I'm in It

by Tammy Falkner

  “Patsy, are you okay?” Mick asks.

  “Oh, yeah. I’m fine. It’s warm in here. I’m sorry it’s so warm.” She starts to babble as she wanders around the tiny room.

  “Patsy, is there anything I can do to help you?” Mick asks quietly. “You haven’t been taking anybody’s calls.”

  “I…um…I think I need some help,” she says quietly. “I just wanted one hit. Just one. But it didn’t stop with one. And I need to call my sponsor and go back to rehab, but if I do, I don’t have anyone to watch the kids, and if the city gets involved, they’ll all be separated.”

  “Maybe not,” Mick says.

  But she’s right. I know she’s right. My sisters and I came out of that same foster system.

  “There’s no one who can help you, Patsy?” Mick asks. “A neighbor? A friend? Your mom?”

  “There’s no one,” she says quietly, and a tear finally spills down her cheek. “My mom fell and broke her hip. And the friends I have left… Well, you know how that goes.” She scratches her arms, and I see red blood bead up on her forearm.

  “Where are the kids, Patsy?” Mick asks.

  She waves toward a bedroom. “In there.”

  “Can I go check on them?”

  She nods and Mick goes into the bedroom.

  I sit down gingerly beside Patsy on the dingy sofa while Mick checks on the kids. Suddenly, he rounds the corner with a baby in his arms, a toddler clutching his finger, and two very skinny, very dirty slightly older kids walking next to him.

  “Patsy,” he says. “Call your sponsor. The kids and I decided that we want to have a sleepover at my house.”

  Patsy jumps to her feet. “What?”

  “Give me the number for your sponsor. Right now.”

  “I can make the call.”

  “Do it while I’m here,” Mick says firmly. He bends over so he can look into her eyes. “You’ll let me help you, right?”

  “Of course.”

  Patsy takes the phone and goes into the other room, and then she comes back a few minutes later, looking shaken and bruised all the way to her soul. “She’s on the way.”

  “We’ll wait until she gets here.”

  Patsy nods and she packs a diaper bag for the youngest two children, and a bag with some clothes for the older two.

  Patsy’s sponsor arrives and the two of them go into the other room to talk. The sponsor comes out and says, “It’s best if you go now.”

  “Does she want to say goodbye?” I rush to ask.

  “This is hard enough as it is. We don’t need to make it more difficult.”

  “Where are we going?” the oldest child, Anna, asks.

  “We’re going to my house for a sleepover!” Mick pretends to show excitement, but his eyes keep flashing toward the closed bedroom door.

  “Where will we all sleep?” Anna asks, as she takes her brother’s hand.

  “We can make a fort, or a tent, or something.” Mick rubs a hand across his forehead. He leans toward me. “I only have a one bedroom apartment.”

  When we get to the car, he runs a hand through his hair. “We’re going to need car seats and everything else.”

  “Hang on,” I say as I pull out my phone and text furiously. “I got this covered.”

  A couple of seconds later, the phone rings. “Hola, mija. What’s up?” Marta, my mother, asks.

  “I think I need some help.”

  I hear Marta shout, “Melio, come here. Wren is on the phone.” Emilio is my father, not by birth but by circumstance.

  “What are you bellowing about, woman?” I hear in the background.

  “I’m putting you on speaker,” Marta says to me.

  I take a deep breath to fortify myself. “So, I have Mick with me, and we’re going to take his four young cousins to my house for a few days.” I cover the mouthpiece when Mick protests. “I have four extra bedrooms,” I whisper to him. I uncover the mouthpiece. “And I need a couple of car seats, and some supplies, and…whatever else you need for a…family.”

  “Mija,” Marta says softly. “Are you sure?”

  “No,” I admit. “But I think it’s the right thing to do.”

  Not to mention that I have an empty crib and a nursery that has never been used, not by anyone.

  Mick

  Wren’s apartment is a hive of activity when we arrive. It looks like all Wren’s sisters are here, sorting through clothes, setting up portable cribs, and putting kid food in the cabinets.

