by Jamie Blair
Fighting the urge to throw her to the floor and go back to bed, I grab her packed bag from her bedroom and help her out to the car.
She screams, cries, and cusses all the way to the hospital. I drive fast, actually hoping I’ll get pulled over and the cop can drag her butt to the maternity ward.
I pull up in front of the emergency room doors and hop out, flagging down an orderly with a wheelchair. “My mom’s in labor!”
It all happens really fast. Before I know it, she’s in a gown, hooked up to monitors, and almost ten centimeters dilated.
I don’t know if Dave and Angel want to be there for the delivery or not, and I don’t want to ask. Instead I say, “Should I call Hope?”
“For what?” Mom says, relaxed now from her epidural. “We aren’t keeping this baby. It’ll all be over soon.”
I nod. “I know. Just thought I’d ask.” She doesn’t mention Angel and Dave.
The doctor and a nurse come in to check her and say it’s time to push. “Are you staying?” the doctor asks me.
I shrug. “I guess.”
The doctor smiles. “It’ll be a good learning experience for you.”
Yeah. Contraception 101. Not that I’ll ever let a guy devirginize me. Especially not now that they’ve got Mom’s legs hoisted up and she’s baring all. Not a chance. I’ll never be in that situation.
“Come stand by me,” the doctor says, motioning me over.
“I don’t want to look.” I can feel the repulsed expression on my face.
“It’s a baby. There’s nothing gross about it.”
I have no interest in seeing my mom “down there,” but I inch a little closer so the doctor will leave me alone.
“Okay,” she says to my mom, “on three you’re going to—”
“I know how to do this!” Mom snaps. “I’ve had two already!”
“One. Two. Three. Push!”
Mom crunches practically in half and groans as she pushes. Her face turns red, then purple as the doctor counts to ten.
“Good,” the doctor says. “The next contraction should be coming . . . right . . . now! Push!”
Mom bears down again. Her face turns red, then purple while the doctor counts to ten. This routine continues for forty minutes. A second nurse comes in pushing a baby scale.
“Her head’s right here,” the doctor says. “Come see,” she says to me.
Oh, God. I don’t want to look. But she won’t stop crooking her finger at me. The look on her face is so intent and excited, I take a few steps closer and peer over the doctor’s shoulder.
“See her hair?” The doctor rubs the top of the baby’s head with her finger, ruffling the wet, dark, feather-fine hair.
My mouth is open, gaping at the baby’s head. She’s right there, ready to come out and be a person in the world. It’s actually kind of awesome.
The doctor tells Mom to push again. Three more times, and the baby’s whole head and shoulders emerge. On the fourth push, the doctor pulls the baby free.
The nurses start rushing around, swabbing the baby’s mouth, wiping the white goo from her face.
The baby starts screaming at the top of her lungs and flailing around.
“Want to cut the cord?” the doctor asks me, shoving a pair of surgical scissors into my hand.
“Uh . . . okay.”
She shows me where to cut, and I squeeze the scissors around the cord. It’s hard, like cutting through rubber.
Once I cut the baby free from my mom, they clean her, weigh her, wrap her in a pink, white, and blue blanket, and tug a matching knit hat onto her head.
The nurse hands her to me and announces, “Six pounds, four ounces, and twenty inches.” She glances over to my uninterested mother, then back at me. “Does she have a name?”
I look down at the baby in my arms. Dark blue eyes. Brown fuzzy hair. Red, puffy cheeks. “Addy,” I whisper.
Once you name it, it’s yours.
Someone said that once.
I don’t remember who, but it’s true. I named her. She’s mine.
• • •
The next day at two o’clock, they release Mom and Addy, since Mom doesn’t have insurance. I went home last night while Mom was sleeping and packed a duffel bag full of everything I own, which isn’t much. This morning, I took a shower and told Hope that I love her. She was in a shitty mood and just said, “Whatever, Faith. You’re so strange sometimes.”
An orderly comes into Mom’s hospital room with a wheelchair, which pisses Mom off because she can walk to the car on her own. She wants to know how much she’ll be charged for the dumbass who pushes the wheelchair.
