by Amy Meyerson
Maybe he needed to hear them because the next morning, when Mom wandered downstairs with me on her hip, she found Billy in the kitchen, dressed in a shirt and slacks, loading a bowl and mug into the dishwasher.
I’ve got an interview for a new job, Billy told Mom as he knotted his tie at the mirror.
Billy, about last night. Their eyes met in the mirror.
Don’t give it another thought, Billy said.
We’re happy to have you and Miranda here for as long as you want.
David’s right. I can’t stay here forever. He tugged on the knot of his tie, shoving it toward the collar.
“Even at the time, it struck me as odd how he said it. ‘I can’t stay here forever.’ I guess I should have realized that he never had any intention of taking you with him. I’m not sure he even realized what he was saying.”
By six that evening, Billy wasn’t back. Mom called his house in Pasadena. He probably hadn’t gone there, but she had no other way of reaching him. When he didn’t answer, she left a message. Billy, it’s Susan. I don’t know when you’re planning to be back. If you get this, will you give me a call, let me know what’s going on?
By seven, she called Prospero Books. Lee picked up. She asked for Billy. It’s Susan, she explained.
There was a pause.
We thought Billy was staying with you. We haven’t seen him in months.
He is. I thought he may have stopped by. I’m sure he’ll be back soon.
Will you have him call us? We’ve been worried about him.
Mom promised she would without confessing that she was worried about him, too.
By seven-thirty, Dad returned home from work to find the table set for two. I was in a playpen by the table.
I don’t know where he is, Mom said, setting a plate of chicken and roasted potatoes at Dad’s seat.
He’ll be back, Dad assured her. He lifted me from the playpen and bounced me on his knee. He kept me in his lap as he began to eat. Mom waited for him to resume the conversation they’d been having in the kitchen the night before. She was prepared to agree with him. This couldn’t continue. Not the disappearances. Not the spare bedroom. Not the bassinet in their bedroom. Not the parenting. He’ll be back, Dad promised again.
“I wanted to call the police, but they were in the middle of the lawsuit, and your father said it would hurt Billy’s case if Burt’s lawyers knew he’d disappeared. Oddly enough, the longer he was gone, the less worried I was. If he was dead, I figured we would have heard something.”
Each day that Billy didn’t return, Mom’s fear morphed further into rage. She tried to remind herself that he was grieving, but she was grieving, too. She was grieving, and still she got up in the middle of the night to feed me. Still she went grocery shopping, cooked dinner, scheduled doctors’ appointments, changed diapers. Billy, he just disappeared.
What angered Mom most was that she loved motherhood. She had to turn down two gigs because Dad was working late, and she didn’t want to leave me with someone who wasn’t family. But she didn’t mind. She loved how I recognized her voice, her smell, her face. She loved that each time she took me to the grocery store, other women would coo at me, telling her she had a beautiful daughter. She loved afternoons at the park, where she would hold me as we watched the older children run around the playground. She loved how the other mothers smiled at her. She would smile back, feeling as though she was part of their maternal society, until she remembered. I wasn’t her child. Billy would come back. If he wanted me, she would have to let me go.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
“Is that why you stopped singing?” I asked. We were still sitting on the bottom step. I leaned back, allowing my knee to graze hers, allowing us to sit together. “Was it because of me?”
Mom shook her head. “It was time. It was more than time. You helped me feel okay with wanting to do something else with my life.” I wasn’t sure I believed her. I could see in the look she gave me that she wanted it to be true. She wanted me to have saved her.
“So when did Billy come back?” I asked.
“He was gone for more than a week.” She laughed in disbelief. “Right when I thought we’d never see him again, he comes prancing in like nothing happened.”
The guest room had been cleaned, the windows opened to let in fresh air. Mom had bought a crib and converted the office into a makeshift nursery. It was a Sunday. She was preparing chicken for the grill. The bell rang and Dad carried me to the door. From the kitchen, Mom heard Dad say, Look who it is, Miranda. It’s Billy. Mom noticed that he said Billy, not “your father.” She wondered if Billy had noticed, too.
