by Marni Mann
Sixty-One
Honey
Winter 1988
Honey stood at the sink in their bathroom, staring at herself in the mirror. The girl looking back at her was far different than the one who had stood here when she first moved in with Andrew. She was even different than the girl who had gripped the ledge of this sink six months ago.
Everything in her life had changed.
Honey glanced down at the engagement ring and wedding band that hugged the finger on the left hand. When she’d said her vows, she’d had no idea the ride she was about to take with Andrew, the experiences they were going to live through.
How naive of her to think things were going to be simple.
Even now, as she looked into her eyes, she saw the most complex situation of her entire life.
She reached for her toothbrush, swiped some paste over the bristles, and began brushing her teeth. Once she rinsed out her mouth, she squirted some cleanser into her palm and scrubbed her face.
When she was clean and feeling a little better, she went into the bedroom where Andrew was sleeping and climbed in next to him. She rested her face against his shoulder, taking in his warmth, tickling her nails up and down his arm in a way he loved.
“Don’t stop,” he groaned when she slowed at his wrist.
She could feel the goose bumps on his skin, and that made her smile as she scratched his chest, more bumps growing as she trickled down his stomach and then back to his hand.
“We have so much to do today,” she reminded him since it was time they both got up.
“Just a few more minutes.” He held his arm out across her body, so she would tickle to his fingertips and then as high as his armpit.
He was so easy to please. If she brought him a cup of coffee, he would be smiling all day.
She had something even better to give him.
“Andrew, we have to go crib shopping.”
His face was covered with a pillow, but the white fluff moved when he turned his neck. “You don’t like the one we bought?”
She sat up, crossing her legs over the bed, still rubbing her nails on his arm. “I love that one.”
“Then, why would we shop for a different one?”
Their eyes slowly connected as he pulled the pillow away, and she said, “Not a different one, Andrew. A second one.”
“Honey …”
“Go look in the bathroom.”
He hurried out of bed, and Honey watched him disappear through the door. She knew he was going over to the counter where she had left a pregnancy test, picking it up in his hands to read the results on the window screen.
Smiling at the plus sign that was directly in the middle.
Honey had known weeks before that she was pregnant. She’d already missed her period. She just couldn’t handle seeing the results yet, so she’d put it off until she couldn’t any longer.
When her husband appeared again in the doorway, hair tousled from sleep, marks on his face from the sheet, he said, “Baby …” so softly.
Honey’s eyes were already welling with tears, pausing at the edges before rolling like fat barrels down the hills of her cheeks.
She nodded at him, and it was the best feeling.
Andrew moved so fast that she barely saw him come onto the bed, but she was instantly in his arms, and he was holding her against his chest. The warmth of his skin was like a blanket, enveloping her into this safe, protected nest.
“Oh, Honey …”
“This time feels different,” she admitted.
She hadn’t been sure if she should say that out loud. She certainly didn’t want to jinx anything. But what she had voiced was true. The things she had felt over the last couple of months were unlike the previous time she had been pregnant.
One of his hands dropped down her body and stopped when it reached her stomach. His fingers spread wide, and so very gently, he rubbed small, baby circles across her navel. “Honey …” he said so softly.
She tilted her head to look in his eyes. “I didn’t think this was ever going to happen.”
“I did.” Andrew’s expression softened as he squeezed her tighter. “And I believe it’s all going to be okay. It’s just something I feel in my heart.”
Honey didn’t know if she would carry their child to full-term. She didn’t know if the birth mother would change her mind on the adoption at the very last minute. She had so many questions and no answers to anything.
But one thing was very clear in her mind.
“I believe in you,” she said.
Sixty-Two
Billie
I placed my parents’ wedding photo back on the nightstand, making sure it was in the same spot it had been in before. Then, I stood, slowly making my way down the hallway. I passed my old room again and reached the landing, this time turning in the opposite direction, heading toward my father’s office at the end of the hall.
Where some men came home after work and relaxed in their dens, my father went to his office. Everyone knew, if he was home, that was where you could find him. It was the only space in our house where he could really unplug even though he was still working when he was in there. It also happened to be where I had spent most of my time as a child.
Covering the walls in here were pictures from the trips we had taken over the years. We had gone skiing and hiking, on cruises and to Disney World. We’d traveled all over the world. In almost every one of the photographs, there was some type of food in our hands. Tacos in Mexico. Conch chowder in Key West. Gelato in Rome. Falafel in Tel Aviv.
With each picture came a memory, one after the other, building the foundation of what I had turned into a career.
And all of it was because of my father.
He had taught me everything I knew about food. How to cook it, how to use my tongue to find the missing ingredients, how to really appreciate all the different flavors.
I owed my palate to him.
I was so close to getting it all back. I just wasn’t there yet.