The plan is for Dave and Angel to come over as soon as we get home with the baby and take her.
Too bad for them.
She’ll never get there.
I carry Addy, all bundled in her blanket, down the hall to the elevator. The man pushing Mom follows. We all ride down to the ground level together.
“I’ll go get the baby buckled into her car seat and pull the car up out front,” I say.
Mom’s digging through her purse on her lap distractedly. “Mm-hmm. I can’t find my cigarettes.”
I leave her there, searching through her purse and completely unaware that I’ve found my escape.
Addy’s face scrunches up in the sunlight. I hold her closer and jog across the street to the parking garage. Mom’s keys poke against my thigh.
I got to the hospital early enough to get a spot on the bottom level of the deck. I open the driver’s-side door, pull the seat release, and lean into the backseat, where I’ve secured the car seat.
Addy’s sound asleep by the time I’ve lowered her into her rear-facing seat and buckled her into the five-point harness.
“Ready to start your life, little one?” I run my finger along the side of her cheek. It’s the softest thing I’ve ever felt. “Your big sister will figure out what to do. Don’t worry.” My heart drums a fast rhythm under my skin. I can’t fail us.
I buckle myself in, turn the key, and press down on the accelerator. As I pull out of the garage, I look across the street to the hospital entrance. Mom’s sitting outside in the wheelchair smoking, totally oblivious to the fact that I’ve just taken her ten-thousand-dollar golden goose.
chapter
five
I’m sick to my stomach and scared as hell. My eyes dart to the rearview mirror every five seconds to see if I’m being chased down by the cops. I screwed Mom over royally. She’s going to kill me this time for sure.
I’m so fucking dead. I’m so fucking dead!
Addy wakes up and shrieks.
“Don’t cry, baby, we’re like Thelma and Louise! Two crazy women—wild and free!”
She cries a few more minutes, then it fades to a whimper and goes silent. I know I’ll have to pull over every three hours or so to give her a bottle and change her diaper. All the supplies I need are in the trunk—bottles, formula, diapers, wipes, rash cream, clothes, pacifiers—one of everything in Walmart’s baby aisle.
The map in the glove box was marked with my route to Florida three days ago when I finally gave in to my plan. I don’t even need to look at it. I know it by heart. All I need is a clue about what to do when we get there.
Money won’t be a problem for a little while. This morning, I emptied five hundred dollars out of my account and also took all the money left from the stash in Mom’s dresser drawer that Dave gave her when he was trying to knock her up—almost a thousand dollars.
It should get us a cheap motel room for a couple of nights, until I find something permanent. Of course, I’ll need more diapers and formula for Addy, and food for me.
I’ll need a job.
And a babysitter.
My head starts to spin. I can’t think about all of this right now. Now is the time to drive. Everything else will fall into place later. It has to.
• • •
Around five o’clock, Addy starts crying. We still haven’t left Ohio, almost to the West Virginia
border. I pull into a rest area, pop the trunk, and hop out. Addy’s shrill little voice follows me to the trunk, where I dig out a bottle, powdered formula, and a jug of distilled water.
I fumble the oversize can of formula as I peel the aluminum off the top. Half the can spills out onto the parking lot.
“Shit. This shit cost me twenty-five bucks.”
Addy’s screams reach a glass-shattering pitch.
“I’m coming! It’s okay!” I read the back of the can for mixing instructions and realize I have no idea how much to give her. I start to panic. Calm down, I tell myself. It’s baby formula. It can’t be that hard. I take a few deep breaths, trying to block out the insanely loud screaming from the backseat that makes me want to hide under the car, and decide to make four ounces. I can always make more if I need to.
After screwing on the top of the bottle, I shake it up as I make my way back around to the driver’s-side door and push the seat forward.
“Hi, sweet pea.” Her face is beet red, and her tongue vibrates as she yells. I unbuckle her and pick her up. She screams in my ear, then turns her head, finds my cheek with her mouth, and starts sucking.