Mom didn’t hug Billy. She was unwilling to embrace him, to instantly forgive him. He handed her a rectangular box. Inside were four cloisonné dishes, black with golden birds at their centers.
I got them in Beijing, he said.
Beijing? she asked.
There was a conference.
What the hell, Billy?
I know. I just needed to get away.
Mom wanted to scream. She hadn’t slept all week she was so worried. He couldn’t take off like that, not without telling anyone. It was selfish. It was more than selfish. He couldn’t leave his daughter and jet off to Beijing. And how did he even happen to go to Beijing? He’d never been anywhere, always insisting that California was enough of a seismological minefield for any career. Was this really the right time to suddenly become a world traveler? She wanted to yell at him for all this and more. He seemed so young standing before her, waiting to be scolded.
Instead, she told him the plates were beautiful.
Over dinner Billy regaled them with stories from his tour of China. Dawu, Yecheng, Tangshan and other regions Billy had trouble pronouncing. Many areas were rural and the surface ruptures were still visible from earthquakes several years past. Mom and Dad listened patiently, waiting for Billy to turn the conversation to his daughter, to how she’d grown in the week he’d been gone. Billy didn’t mention me. He didn’t apologize or thank my parents for taking care of me.
After dinner, Billy helped Mom carry the dishes into the kitchen. When I started to cry, Mom lifted me out of the playpen.
Time for bed. She kissed me and started upstairs. She heard Billy behind her.
She’s sleeping on her own now? Billy asked when they entered the makeshift nursery.
She’s outgrown the bassinet, so we set up the crib in here. A crib and a changing station and a small bookshelf filled with children’s books that she read to me each night.
Mom began to change me into my pajamas.
Do you mind? Billy asked, reaching for me.
Careful when you put the shirt over—Billy had buried me in the pajama top, and I began to wail. His face went slack and he darted away from me. Mom rushed over and pulled the shirt over my head.
She doesn’t like her head covered. She always cries.
Billy stood against the far wall, watching from a distance as Mom put me down.
Mom and Billy joined Dad in the living room. She assumed they’d have the conversation they’d been avoiding all night. When Mom offered Billy a cup of tea, he told her he should get going.
Going where? Mom asked.
Home, Billy said.
What about Miranda?
Jesus, Billy, you can’t just leave her here. There was that hopeful inflection in Dad’s voice.
I’ll be by tomorrow to spend some time with her, Billy said as he left.
Mom and Dad watched him reverse out of the driveway.
You know he won’t be back tomorrow, Dad said. This is totally inexcusable. But his tone was eager again.
That night Mom couldn’t sleep. What had happened? Was this Billy’s way of asking them to keep me? And could they keep me? What about Burt? Wouldn’t he get custody before they did? And what if he did return the next day? What if he d
ecided he wanted to take me? Would Mom be able to let me go?
“After the earthquake tour of China, Billy started traveling nonstop.” He joined a reconnaissance team that deployed regularly after calamitous earthquakes. And when there wasn’t an earthquake, there were conferences, delegations, facility visits. He came to our house between trips, staying until I was asleep. His visits home were infrequent enough that I didn’t learn to recognize him. He would return from Mexico or New Zealand, making exaggerated faces to make me smile. Instead, I cried, the pleasure falling from Billy’s face as he handed me back to Mom.
Give her a few minutes. She’ll warm up to you, Mom said, but Billy wouldn’t reach for me again until his next visit, when I would cry again and he would return me to Mom, again.
“And then you started to talk.” Mom had always heard Dada was easier to say, yet it was her I called to. She was in the middle of a project for one of the executives at Dad’s studio who was redecorating his living room. The executive and his wife were going for a hunting aesthetic, even though their house was made of glass and concrete, set in the Pacific Palisades. It wasn’t her job to judge, only to curate. They were her first clients and she was doing the project practically for free. As she laid paint swatches and leather samples across the dining room table, she tried to tune out my unintelligible mumble. Suddenly, I slapped my hand on the bottom of the playpen.