I continued to make my way around his office, my eyes roaming over the timeline of snapshots, the different hairstyles and outfits I’d rocked over the years. I ended at the closet in the far corner of his room, and something made me open the narrow door and pull the string to turn on the overhead light.
My father had converted the closet into storage, building shelves on all three of the walls. Once I was inside, I immediately went to the left, picking up the large plastic crate on the bottom. The lid was worn because it had been opened and closed hundreds of times over the years.
I brought the bin over to Dad’s desk and placed it on top, sitting in his large leather chair. I normally went through the contents during the last day of my trip, never on May 20.
This day was far too hard.
But something made me stare at the lid, really studying the name that was written on the top in black marker.
And I traced my finger over it and whispered, “Mom.”
Sixty-Three
Honey
Summer 1988
“Andrew, I feel like I’m going to be sick,” Honey said as she paced the small room in the Manchester hospital.
When they had been told where the birth mother was going to be delivering and they were given permission to be at the hospital, Andrew had arranged a private room for the two of them. Since they wouldn’t be watching the delivery or meeting the mother, father, or any of their family, this gave them their own space.
It also gave them their own restroom, which was specially important because Honey was pregnant, her nerves sending her to the toilet every twenty minutes or so.
“You’re just hungry.” Andrew went over to the table by the bed where he’d placed their cooler. Knowing how terrible hospital food was, they had brought their own.
“Hungry.” She walked to the window. “Anxious.” She went past the bed, rubbing her palm across her belly, haunted by thoughts of that teenager in the delivery room and what she was experiencing. Now tha
t Honey was pregnant, she was on both sides, and they were emotional places. She paused by the door and looked at Andrew. “What if she changes her mind?” She took a breath, air ricocheting through her chest. She was facing her biggest fear, feeling it move through her throat. “What if she wants to keep it, Andrew?” Her voice softened. “I’m already so in love with our child.”
“Baby …” Honey saw his eyes turn heavy, pleading with her to stay positive, and then he held out his arms. “Come here.”
She swallowed, her head still moving in so many directions, but the one thing she saw clearly was the food he had been trying to get out of the cooler for her. She smiled, her emotions swinging again, to the point where she was even giving herself whiplash. “Please feed me.”
He laughed and placed a cold tinfoil-wrapped sandwich in her hand.
“Thank you.” She brought it over to the window with a small container of apple juice and used the ledge as a table. “We still haven’t even decided on a name,” she spoke behind her hand, alternating bites of ham and swiss with sips of juice.
“I thought you loved Jessica?”
Honey shrugged. “I just don’t know if that’s what we’re supposed to call our daughter.”
“Are you settled on naming him after my grandfather if it’s a boy?”
“Yes.” She didn’t sound convincing. “I mean … I really don’t know.”
Andrew walked over, standing in front of his wife while she ate. “Remember what Stephanie told us during our meeting last week. This is all going to feel extremely overwhelming, and it’s okay if we don’t have all the answers right now. That includes deciding on what we’re going to name our baby.”
Since her second trimester, Honey hadn’t been able to make a single decision. Everything was open-ended, and resolution felt like something she just couldn’t grasp.
She put her sandwich down, her hands dropping to her sides. The reality of where they were and what they were talking about was hitting her. And with it came wave after wave of emotion. “Will you ever tell me you’re scared to death?” Andrew didn’t have time to respond before she added, “On second thought, please don’t. I need you to be the strong one, especially right now.”
He moved closer, his hands going to her waist. “I know.”
She didn’t speak right away. “What if the baby hates us?” Her eyes locked with his. “What if we can’t handle two children at the same time? What if we’re so sleep-deprived that we accidentally leave a bottle on the stove and burn down our condo?”
He wiped her hair away from her face, keeping his fingers there. “We’re going to be new parents to two infants born pretty close together. Versions of all three are going to happen, but we’re going to handle it. We’ll take one day at a time, and we’ll do it together, like we’ve always done.”
Honey put both hands on her stomach—one at the very top where the bump protruded, the other at the bottom where she could usually feel the most activity. And she stared into Andrew’s eyes, trying to find a way to tell him how much he meant to her. “What did I do to deserve a man like you?”
He leaned down and gently pressed his lips against hers.
Honey had just felt the tip of Andrew’s tongue when someone came into their room and said, “Excuse me.”
The couple quickly backed their faces away and looked in the direction of the voice.
The nurse in the doorway said, “We know you’ve been waiting a long time, so someone from the delivery room sent me here to tell you that your baby has been born. They’re finalizing the paperwork right now, and your attorney should be in here very soon to bring you your baby.”
“Oh my God,” Honey gasped.
Andrew clutched his wife so tightly. “Do you know what she had?” he asked the nurse.
The nurse paused. “I think she said a boy.”
Honey shrieked once they were alone again, covering her face behind her hands. “Andrew,” she sobbed. “They’re bringing us our baby. Our baby. Our son.”