  “Your sisters didn’t have to do all this,” I say to Wren.

  She shrugs. “This is what my family does.”

  The kids stop cautiously in the doorway when they see all the people milling about. “It’s okay,” I say softly. “You can go in. This is Wren’s house. She’s very nice, and I know you’ll like her.”

  “Where’s my mom?” Anna, the eight-year-old, asks.

  “Your mom wasn’t feeling well, so she’s going to see the doctor so she can get better.”

  “What’s wrong with her?” Anna wants to know.

  “I’m not sure…” I say hesitantly.

  “Will she be all right?” Anna asks quietly. Her lower lip trembles.

  Wren squats down in front of her. “Your mom will be home before you know it. Let’s get you guys settled in and maybe we can watch a movie later.”

  Anna scratches a spot on her neck, and it looks like she has a rash developing. “How about if we start with some baths?” I say.

  “How about some bubbles?” Wren asks.

  Anna’s face lights up. “I like bubbles,” she says. “Can I go first?”

  “Um…” I say. I have no idea how to be sure a little girl gets a bath, one where she actually gets clean.

  “Yes, you can go first,” Wren says. “Come on.” She motions for Anna to follow her and they turn to go into Wren’s bedroom.

  “Do you need my help?” I ask.

  Wren shakes her head. “I got this.”

  “Wow!” I hear Anna exclaim. “Your bathtub is as big as a pool!” Then the bedroom door closes and they disappear.

  I stand in the middle of the room, with three dirty kids wrapped all around me, staring at the beehive of activity that is Wren’s family.

  “Give me the two little ones,” Finny says. She claps her hands in front of Chase, and the baby wiggles in my arms. “I’ll get them cleaned up. You can take this little guy,” she points toward Devon, “and get him cleaned up in the bathroom in the hallway.”

  “I’ll bring clothes in just a second,” Star says, as she sits on the floor sorting clean clothes into piles.

  “You got them clothes?” I say.

  “And food and toys and lots of other stuff.” She doesn’t look up from the pile of laundry.

  “Thank you,” I say.

  She finally looks up at me. “No problem. We got you covered.”

  I get Devon set up in the back bathroom with some soap and towels, and then I walk back into the kitchen. The kids will probably be hungry soon.

  “Get out of my kitchen,” Lark says.

  “What?”

  “Out!” she shouts. “I am making a masterpiece of chicken nuggets and macaroni, and you’ll eat it before it ever gets to the table, just like Ryan would do. Out!”

  “Remind me not to invite you over again,” I mutter playfully as I get a bottle of water from the fridge. Like this is my house or something.

  “We don’t wait for invitations!” Star calls from the other room.

  “Yeah, that’s what I’m afraid of.”

  Star walks in carrying four piles of clothes. “For the baby,” she says, shoving a pile into my arms. “For the bigger baby.” She tops the small pile with another. “For the boy.” She slams down another set, and then another. “And for the girl.” She shoos me toward the hallway. “Go.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” I reply.

  I take clothes to Devon and leave them on the bathroom counter. Then I take clothes to Finny, who has Roxy in the tub. She’s w
ashing Chase with a soapy cloth. They’re both covered in bubbles and giggling as she makes funny faces at them. Then I go into Wren’s bedroom and I stop when I look through the doorway to the bathroom. Wren is sitting on the side of the tub helping Anna wash her long hair. Anna’s covered in bubbles, and she’s smiling. Wren’s humming a tune, and she doesn’t know I’m there. It sounds like “Somewhere Over the Rainbow.” I stop and listen for a second.

  My heart just about splits open when I realize that she’s humming the song she refused to sing just a few days ago, and she is doing it softly and quietly, with a smile on her beautiful face.

  And it’s in that moment, when I watch Wren take care of a kid she has never even met before while she hums a song that was meant for her own baby, that I know I am head over heels for this woman.