Mama, I shouted. Mama.
She lifted me from the playpen and held me close to her face. No, Miranda, I’m Auntie. Aunt Susan.
Mama. Mom saw Evelyn’s eyes looking out from my face, yet she couldn’t fight the pleasure those two syllables gave her. Ma-ma.
* * *
They had to tell Billy. That was the first thing Dad said when he returned home. We have to tell Billy.
Of course we have to tell Billy, Mom said defensively.
Dad lifted me from the playpen and spun me in the air. We should never have let this go on for so long.
In the year they’d been watching me, Mom had stopped auditioning. She’d enrolled in night classes for interior design because it sounded like something she might like, the type of job she could do part-time. Dad was right. They’d allowed this fantasy to continue for too long.
Billy was out of town, Mom wasn’t entirely sure where. He always left abruptly, claiming he didn’t have time to let them know, although how much time did it take to make a simple phone call? Mom checked the newspaper until she spotted an article on two earthquakes in Taiwan that had occurred within hours of each other. She tried to imagine him in Taipei. She always wondered who Billy was when he was with the other scientists, the engineers, the sociologists. Did they know he was a savior out of guilt? Perhaps they were all guilty, a society of the regretful. Why else would they constantly surround themselves with so much tragedy, so much death?
They heard from Billy a few days later. He had just returned from Taipei where he was investigating the remains of a two-story market that had collapsed. Could he come see Miranda? Mom cautiously told him that he could.
When Billy’s headlights flooded the driveway, Dad carried me to my room. It was too late for a nap, too early for bed, but they didn’t want Billy to hear me say Mama before they’d had a chance to tell him.
He was at the door with a box of loose tea for Mom, a smile across his face until he registered the concerned looks on my parents’.
Where’s Miranda? Is she okay? Billy asked.
She’s upstairs, Dad said.
Mom took the tea and gestured for Billy to sit in the living room. A bottle of wine rested on the coffee table even though Mom and Dad didn’t like to encourage Billy’s drinking, a practice that had become noticeable since Evelyn’s death. But if ever a glass of wine was called for, this was it.
You’re starting to scare me, Billy said, eyeing the wine.
Miranda spoke her first word, Mom said.
Well, that’s right on schedule for her age, isn’t it? That’s great news.
Billy, she said “Mama.”
Billy’s face continued to glow for another few moments until he understood.
Susan and I think it’s time to reconsider our arrangement. Dad was using his lawyerly voice. Mom hated when he spoke that way to her. In that moment, however, she was thankful that he could turn on his professional persona so easily. We’ve grown very fond of Miranda, but we fear she’s starting to get confused.
It could be very damaging, psychologically, if she’s unclear on who her parent is, Mom added. Parent. Singular. Why did Mom have to say that?
Won’t it be traumatic for her if I take her away now? Billy asked.
I could come stay with you, until she’s used to your home. She’s still young, she’ll adjust quickly, Mom said.
And when I have to leave for work, she can still stay with you?
Billy, you’re going to have to stop traveling. I’m sure the lab would be happy to hire you back, Dad said.
Maybe you can travel again, once Miranda is older, Mom added.
I can’t quit, Billy said.
Dad started to fidget and Mom could tell his patience was waning.
Billy, you’re a father. You need to put that responsibility first, Mom said.
I don’t know how to take care of her.
That’s because you haven’t tried, Dad said. You’ve left all the responsibility to us. You’ve been completely delinquent.
We know you miss her, Billy. We miss Evelyn, too, but your daughter needs you. Mom moved closer to Billy and took his hand in hers. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d held his hand. It was possible she’d never held his hand before. You have to forgive yourself.
