by R. S. Lively
"You could say that," I say. "I’m expecting my first child sometime in the next a couple of weeks."
"Did that influence your decision to take a break from future projects for now?"
The question squeezes my heart, but I try not to let my expression show it.
"It did," I say. "Being pregnant anywhere unfamiliar is a challenge, and I'm sure it wouldn't get any easier with a newborn, or a small child. It's even more challenging given the nature of the work I do. Because of that, I decided to step back from that particular area of my work, and focus on raising my baby for the next couple of years."
"So, you do plan on eventually returning to the humanitarian sector?"
"Absolutely," I say. "I've always been extremely passionate about my work, and new advancements in the field of agriculture are happening every day. There are so many incredible things on the horizon, and I look forward to getting back to spreading those opportunities to the people who really need them. By that time, my child will be old enough to possibly join me in the field, and I'm excited at the prospect of sharing not only my beliefs and my convictions with her, but also the beauty and wonders that exist throughout the world."
"Did I hear you say 'her'?" Stacy asks with a hint of a smile.
"Yes," I say. "It’s a girl."
"How exciting. Congratulations! Do you have any names picked out yet?"
"Not yet," I say.
From there, I pretty much lose all control over the conversation. Stacy no longer cares about my work, or everything we accomplished in Guatemala, or what I'll be doing in the future. All that matters to her now is the baby. Fortunately, she at least has enough tact not to ask about the father. I do my best to hurry the interview along, however, to ensure that doesn't get a chance to come up.
Finally finished, Stacy turns off the camera recording us, and offers her hand. I shake it, returning her smile.
"Thank you so much, again, Piper. I'm really looking forward to sharing your story."
"When is it going to be published?" I ask.
"It's set to run both in print and on the website at the end of the month. I'll be sure to give you a heads-up when it goes live."
"Great," I say. "Thank you."
She walks out of the house, and I let out a sigh of relief as soon as the door closes behind her. Turning the deadbolt, I kick off my shoes. I've been waiting to do that since Stacy arrived at my house to conduct the interview hours ago. I heard about feet swelling during pregnancy, but I wasn't prepared for them to mold to the inside of every pair of shoes I owned like dough being baked inside a bread oven. Peeling off the lightweight lavender sweater I'd worn for the interview, I toss it aside, and reach up to tie my hair in a high ponytail.
It feels good to be alone in the house again. Even though she was here for a little less than two hours, it was more than enough for me. These last couple of weeks of my pregnancy have been tense – to put it mildly. I'm hot, huge, and uncomfortable. I feel like I don't fit in my own skin, much less in any clothing or normal-sized furniture. It's the emotional sensitivity that's really getting to me, however. Gone are the days when I didn't care how people looked at me, or what they thought of me, and if I did happen to care, I was more than willing it to let them know. Now I'm likely to burst into tears if I can't open my little squeezy bear of honey for my afternoon tea, or help but scream at the stupid murder victims on the true crime shows I've started streaming non-stop. Mostly, I just want to be alone.
Tabitha has visited a few times since I got back nearly a month ago, and a few days ago my smattering of friends threw me a surprise baby shower. It was wonderful to feel acknowledged and loved. I know they all support me fully, and I don’t think anyone has any negative thoughts about me or how this baby came to be. But I do. I can't shake Christian from my mind. I thought by now he'd be a memory, but I'm literally carrying a piece of him inside me, and the bigger she grows, the more impossible it is to stop thinking about him. I've done my best to assimilate to the idea of life with this baby, and without him. This pregnancy meant I had to completely restructure all my plans for the future. I even started thinking about finding a different job, because, without the frequent trips, I won't be able to continue doing photojournalism in the same way as before. I have savings from work, and a small inheritance my father left me, but it’s not a huge amount. At least it’s enough to get me by while I stay home and take care of the baby. I've been offered a few writing projects, and have been asked to do interviews with some minor news agencies. I hope to possibly use my experience into becoming a better speaker, at least until I feel like the baby is old enough for me to go back to my hands-on work.
In all the plans I make, I have to think about Christian. Or, more appropriately, the lack of Christian. I'm forcing myself to think about this baby as 'my' daughter only, rather than 'our' daughter. I've already started trying to plan how I will talk to my daughter about her father one day. We have the benefit of living in a world where the concept of family is redefined constantly. She is undoubtedly going to know people with many different configurations of what they consider family, but she is still going to have questions. One day, she's going to wonder who her father is, and I'm going to have to answer that for her. I'm also going to have to explain my decision to not tell Christian about her.
That issue has haunted me every day since I first found out I was pregnant. I've gone back and forth between wanting to find a way to tell him, and being completely confident in my decision to never address her paternity, and simply raise her on my own. The interviewer mentioning the baby, however, made me profoundly uncomfortable. It forced the issue into a much bigger reality than I was previously living in. Of course, my friends, Tabitha, my few relatives, and the people I work with know I'm pregnant. But that's it. I haven't announced it to the world or made it a public issue. There have been no maternity photo shoots splashed all over a blog, and although I am compelled to stand sideways with a tiny chalkboard marking the passage of each week in a commemorative picture, no one has seen those but Tabitha.