  I know nothing of loss. I’ve never lost anything or anyone important to me. But I know, without a doubt, that if I lost Wren, I’d be like a kite without a string. I’d be lost myself. But can you lose a person you never really had?

  Wren looks up and her eyes meet mine. The song stops in her mouth, and she stares into my eyes. In them, I see that while she’s happy to be helping these children, she’s also still mourning the loss of something special. She’s mourning the loss of her own child, and I worry that these moments will serve as a painful reminder.

  Wren gets up and comes to take the stack of clothes from me.

  “Thank you,” I say, because I know this is a trial for her.

  She nods. “You’re welcome.”

  She goes back into the bathroom and shuts the door behind her. The soft snick of the door catching sounds like the loudest shout. Almost like she screamed at me to get out of her private moment.

  I’m out, but I’m not going to stay out for long.

  No way in hell.

  Wren

  I hate that he caught me doing that. It sounds stupid, but as long as I kept that song to myself, it remained mine. The pain stayed with me, within me, and it remained a part of me. But when I found myself humming “Somewhere Over the Rainbow,” I found myself feeling hopeful.

  A knock sounds on the bathroom door, just as Anna pulls the plug on the tub and wraps herself up in a towel.

  “Can you get dressed by yourself?” I ask Anna.

  She nods, and I open the door. In my bedroom, my mother, Marta, sits gingerly on the edge of my bed, kind of like a bird about to take flight. “When did you get here?” I ask.

  “Just now. Lots of kids here.” She stares at me. “But it looks like your sisters took care of everything.”

  I smile. “They’re good like that.”

  She draws in a deep breath. “Are you sure you want to do this?” she asks in a rush.

  I rock my head back and forth. “Sorta kinda,” I say.

  “Why?”

  I shrug. “I had the space.”

  “Are you going to let the baby use the crib?”

  “It’s just a crib. I don’t see why not.” I look everywhere but at her.

  “It’s not just a crib. It’s a lot more than that.”

  “It’s really not. It has never even been slept in before. Someone should get some use out of it.”

  She nods. “Mija,” she says quietly, “I worry about you.”

  I worry about me too. “You shouldn’t. I’m fine. They’re not staying long. Just long enough for Patsy, their mother, to get back on her feet.”

  “You know that the purpose of foster care is always to reunite the children with the parents.”

  “They’re not foster children. They’re Mick’s family and he wants to help them.”

  “Can I tell you what I think?” Marta asks. She narrows her eyes at me.

  I scoff. “Like I could stop you.”

  “I think you’re going to get attached to these kids, and then they’re going to go back to their mom, and you’re going to be heartbroken.”

  “I won’t be heartbroken. That’s what I hope will happen.”

  “Mm-hmm,” she says with a nod. “Sure it is.”

  “What’s the worst that can happen? I get used to having children around, and then the noise and the confusion and the whining will go away.”

  “And so will the hugs and the midnight snuggles and the love that only a child can give you. I never knew love until I met the five of you. I’d known the love of a good man, and I’d known the love of a family, but I’d never known a love that I would kill for. I’d never known any kind of true, wholesome, soul-stealing love until the first time you looked at me like I was your mother, rather than just someone who fed and clothed you. My life changed when you started looking at me with love and hope shining in your eyes. It grew and it changed. And I grew and changed too. I went from being a woman with five girls to a mom of five girls. And that was when my life began.”

  “I’m not waiting for my life to begin, though, Marta. I’m very happy.”

  “Where is Mick going to sleep?” Marta asks suddenly.

  The thought hadn’t even occurred to me. “In one of the spare bedrooms, I assume.”

  She gives me a sly grin. “Yeah, sure he is.”

  “Marta,” I whine, like I used to do when I was a teenager. “Seriously.”

  Marta laughs. “Don’t Marta me. A girl has to be prepared.” She stands up and fiddles with the blanket on my bed, smoothing it. “So, how do you feel about him?”

  “About who?”

  “About Mick. Who else?”

  “He’s nice.”