You don’t understand. Every time I hold her, I’m afraid I’ll drop her and she’ll crack her head open. When I watch her try to walk, I think she’s going to trip and fall just wrong.
That worry is normal. Kids fall. And when they do, you learn not to worry so much, Mom said.
All I do is worry. She needs a normal childhood. That’s what Evelyn would have wanted.
Billy—
You have to keep her.
Billy—Mom said again.
It’s the only way.
And what will she think? Dad asked. Being raised by her aunt and uncle while her father flitters around the world, in and out of her life as though he can’t be bothered to care for her. That’s going to make her feel normal? You think that’s what Evelyn would have wanted? Mom tried to signal to Dad that he had gone too far, but his full attention was on Billy, staring him down.
Why does she need to know I’m her father?
Billy—Mom said again.
Will you stop saying my name like that.
We’re not going to lie to Miranda, Dad said. Do you even hear yourself?
Billy began to talk all at once. About Evelyn. About how much she’d wanted to be a mother. She’d had everything figured out. Miranda, then two years later, Pip, followed as soon as possible by Sylvia. That was why they’d bought such a big house, to fill it with the laughter of children. He paced, pulling at his hair. How many times had she asked him to fix the roof? All she wanted was to make the house safe for their family. For Miranda. Then Pip. Then Sylvia. Why did he have to take all that from her? How could he be Miranda’s father when he’d killed her mother?
Billy, you didn’t kill Evelyn, Mom tried to tell him.
But he did. Accident or not, he hadn’t fixed the roof when she’d asked him to; he had convinced her that mathematical probability made them safe. He’d been negligent. He didn’t know how to not be negligent. He’d never forgive himself if something happened to me.
Mom didn’t remember agreeing to it. At some point she must have. Dad must have, too. Billy kept talking, and it was all so crazy that it started to make sense. Of course they should take me. Of course they should raise me as their own. Of
course I shouldn’t know that Billy was my father when he was so naturally my adventurous uncle.
“We waited until after Burt’s lawsuit to file the adoption papers.” Mom couldn’t believe it was finally over. Two years back and forth with mediators until finally an arbitrator decided that Burt had no grounds for contesting the communal ownership of their properties, no basis for evoking The Slayer’s Act, since the death had been a no-fault accident. Two years, and then in one afternoon it was done.
When Mom and Dad signed the adoption papers, Dad asked Mom, You really think this is a good idea, hiding the truth from her?
What else can we do? Mom asked.
If we tell her when she’s young, it will be something she’s always known. It will feel normal.
Knowing her father would rather be halfway around the world than with her will never feel normal. I don’t want her to hate Billy.
She might end up hating us, Dad reminded her.
“I knew he was right. I knew you would find out one day. You would blame me. I told myself it was better than having you blame Billy. I really believed it was the only way he wouldn’t disappoint you. The only way we could all be family. I thought I was doing the right thing.” Mom reached out to put her hand on my knee. I shifted away so she couldn’t use me as a crutch.
“You couldn’t have really thought that. I don’t understand why you didn’t try harder. He was my father.” My mind raced through every Sunday I ran to the door, screaming, Uncle Billy! Every time he asked Mom what time he should have me back, every riddle he’d written, crafting a private language that we alone understood. Through all of it. He’d known he was my father. Mom had known, too. “You should have tried harder.”
“I should have,” she agreed. She was no longer crying. Her voice was steady. “The longer we waited, the more impossible it became to tell you. The more unfathomable it was that I could lose you.”
With the adoption papers signed, the inheritance lawsuit decided, I became Mom’s. I learned other words—Dada, home, family, uncle. We saw Billy whenever he was in LA. Almost immediately it began to fester. Billy would arrive on Sunday nights with a present for me, and when I would say, Mommy, and run to her with the beaded necklace, the wooden toy, Billy would look jilted. Mom would look guilty. She would remind herself that this was Billy’s idea. Still, each time I said Mommy in front of him, she wished I would call her something different.