The interview changed that. Suddenly, I'm not just a humanitarian who's returned after an extended agricultural trip. I'm a single woman preparing to give birth to a baby who apparently has no father. No matter what year we are living in, that draws attention. I feel like I handled her prying into my pregnancy, and my plans for the baby, as gracefully as I could. I told her I plan to focus on raising my daughter in a way that benefits her, and that prepares her to be a benefit to the world around her, then I steered the conversation back to the work I just completed, and my plans for future endeavors. Even after she left, though, I can still feel the unasked question hanging in the air around me.
But what about the baby's father?
I've debated with myself extensively about whether or not tell Christian. I'm proud of the life I've lived and confident in my ability to be independent. At the same time, though, I know the value of family, and what it feels like to not have one of your parents away. I know my baby deserves to know who she is, and where she came from, but I don't know how to give that to her. I also hate to admit that I miss him, and still have a deep ache in my heart from how it all came to an end. The disregard he showed when he tossed me away makes me not want to try to have him in my life ever again, but it's not only about me. If it was, the choice wouldn't be so painful.
I haven't told anyone that weeks ago, I decided even if Christian doesn't deserve me in his life, or to know his child, the baby did deserve those answers. I wanted to give them to her, but I quickly realized I didn't know anything. I don’t even know his last name.
It leaves me with no choice but to face this pregnancy, and the prospect of parenting, on my own.
Christian
One month later…
"I thought you got this out of your system last time, Christian."
I grab my bag and toss it over my shoulder, barely looking at my mother as I walk past her.
"Got what out of my system?"
<
br /> "Running off like this. You haven't left home in nearly a year. I thought you were done with all that."
"I'm not running off, Mother."
"Then what do you call it?"
"There's something I need to take care of, and it has to be in person."
"What could possibly be so important that you need to leave the Kingdom again? Especially with your father in the condition he is."
I stop and turn around to look at her.
"Papa is fine," I say. "The doctors say he's doing great. Everybody seems to have recognized how much better he's doing except for you. I know you're worried about him, and that you think I need to be here all the time, but I have my own life to lead. There are things I need to do. I'm an adult, and you need to respect the decisions I make, even if they aren’t what you want.”
She knows as well as I do I'm talking about more than just leaving Cambria again.
I'm not leaving anything to chance this time. I'm using our private plane to get to Massachusetts, where a car will be waiting for me at the airport. I've been avoiding this trip until now. After searching for Piper for several weeks, and trying to get in touch with her without hearing a single word from her, I decided to stop. As much as I resented him for saying it, Frederik was right when he said I needed to forget about her. She obviously didn't want to reach out to me, and I wasn't going to go begging after her. There's no way I was going to lower myself to that, even if I did miss her. The situation has changed, though, and I need to get to her as fast as I can. This isn't only about the two of us anymore.
The flight over is seven of the longest hours of my life, and I'm grateful to have found a private airport closer to Westover than the one in Boston, so I don't have to endure another two hours in the car before getting to Piper's house. The time change between Cambria and Massachusetts is disorienting. Cambria is five hours ahead of Massachusetts, so by the end of the seven-hour flight, only two hours have actually passed. I feel the same sense of traveling back in time as I walk up to Piper's door. It's been a little over ten months since I ran through this door in the early hours of dawn to go back to Cambria, and my father's bedside, but it looks exactly the same as before. I briefly wonder who looks over the house and takes care of the yard while Piper is away for months at a time. I never thought to ask.
I hear Piper’s footsteps heading toward the door as soon as I ring the bell. The door opens sharply, and Piper opens it fully, a big smile on her face. When she sees me, her face falls and her eyes grow wide.
"Expecting someone else?" I ask.
Her eyes narrow and darken. I notice her pull the door closer to her as if trying to block the inside of the house from my view.
"As a matter of fact," she says. "Yes, I was."
"Who?" I demand.
"I really don't think that's any of your concern," she says. "What are you doing here, Christian?"
"It absolutely is my concern," I say, taking a step toward the door.
Piper squares her shoulders at me, lifting her chin and staring into my eyes unflinchingly. Despite the fury I see in her gaze, I want to grab her, pull her to me, and kiss her as hard as I can. I know I can't. There’s a more pressing situation I need to deal with right now.
"Who the fuck do you think you are?" she asks, lowering her voice.
"The father of your child," I say. "And you should watch your mouth in front of our daughter."
Piper looks like she's been dumbstruck. Her mouth opens and closes a few times, tiny indecipherable sounds coming out. Finally, she steps aside, and opens the door. Stepping inside, I put my bags on the floor, and look around. The memories of the almost two weeks I spent with her here all rush back to me. My chest feels tight and aches painfully as I try to process what's happening.
"How did you find out?" Piper asks.
"That's seriously what you have to say to me, Piper?" I ask. "You have my child, for fuck’s sake. I had to find out by reading some interview with you. I haven't heard a single word from you. I just happened to run across an article that sounded like the work you described to me, so I decided to read it. Lo and behold, it was an interview with you, and you were talking about the pregnancy."