“Son …” he breathed, still holding his wife.
She dropped her hands from her face to look in her husband’s eyes. “I can’t believe it’s happening.”
“I can.”
Gradually, she threw her arms around his neck, hugging her body against his, burying her face in the warmth of his neck. She stayed there, in an embrace that was so safe, until she heard Stephanie say, “Congratulations, Honey and Andrew.”
Honey glanced over her shoulder, seeing their attorney walk into their room, holding a bundle in her arms.
She continued turning her body, moving until she and Andrew were next to each other, both of them heading toward Stephanie at the same time.
“Baby …” Andrew said, grasping his wife’s hand.
Tears streamed down Honey’s face with each step they took. The emotions in her body were almost too much to bear, the sensation of Andrew clutching her fingers only adding to the intensity.
When they were feet away, Stephanie looked at them and said, “I’m so proud to introduce you to your daughter.”
“Daughter?” Honey asked, looking toward the blanket, which was hiding most of the baby’s face.
“A nurse came by and said she had a boy,” Andrew replied.
Honey continued moving forward, her arms extended in front of her.
When Stephanie was close enough, she set the baby on top of them and responded, “I witnessed the signing of the birth certificate. It’s a girl, I assure you.”
Honey couldn’t speak as she felt the weight of their baby on her arms. As she took in her child’s sweet little face, as she inhaled her warm, powdery smell. As she pressed her lips against her daughter’s skin that felt as delicate as butterfly wings.
“Honey …” Andrew cried, his face on the other side of their little girl, doing the same thing as his wife. “I can’t believe she’s ours.”
Honey felt a tear drip onto their child, one that had come from her own eyes. “I can.” She continued to breathe in their baby, her lips not moving from her tiny cheek, and suddenly, it came to her, like she had wished for it all along. “Andrew, I know what her name has to be.”
Sixty-Four
Billie
I pulled my finger off the lid of the crate and lifted the top, setting it behind me. Then, I turned my attention to all the contents inside.
My father kept everything. He was meticulously organized, all items labeled and dated like the inside of a restaurant’s walk-in cooler. But in here, there were newspaper articles and medical reports. My name was listed on some.
So was my brother’s.
And my mother’s.
Layer after layer of records and clippings and details.
When I got to the last article, that was where the pictures started. There had to be over fifty. Every angle was captured.
Close-up shots of stitches.
Bruising.
Open lacerations.
That wasn’t the hardest part.
What hurt the most was seeing all the blood.
Sixty-Five
Honey
Winter 1989
Honey looked down at her daughter who was sleeping in her arms. She couldn’t believe how beautiful she was. She had full, arched lips with the most stunning, longest lashes. Eyes that were bright and emerald.
She was the sweetest, most thoughtful little girl, and she made Honey and Andrew so rich in love and happiness. Even though she wasn’t made of their blood, she was a perfect mix of the both of them. She had Honey’s personality and Andrew’s intelligence. She loved to be outside, and she had a hearty appetite. To Honey, it felt like she had birthed this precious baby, that she’d felt every bit of growth within her tummy, the same way she had felt her son.
Her husband held little Andrew on the other side of the nursery, rocking that silly boy, who had finally calmed a few moments ago. On the evenings Andrew was home from work early enough, this was how they’d put their children to sleep. They would each ha
ve a child in their arms, nursery rhymes playing from a boom box on the dresser, and they would rock in their chairs, swaying back and forth until the babies fell asleep.
Once that happened, Honey and Andrew would have time for themselves.
“How was your shift?” Honey whispered from across the room.
“Someone brought in a goat.” He laughed and glanced down at little Andrew, making sure he didn’t wake up from the sound.
“Well, what happened?” Honey chuckled. She could be louder with their daughter since she could sleep through almost anything. “Did you treat the goat?”
“I’m happy to report, he now has a cast on his left leg.”
Honey burst out laughing much louder than before, knowing she was shaking the baby, but she couldn’t help it. “Oh my goodness.”
“I couldn’t turn the poor thing away. It was in pain.”
Honey stared at her husband, taking in his handsome, devilish grin. And as he gazed back, she was sure he didn’t see the spit-up on her shoulder or the banana smeared in her hair. He wasn’t turned off by the milk that dripped from her breasts when he cupped them during their intimate moments.
She loved him.
In a way that only he could understand because what they had was different.
They’d both known it from the very beginning.
“Andrew Paige,” she said so softly, but it was the loudest the emotion would let her speak, “you’re an incredible doctor, but you’re an even better daddy.”
Sixty-Six
Billie
I held the entire stack of pictures in my palm, and as I finished looking at one, I would set it on the desk and move to the next. Hands and faces and cheeks—I saw them all. And even though I looked at the photos every year, each time felt like the first.