The Other Mother. Кейт Хьюит
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of her chair, but she notices and puts her hands in her lap. She still doesn’t speak.
“I can’t keep the baby,” I say, and I hear the tiny lilt of a question in my voice. I know they hear it too because Martha clenches her hands tightly together, her knuckles like little bony hills of white, and Rob gives me a sympathetic, understanding kind of smile.
“Why can’t you?” he asks.
“Have you been to my apartment?” I try to joke, but it falls flat. “Look, I’m not like you guys. We know that. I’m single, I have no savings, my apartment is a sixth-floor walk-up…” I shake my head. “I want my child to have more than that.” It sounds kind of lame and superficial, but it’s true. I think.
“Let’s forget about all the obstacles for a moment,” Rob says. “The real question, Alex, is do you want to keep this baby? Because if you do, then we can explore ways we can support you in that.”
I can hear the silence from Martha; it’s like a pulsating, living thing. Rob is smiling at me kindly, but I see the worry in his eyes and I know what he’s really thinking. He wants me to be sure. Well, duh. If I’m not sure, if I change my mind, I’d break both their hearts.
I’m not going to change my mind. Which is why it’s taking me so long to say yes.
“That’s really nice of you, Rob,” I say, and my voice sounds clogged again. “But it’s not really about the money or my apartment. Those are excuses.” I take a deep breath. “It’s about me.” And it hurts to say that. “I don’t think—I mean, my life is—” I stop, take a breath as thoughts and images flash through my mind. My tiny, messy apartment, my carefree life, the two abortions that I never even thought about but somehow now make me ache. “I’m not really mom material, you know?”
Neither of them says anything. I try to smile. “And I want to do this for you. You guys are so great, and you’ve been wanting a baby for so long…” I trail off, near tears again. “I really would love to make you happy,” I finish, and even though I am near tears—and not happy ones—I do mean it.
Rob gazes at me steadily, but he looks pretty emotional too. “Maybe you should think about it for a while.”
“I have thought about it. A lot.” I don’t want to go back to my crappy apartment and see all the potential child hazards. I don’t want to scroll through my life in my mind and realize how a baby could never, ever fit into it. I don’t want to feel as if my choices have been mistakes.
So I take a breath, and then I say it. “I’d like for you and Martha to adopt this baby.”
Martha lets out a rush of breath and Rob nods slowly. “I’d still like you to think about it for a while.”
“Rob—” Martha sounds exasperated, almost pleading, and I understand because I feel the same way.
“That’s really nice of you,” I say again, “but I am sure.” I give a wobbly smile that feels as if it could slide right off my face. “Being sure doesn’t mean I’m not going to be emotional, you know.”
“I know. This is emotional for all of us.” Rob lets out a shaky laugh, and we sit and stare at each other, all of us wondering, What now?
Then, to my complete surprise, Martha lurches off her chair and comes over and hugs me. I can feel the sharp angle of her collarbone pressing into my shoulder. “Thank you,” she whispers against my hair, and a tear trickles down my cheek as my doubts, in this moment at least, fall away.
Chapter 7
MARTHA
When I put my arms around Alex surprise jolts through me. This is not me. I acted on impulse, an impulse I never have, and I can feel the tension in Alex’s body at my embrace, and then it slowly dissipates and she hugs me back.
Okay, enough. I disengage as gently as I can, smiling even though part of me feels like crying out of pure emotion. I am going to have a child of my own. I’ll hold her—I’m already thinking of the baby as a girl—the day she’s born. The minute she’s born, because I want to be there when Alex delivers. There are so many things I want, and they are tumbling through my mind and crowding in my mouth but I force it all back. Too soon. I know that.
“Okay.” Rob smiles at Alex and leans back in his chair, his hands on his thighs. “Well, we have plenty of time to figure out how this is all going to work. Plenty of time.”
And I nod as if I agree, because I don’t want to freak Alex out, but my mind is racing, racing. I am thinking about her pregnancy, and how everything has changed because she is now carrying my baby, but I want to be respectful and I definitely don’t want to push. A sudden thought flits through my brain and pops out of my mouth.
“Have you talked to the father?”
Alex’s mouth quirks in a sad little smile. “Yes.”
“And he’s—he’s okay with adoption?”
“Yes.” A pause and she glances down at her lap. “It’s Matt.”
It takes me a few seconds to place the name, and then I remember an old boyfriend of hers from years ago—I met him a couple of times—and the first thing that flashes through my mind is relief. I know Matt. He’s a good guy. He has good genes.
Is it awful for me to think that way? Is it wrong?
“Well, that’s good,” Rob says into the silence. “I think, legally, you might need his consent before you sign the adoption papers.”
And suddenly it’s as if he’s thrown a bomb into the middle of the room, he’s lobbed a hand grenade and it lies there on the floor, waiting to detonate and spill out all its ugly words. Words like legally.
Because this is—this will become—a legal transaction, and there will be papers to sign and rights to give up and, no matter how friendly we are, how much we like each other, it will be uncomfortable. Painful.
“Of course,” Rob says, and I think he realizes he shouldn’t have gone there so quickly, “that’s a long way away. We don’t even have to think about any of that until you’re close to delivering.” Alex nods and he continues, his voice turning just a little too hearty, “The important thing now is that you stay healthy. That the baby stays healthy.”
And I’m racing ahead again, wondering if I can recommend an OB. Would it be rude to ask her if she’s taking folic acid supplements? And what about prenatal yoga?
We don’t talk much more after that, and eventually Alex leaves. Already it feels a little awkward, although I feel as if it shouldn’t. We’re friends, after all. I touch her shoulder at the door, wanting somehow to convey how much I appreciate what she’s doing, how happy I am.
“This is such a great thing you’re doing, Alex,” I say. “This is such a gift.”
She smiles at me, although she still seems a little teary. “You’ll make a great mom, Martha,” she says, but there is a note in her voice that makes me feel as if she is thinking she wouldn’t. And I want to say she would, in her own funky way, but I can’t because I’m not sure I believe it and in any case I’m too afraid. I don’t want to risk this. So I smile and squeeze her shoulder and then she is gone.
Rob and I clean up the kitchen, watch some TV. We don’t talk about it by silent, mutual agreement, maybe because it feels so new, so fragile. Words will poke holes in possibility; they will breathe life into our fears.
That night in bed, in the dark, we lie there side by side, our minds spinning, saying nothing. I want to touch Rob; I want him to roll over and pull me against him, make me feel safe. I want to banish the memory of our argument before Alex arrived, the disapproval and suspicion I saw in his face.
“I can’t believe this is happening,” he finally says, and his voice