“Okay, Addy baby, that’s not going to get you anywhere. Come here.” I cradle her in the crook of my arm and put the bottle’s nipple into her mouth. She sucks and sucks and sucks. It looks like her head might explode. Then she opens her mouth and howls like her pants are on fire.
“What? Why aren’t you drinking it?” I’m two seconds from freaking out and screaming with her. Why do people have babies? This is insane!
I shake the bottle. Nothing. I yank on the nipple, sure a stream of white baby formula will shoot out, but nothing does. “What the heck?”
I turn the bottle over and examine the nipple. “Well, no wonder. This stupid nipple isn’t even cut all the way open. Damn it.”
By this time, I’m really afraid she’s going to burst a couple of blood vessels in her face, she’s crying so hard. I’ve gone from frustrated to scared out of my mind that I’ll need to take her back to the hospital because I’ve broken her—she’s never going to stop screaming. I sit her back in her car seat and hustle to the trunk again to get a different nipple.
Finally, I’m in the backseat again with Addy in my arms, and she’s ecstatic. Her eyes are closed and she’s sucking the formula down so fast, I’m sure she was starving. When it’s gone, I take the bottle out of her mouth. Her lips still make their sucking motion, and her eyes stay closed. I put her over my shoulder and pat her back gently.
I don’t get a burp. I get a deluge. She pukes up what has to be all four ounces all over me, the backseat, and herself, and starts crying again. Formula is coming out her nose. Suddenly I remember what I forgot to buy. Burp cloths.
Looking around the rest area, I don’t see anyone close to us or paying attention. I whip my T-shirt over my head and wipe her face with it. Then I sit her in her car seat and make a mad dash to the trunk again to get us both clean clothes. I also grab a diaper and a pacifier.
What I thought would be a fifteen-minute stop has turned into an hour. As I pull the car away, Addy calm and asleep in fresh clothes and diaper, I admit to myself that I’m in way over my head. One pit stop and I’m almost in tears.
Six o’clock. At this rate, we’ll get to Florida in about a week.
• • •
We stop again at eight and ten. Both times, Addy pukes all over herself, the car seat, and me. I make a mental note to purchase a rain poncho for feeding time once we get to Florida. We have so much time to make up on the road, I’m not stopping for any reason other than to feed her. Luckily, newborns sleep a lot, so her crying sprees are limited to two-hour intervals.
We’re almost through North Carolina when red and blue lights start flashing behind me. I think I’ve swallowed my tongue, and I hold my breath as I pull off to the right side of the highway. My heart is attempting to punch and kick its way out of my chest.
“Shit, shit, shit.” I open the glove box and dig around for Mom’s registration. I know there’s no proof of insurance, but it won’t hurt to pretend I’m searching my ass off for a card. If Mom filed a police report on me, I’m fucked.
Sweat beads on my forehead and the back of my neck. I jump when the officer knocks on my window and drop the eight hundred folded and wadded-up pieces of paper I’m clutching. Addy starts whimpering in the back.
My hand cranks down the window as I peer into the backseat. She’s winding up, getting louder.
“Shh, Addy, don’t cry.” I reach back and pat her cookie-size foot.
“Miss, please don’t reach into the backseat,” the officer says with his deep, all-official voice.
Addy ups the pitch and tone.
My pulse races.
I flip around to the officer. “I’m just trying to keep her from completely freaking out, okay?”
But it’s too late. Addy’s out of control. She’s started to hiccup, and that makes her mad, which makes her belt out the loudest screams I can even imagine. My ears are bleeding.
Pissed, I turn on the cop. “Do you see what you’ve done? I hope whatever reason you have for pulling me over is worth it. I know I wasn’t going over the speed limit.”
“You have a taillight out. Just get it fixed.” He tips his hat and marches back to his cruiser.
“Sweet Jesus. Addy, you are the coolest baby ever.” I wipe the sweat off my forehead as the cop car pulls back onto the highway and disappears from sight.
For a while, I just sit and breathe, listening to Addy suck in air, scream until her lungs deflate with a little hiss, then gasp for air again. After five minutes, she’s worn out and falls asleep, and I pull back onto the highway, knuckles white, heart all beat out.