"That's not what the interview was supposed to be about," she says.
I roll my eyes, exasperated.
"Again, that's not the point. Why didn't you tell me?"
"How was I supposed to?" Piper asks. "You just disappeared that morning. We went to bed together. I woke up and you were gone. I don't even know your last name. How was I supposed to get in touch with you when I found out I was pregnant?"
"I wrote you a note," I say. "It was on top of the nightstand."
Piper shakes her head.
"There was no note," she snaps. "I didn't see anything from you."
"I left you a note," I shout. "It said I needed to tell you something, and it had my phone number. I wanted you to call me. When you didn't, I just assumed you didn't want anything to do with me."
"If you wanted to talk to me so much, why didn't you get in touch with me?"
"I tried," I tell her. "If you'll remember, I knew as little about you as you knew about me. That was the plan, right? You said all along you didn't want to exchange numbers or other details about our lives. I looked for you. I tried to figure out a way I could get in touch with you, but you made it impossible to find you, wherever in Guatemala you happened to be."
"I don't need anything from you, Christian. I'm doing just fine. I got through my pregnancy on my own. I have Tabitha and a few others. I can do this without you."
"I don't care if you think you don't need anything from me, Piper. You have my baby, and I want to be a part of her life."
I hear high-pitched crying coming from the back of the house, and I realize how loudly we've been talking.
"Ugh. We woke her up," Piper says.
She starts toward the sound of the crying.
"I want to see her," I say.
She pauses, then glances back over her shoulder and gives an almost imperceptible nod. I follow her through the house and into the bedroom. It has changed slightly since I was last in it. A new bedspread and pillow shams are on the bed. I get the immediate impression they were put there to replace memories of what we had done there together.
The cries come from a bassinet positioned at the side of the bed, and Piper walks quickly to it. She reaches inside and lifts out a tiny white bundle. I walk over to her, and look over her shoulder. Cradled in her arms is a perfect little baby, wrapped in a thin white blanket. Piper glances up at me.
"Her name is Aurora," she says.
"That's beautiful. When was she born?"
"Almost three weeks ago," she says. "A little less than a week after the interview."
"For what it's worth, you look amazing."
Piper gives a soft laugh.
"Thanks," she says. "I'm feeling a lot better, too. The first few days were a bit rough. She has trouble sleeping sometimes."
I reach around and run my fingertip along the baby's soft cheek.
"She gets that from me," I say.
Piper nods.
"I know," she says quietly.
I hear the doorbell, and both of us look in the direction of the door. Piper glances at me briefly, then holds Aurora out to me. I take her, drawing her delicate little body in close to my chest. I want her to feel my pounding heartbeat. In that instant, it feels like my heart is beating for her. Piper leaves the room, and I lean down to touch a kiss to our baby's head. She's the most incredible little creature I've ever seen. My feelings shift back and forth between being happy to see Piper and overwhelmed with new love for my daughter, and loss and anger from having missed Piper's pregnancy, and the first weeks of Aurora's life.
"I'm sorry," I whisper down to the baby. "I didn't know you were coming. But I'm here now. I'm not going anywhere."
I hear Piper coming back into the room, and I turn around to see her holding a pizza box. She lifts it slightly as if to show it t
o me.
"I was expecting pizza," she says.
I laugh, realizing that's why she opened the door so quickly. She thought I was delivering her lunch to her.
"Why don't you let me get you something better than that? I can go to the store and cook you something."
"You cook?" she asks.
"Is that such a surprise to you?"
"Yes. You don't strike me as the cooking type."
"I've been known to make dinner for guests. Let me make something for you."
I don't understand why she's so surprised. Plenty of men cook. I learned as a failsafe against never having a wife, even though I could always just have a cook. It seems like one of those life skills that would come in handy.
She shakes her head.
"No," she says. "That's alright. This is what I want. Tabitha made me enough healthy homemade meals to fill my freezer. Then she bought me another freezer and filled that one, too."
I laugh.
"Are you serious?" I ask.
"Yes," she says. "It's in the garage. I ate dinners she made for the last month of my pregnancy and every day since. I just want a damn slice of greasy pizza."
I pull Aurora close to me, as if to protect her.
"You really need to work on that," I say.
Piper rolls her eyes and heads back toward the kitchen.
"She's three weeks old, Christian. She doesn't know what I'm saying. But I'm sorry. I promise I'll work on it."
I follow her into the kitchen, where she pulls slices of pepperoni and sausage-covered pizza onto two plates sitting on the counter. She transfers them over to the table and gestures at one of them. Shifting the baby into one arm, I sit and reach for the slice of pizza. I realize I haven't eaten since before the flight. I was too distracted in the air to eat anything. Now that I'm here, my stomach is rumbling, and the pizza smells amazing. Piper takes a bite and groans loudly.
"Good?" I ask.
"So good," she says. "Just don't tell Tabitha. She might kill me if she found out I wasn't eating kale and tofu trifle, or whatever other healthy shi- stuff she made for me for tonight."
