?” I ask. “If you and Griffin knew all along and . . . You didn’t want to share with anyone?”
“We weren’t embarrassed,” she says. “We weren’t ashamed. It was just something we didn’t want to receive pity over. I wanted my pregnancy to be about the hope and the love and the joy—the healthy baby boy—that it was about. Not condolences or apologies.” She looks at Rylan. “He’s a miracle baby, and I’m going to spend the rest of my life loving him.” She looks to me. “He’s my purpose, Halley. He’s my truth.”
I know what I have to do. I’ve never been confident in making decisions, least of al
l the difficult and big ones. This one, though, I have to make. It’s one of those heart-and-soul matters, and I can make it. The clarity I experienced at the hospital is still with me. Even clearer, hours later. The stabbing pain of its reality causes some doubt, but then I just have to think about Rylan and the way Adam looked as he held him, and how Rylan is Nina’s everything, and all my doubt recedes. The pain is still there, but so is the clarity.
Nina didn’t plan for Rylan’s having Down syndrome. She didn’t plan to spend a decade trying to conceive. Her love for her son is stronger than any challenge—he’s her truth. When she follows her heart, she’s led to Rylan. And Adam’s truth is out in the open, clear as day, and he needs to follow it. My truth is staring me in the face, too, waiting for me to finally act. To do what I’m so afraid of doing. To do what I never planned for. But I suppose that’s the way these things can go. You can plan, prepare, practice, and in the end, love’s a strange and wild beast. You can try to fight it, or you can fight for it, in all its different colors, shapes, and sizes.
With the bathwater running, I slip out of my clothes and light the large rose-scented candle at the foot of the tub. The sound of a gently played piano fills the space when I turn on the “Relaxed Evening” playlist on my cell phone. I drop my cold hands to my stomach, flinching at the chill. I forcefully distend my stomach and look at my profile in the mirror that’s already lightly fogged by the heat of the running water. I’ve never done this before, imagined what it’d look like for me to be in the early stages of pregnancy. Then again, this year there’s been a lot of “never done this before.”
I rub my hands across the slightly distended shape, as I’d seen Nina do so many times.
“Christ,” I say, shaking my head.
I shut off the water and slip into the steaming bath, sinking down until the water’s surface meets my ears. I close my eyes, drowning out the loud silence of clarity.
Seventeen
It’s hard to breathe. My pace through Old Pasadena down Colorado Boulevard is strong and steady. I pick up speed as I approach the crosswalk each time the green pedestrian light moves to red, making the light right in time. I charge across every street, no matter what the countdown is signaling—ten seconds, seven, two. When I’m stopped, I anxiously tap a beat with my foot. When the light doesn’t turn quickly enough, I start a drum solo with my hands on my upper thighs. I’m a woman on a mission—a quasi–Brooklyn Bridge kind of mission.
I duck into the Starbucks along my route, because that’s how this was supposed to go. Well, not entirely, but coffee was a part of the original idea, and when all else fails, there’s always coffee, right? I order two grande lattes—one with soy milk, one dry—then continue my mission to the quiet office park where I’ve asked Adam to meet me tonight. It’s the closest I can come to the Brooklyn Bridge/Long Beach Freeway bridge scene Marian and I came up with. The park I’ve asked Adam to meet me at is located near my favorite part of the city, in Old Pasadena. It’s usually quiet, there are benches, and it’s pretty at dusk this time of year, the trees decorated with Christmas lights. It’s neither my office park nor Adam’s, and it isn’t a place that holds any sentimental value for either of us. It’s the neutral ground I’m looking for.
As soon as my eyes fall to Adam, standing from his seat on a bench, brushing his hair back with one hand, I feel helpless. As if I can’t do what I came here to do, can’t say what’s weighing on my heart, can’t say what’s needed to be said all along.
“Coffee?” Adam says as I stride up to him.
With my arms open at my sides, coffees raised in both hands, Adam steps close, bringing his supple lips to mine. I close my eyes as he kisses me.
When he draws back, I see him trying to read the Sharpie scribble on the cups.
“Soy’s mine,” I say. “Dry one is yours.”
“Thanks, Hals. Felt like coffee?”
“Uh . . . yeah.” I hike my purse higher up my shoulder. Since public drinking is frowned upon, I want to add, but I refrain. A beer would help, but coffee will have to do. I’ve mustered the courage to come out here tonight, and I’ve done a lot of thinking about what I will say. I barely slept a wink the last two nights, ruminating over what couldn’t wait another day more to be shared with Adam. I knew that the more nights I slept on it and the longer I waited to say what I felt in my heart, the higher the likelihood I’d lose my nerve, the words would go unspoken, and Adam and I would be, at some point down the road, back in the very rough spot we find ourselves in now. I am just as confident today as I was at the hospital about my decision, about Adam, about us. I have mulled over all the possibilities, the pros, the cons. I’ve dug deep and I’ve searched my soul. And I know.