• • •
At eight in the morning we reach Jacksonville, Florida, and I pull into the first budget motel my eyes spot off the highway. I drag myself out of the car, flip up my seat, and unbuckle Addy.
I carry her into the motel office. It’s filled with the pungent smells of hot electrical wires and hot dogs with onions. Addy squirms in my arms when I ring the bell that sits on the scratched-up counter.
An older man in need of a shave, with dark gray wiry hair, comes out of the back room. “Help you?”
“I need a room for a couple of nights.”
His fingers clack on the computer keyboard. “Okay, just the two of you?”
I glance down at Addy. Her deep blue eyes are watching me. “Yeah, just the two of us.”
“That’s eighty dollars a night plus tax.” He’s printing up the receipt as my mouth drops open. Eighty dollars a night? Plus tax.
“Will that be cash or credit card?”
A huge, tired, regretful sigh escapes my lungs. “Cash.” I juggle Addy and my bag, trying to unzip one while not dropping the other.
The old man watches me, obviously entertained.
“Don’t worry. I got it.” I toss the money on the counter. He makes change and slides it along with the key across the counter.
“Have a good morning.” He’s already on his way to the back again.
I push the door open with my butt, wrestle with the straps on Addy’s car seat, and drive us around the building to room 210. I’m exhausted and thankful Addy can’t roll over, so I can leave her lying in the middle of the bed while I make a couple of trips to the car to unload only our necessities from the trunk.
For someone so small, she sure needs a lot of crap.
I kick off my shoes and lie down beside her. Her arms and legs flail around with jerky movements, like she has absolutely no control over them. Every once in a while she makes a clucking noise with her tongue.
I grab the remote off the nightstand and turn the TV on. Sesame Street is the first show that fills the screen. “Perfect.”
The next thing I know, Addy’s crying and it’s four hours later. “Oh, Addster, you let me sleep four hours. You’re such a good baby.” I give her my finger, and she holds on to it with her baby kung
fu grip.
I feed her, she pukes, and I run a warm bath for her. She lies in the bottom of the tub in a half inch of water, kicking and making happy baby noises. I could eat her cheeks they’re so chubby and cute.
Her toes remind me of corn kernels, and she has chubby sausages for thighs. She’s a baby buffet. Even if she’s half my mom’s, she’s the most beautiful baby I’ve ever seen. She really does look like Hope, except for the dark hair.
A wave of homesickness washes over me. Well, not homesickness exactly. I don’t care if I ever go back there, but I miss Hope like crazy. I almost told her my plan. But she’d never have let me do it.
She wouldn’t have understood.
She already found her way out.
I needed a shove out of that hellhole. Addy gave me motivation to escape, in one soft, squishy package.
The soap between my hands foams and bubbles as I rub them together. Addy’s eyes widen, following my fast motions. She’s more alert than I’d thought a newborn would be. Of course, she sleeps most of the day, but when she’s awake, she’s looking around with this expression on her face like, Where the heck am I?
I soap and rinse her, careful not to get her umbilical cord wet, then lift her out of the tub. She startles, arms shooting out and her face looking panic stricken.
“I won’t drop you, sweet pea, don’t worry.” I rest her against me, where I’ve thrown a towel across my chest, and wrap the ends around her.
“After we get you dressed, we’ll try out your stroller.” I lay her back in the middle of the bed while I dig in the diaper bag for a clean outfit. She only has a handful and has puked on most of them. “We need to find a Laundromat or a thrift store.”
As I put Addy’s diaper on, I wonder how pissed Mom is. The cops have to be looking for me—no, the cops have to be looking for Addy. Mom doesn’t care if I disappear, but Addy’s her meal ticket. Her weed ticket.
I run my fingers over the soft fuzz on top of Addy’s head. “You’re worth more than that.” I wonder if Dave and Angel have filed a police report too.
Probably.
I’m screwed.
I snap Addy’s romper, and my stomach twists. A rush of nervous energy shoots through me. I shake out my hands and take deep breaths. I need to get out of here for a little while.