  “He was with you that night.”

  He was with me the night I lost my baby. He fought almost as hard as I did when I held my legs together tightly, trying to keep it within me. “Yes.”

  “Let him be with you now.”

  I jerk my thumb toward the door. “He’s right in the living room.”

  “No, mija. I mean let him be with you. Let him in.”

  “Marta, would you cut it out?”

  “No, mija, I will not. I’m your mother. Your happiness is my number one concern.”

  “Well, happiness isn’t my number one concern right now.”

  “It should be.” She comes over and presses her lips to my forehead. I scrunch up my face and pretend to hate it. “I have to go. I’m taking your sisters with me. We’re going to lunch. I’m not going to let your sisters come back for a few days.”

  My heart settles a little. I love my family, but sometimes their help can also be labeled as interference. “Thank you.”

  Marta opens the bedroom door and steps into the living room. “Girls, it’s time to go!” she calls, clapping her hands.

  Within moments, the house is almost empty, except for four children, Mick, and me. Mick sits at the kitchen table helping fill plates with chicken nuggets and macaroni, as he feeds Roxy in her high chair, and holds the baby in the crook of his arm while the baby drinks a bottle. I stop and stare at them.

  “Have you eaten yet?” I ask.

  “Not yet. My hands are kind of full.” He grins at me.

  “Here,” I say, holding out my arms. “Give me that one. I’ll give him his bottle.”

  “Are you sure?”

  I take him from Mick, and he’s soft as loose jelly in my arms, almost asleep. He nuzzles his bottle, his mouth open, but not really drinking, so I go to the nursery, open the door, and walk inside. I don’t even hesitate as I lay him down to nap in the crib that has never been used. Then I reach up and start the mobile over the crib. The tune that’s so familiar to me and still so far away begins to play.

  I stare down into the sleeping little face and I have to remind myself that he’s not mine. He’s only here temporarily.

  I feel Mick’s heat behind me. “I didn’t think you’d put him in here,” he whispers.

  “Someone should get some use out of it.” I turn on the baby monitor and take the receiver.

  “Thank you,” he says. “For doing all this.”

  “I haven’t done anything yet. You get to do diapers and middle of the night
feedings, big guy. Just sayin’.”

  Mick walks out of the room, and I follow him, stopping only for a moment to look back at the sleeping baby, and the room that finally has some life in it. A little spark of life begins to build within me, too.

  Mick

  “How long do you think he’ll sleep?” Wren whispers from behind me. I’m bent over the crib putting Chase down to sleep for the night.

  “No idea,” I reply quietly, trying not to wake him. Roxy is asleep in the toddler bed we set up on the other side of the room. “Maybe I’ll get lucky and he’ll sleep all night.”

  Wren yawns. “Wouldn’t that be nice?”

  I reach out and brush a lock of hair from in front of her eyes. “You look tired.”

  She snorts quietly. “Why do people say that? They should just say you look like shit. Or you have craters under your eyes big enough to drive a truck through. Or your hair is a rat’s nest of snarls and tangles.” She runs a hand through her hair and stops when she feels something sticky. “What is that?” she asks, holding the lock out so I can see it.

  “Carrots, maybe?” I lean closer and give it a sniff. “Want me to taste it?” I grin at her and move it toward my mouth. She lets out a quiet shriek and steps back from me.

  “That’s so gross,” she says. “I had better get a shower.” She yawns again.

  “Thank you for doing this.”

  She shrugs and walks out of the room. She puts a hand on her doorknob and starts to turn it, but she stops and looks back at me. “Did you get the monitor?”

  I take it out of my back pocket and show it to her. “I did.”

  “Do you need any more blankets or anything, for the guest room?” she asks. Her eyes don’t quite meet mine.

  “No, I think I’ll be fine.” I’d rather sleep with her, but if she’s not ready…

  “I’m going to turn in after my shower.”

  “Good night,” I say.

  Her eyes finally lift to meet mine. “Night,” she says quietly, almost shyly.