“So, you all packed?” Adam says to me cheerily. We sit on the bench.
“I’ve packed some.”
“Been packing all week, I take it?” The corners of his eyes crease with a knowing smile.
I take a cautious sip of my hot coffee. Adam does the same.
“Adam.” I turn some in my seat to face him. My knees begin to turn to jelly. I breathe slowly and steadily, fearful I’m about to hyperventilate. I set my coffee underneath the bench, then press a palm to my warm cheek. “Adam, you want a baby.”
Before he can utter a response or rebuttal, I add, “And I’ve decided I can’t take that away from you. I’m not going to take away something you want so badly.”
“So . . .” His mouth freezes in a tight O, suspended in incertitude.
“I saw the way you looked at Rylan. The way you held him. The way you lit up when he was in your arms.”
“Okay? And?”
“You want a baby of your own.”
He casts his gaze to the sprawling lawn. “He’s my nephew, Halley. My godson. Of course I was . . . lit up.” He says “lit up” in an exaggerated way.
“I don’t blame you for wanting a baby, Adam.”
“What are you saying, Halley?” Before I can respond, he clears his throat loudly and says in a stilted voice, “Halley, I already told you. I’m willing to put aside my wanting a child if it means being with you.”
“I know.” I grab his free hand and hold it tightly in support.
“I’m willing to fight for you. I want you. I want us.” He squeezes my hand. “Whether or not you want to have a baby.”
“Don’t you see, Adam? You can’t do that to yourself. And I can’t do that to you. I can’t take away what you want. What your heart wants.”
“My heart wants you, Halley,” he says earnestly. “We’re meant to be together.”
“Are we?” The words steal my breath, and from the look on Adam’s face—color drained away, mouth frozen open, eyes wide—the words have not fallen on deaf ears. “Adam, listen.” I put both my hands around his now-limp one. “I love you so much.”
“Don’t.” He looks up at the sky, jaw locked.
“Adam. Adam.”
He slowly looks to me.
“Adam . . . you love me so much you’re willing to forego having a child. And I love you so much . . . I’ve decided I am not going to take that away from you.”
“That’s bullshit.”
“No, Adam. Bullshit is living a half-fulfilled life. It’s us being that couple who comes to fight and yell, passive-aggressively tear each other down over the years, because they have this giant unspoken cloud of angst, of lies, of lost hopes and dreams and incomplete lives.” I pause to steady my nervous breathing. “It’s you, whether you know it or not, coming to resent me for never having a child. And it’s me, whether I know it or not, coming to resent you for feeling incomplete in our marriage for not having one. We’re not going down that path.”
He hisses an unintelligible response, yanking his hand from my grasp. He sets his coffee on the ground.
“How can you do this? Huh? Giving up on us? It’s like . . . it’s easy for you!”
“Nothing about this is easy, Adam,” I say, my voice rattling. “Nothing.”
“So
you’re saying . . . what?” His eyes bore into mine.
“I’m saying that I think we’ve reached a point in our relationship where we can’t go any further. You want something I can’t give, and I want something you can’t give.”
“But I can. I can choose not to have a child.”
“Adam.”
“Dammit, Halley.”
A lone tear trickles down my cheek. “Adam, this is the hardest decision I have ever had to make. And I need you to stand with me on this. Do you want to live a half-lived life? Do you want to live a lie?”
He doesn’t answer.
“I talked to Nina,” I begin, and Adam’s head shoots up.
I’m about to assure him that no one is complicit in my decision when he spits out, “Omigod. Is this about . . . Rylan?”
“In a way.”
“So that’s it? A baby’s hard enough. But a baby with a compli—”
“No!” I say sharply. “Is that your honest opinion of me? That I’m that shallow?”
He doesn’t speak.
“It’s about Rylan in the sense that Nina has her purpose,” I explain. “She has her truth. Yes, life gets messy and things don’t always go according to plan, but at the end of the day, Nina can look in the mirror—look at her life—and declare it hers. She can live it with honesty and pride. I want that, Adam. I want that for me, and I want that for you.” I soften my tone, lower my voice. I reach out to take his hand, and he reluctantly accepts. “I want a complete and honest life for us, and the best way for us to achieve that is to move on . . . from one another.” I exhale a deep, quivering breath.
Adam drops his head into his hands and groans. “This whole separation . . .” He looks to me. “The point of it . . .”
I swallow the lump in my throat. “It was necessary. It gave us time to gain some clarity.”
“God, Halley.” He leans back in his seat, eyes wide in disbelief. “Then why did you agree to move back in?”
“I didn’t know I felt this way until two days ago.”
“With Rylan.”
Everything the Heart Wants Page 25
