“From him,” Lainey said, her eyes never leaving her son’s face. “I got it from him.”
The bossy nurse in the ugly pink scrubs walked into the room without knocking. Nurses had been in and out since the delivery, checking her pulse and taking her temperature, and once to take blood, so Lainey barely looked up, even when the nurse cleared her throat.
“The couple in the other room—the prospective adoptive parents—asked me to find out what’s going on,” the nurse said. “They’d like to talk to you.”
“No,” Candace said quickly. “Tell them it’s over, and that they should just go home.”
The nurse hesitated. “Do you have an attorney or counselor you’re working with? It’s really not my job to be the go-between.”
“For heaven’s sake, I’ll go tell them,” Candace said, standing up.
“No, Mom. Sit down.” Lainey looked at the nurse. “I’ll talk to them. But I don’t want the baby here when they come in.”
“I’ll take him back to the nursery,” the nurse said, looking relieved to excuse herself. She glanced up. “Should I call security?”
“No,” Lainey said, just as Candace nodded and said, “Yes.”
“Mom.” Lainey shook her head. “We don’t need security. They’re not like that.”
Trav shifted from foot to foot and glanced nervously after the nurse, who had placed Griffin back in his bassinet and was now wheeling him out of the room.
“I probably shouldn’t be here when they come in,” he mumbled.
At one time, Lainey would have rolled her eyes and called him a spineless dick. But she barely looked up at Trav as she said, “Yeah, you don’t have to stay. You go, too, Mom.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” Candace said belligerently.
“Yes you are,” Lainey said. “I need to talk to India and Jeremy alone.”
“They’ll try and bully you into giving them the baby!”
“No they won’t.” Lainey pushed the button on the bedside remote that lifted her into a sitting position. She was still wearing a hospital gown that tied in the back, and she was feeling exposed. “Can you go home and get some clothes for me? A robe or something I can wear here. And something for me to wear home.”
Candace hesitated.
“I’ll be fine,” Lainey said firmly.
“I’ll be back in a few hours,” Candace said.
“Bye, Lainey,” Trav said.
Lainey nodded at him. Trav balled his hands in his pockets and slunk out of the room after Candace. Lainey adjusted her gown and pulled the blankets up to her waist. She wished she’d thought to bring a hairbrush. She had a bag packed back at the guest cottage, but it had all happened so suddenly, they hadn’t had time to get it on the way to the hospital. And now Lainey couldn’t exactly ask India to go get it for her.
There was a knock.
“Come in,” Lainey called out.
The door swung open, and India and Jeremy filed in. India’s face was puffy and streaked red with tears. Jeremy was so pale his skin looked translucent. He was holding India’s arm, as though she might suddenly fall over.
“Where is he?” India croaked, looking wildly around the room. “Is he okay?”
“He’s fine. He’s in the nursery,” Lainey said.
“What’s going on, Lainey?” Jeremy asked.
“I know this isn’t what you want to hear, but …” Lainey paused to draw in a deep breath, and looked directly at India. “I’m keeping him.”
“What?” India’s voice sounded broken, all sharp edges and ripped seams. “What are you talking about?”
“I’m not putting Griffin up for adoption.”
“Griffin? You’ve named him?” India said. This seemed to hit her like a physical blow. She wrapped her arms around herself and drooped forward. “But I don’t understand. Why are you doing this?” Her voice, already high pitched with emotion, rose into a desperate bleat.
The simmering resentment Lainey had been clinging to vanished. She looked away, unable to face India’s pain.
“You’ve been saying for months that you have no interest in being a mom! How does that just change all of a sudden?” India asked. “How?”
Lainey shrugged helplessly. “I don’t know. It just did.”
Jeremy stepped forward and wrapped one arm around India. “Let’s go home,” he murmured to her.
“No!” India said. “I’m not leaving without my baby!”
It wasn’t until the room suddenly went blurry that Lainey realized that tears had filled her eyes. She blinked, trying to clear them. Jeremy had tightened his grip on India, who had also started to cry.
Jeremy looked up at Lainey. “If you change your mind …,” he began, but then stopped, as though the words had died in his throat.
Lainey glanced at him and nodded once, but quickly looked away.
Jeremy turned India around and gently guided her out of the hospital room. When the door closed behind them, Lainey had never felt more alone in her life. She leaned over and pressed the call button. It took the nurse—a different one this time, young and wearing mint green scrubs—five minutes to arrive.
“Did you need something, hon?” she asked.
“Yes. I want my son back,” Lainey said.
Flaca came by in the afternoon. She brought a bunch of silver Mylar balloons, which she tied to the arm of the visitor’s chair. Lainey was lying in bed, with a sleeping Griffin cradled in her arms.
“Hey, Mama,” Flaca said. “How are you feeling?”
“Like I’ve been run over by a truck that backed up and ran over me again,” Lainey said. She smiled wanly. “I’m feeling pain in places where you should never hurt.”
“Yeah, well, I suppose that’s how it works,” Flaca said. She waved her hands. “Okay, come on, let Tia Flaca see him.”
Lainey shifted her arms so that Flaca could gaze down at the sleeping baby.
“Wow,” Flaca breathed. “He’s so tiny.”
“I know.” Lainey beamed. “Isn’t he beautiful?”
“Well,” Flaca considered. “His head is a little squashed.”
“Flaca!”
“You know me: I always speak the truth. Is it permanent?”
Lainey giggled. “No. I already asked the doctor about that. He said that the head gets a little lopsided from being pushed out. It’ll unsquish in a few days.”
“Good,” Flaca said. “Because other than the head thing, he’s pretty damn cute. Can I hold him?”
Lainey carefully placed the baby in Flaca’s arms. Griffin didn’t wake during the handover. Flaca cooed at him for a few moments, then looked back at Lainey.
“Are you mad that my mom called Candace?” Flaca asked. “If I’d have known she was planning to, I would have asked her not to. Seeing your mom was probably the last thing you needed today.”
Lainey shook her head. “No, it’s okay. I suppose she would have found out eventually.” Lainey hesitated. “She’s asked us to move in with her.”
Flaca nodded. “She told me. I saw her on my way in. She said she was going to the store to get baby supplies. So you’re really doing this? You’re keeping him?”
“Yeah,” Lainey said. She held out her arms, antsy to have Griffin back. Flaca handed him to her.
“When did you decide?”
“Just today.”
“That’s awfully sudden.”
Lainey narrowed her eyes. “Are you going to try and talk me out of it?”
“No. But I am wondering what the hell you’re thinking,” Flaca said. “You have no money, no job, no home, and no interest in actually having a baby. So how’s that going to work?”
“He’s mine. He’s meant to be with me. It’s like my mom said—you don’t give up your blood,” Lainey said firmly. She held Griffin closer to her. “And I do have a home. I’m moving in with Candace.”
Flaca rolled her eyes. “And how long will that last?”
“She said she’s not drinking.”
&
nbsp; “Yeah, right. I ask again: How long is that going to last?”
“I don’t know. Hopefully long enough for me to get my own place,” Lainey said. “And a job.”
“And where’s the baby going to go while you work?”
“I don’t know. Day care, I guess.”
“Do you know how much day care costs?”
Lainey’s temper, already stretched thin with exhaustion and emotion, snapped. “Why are you interrogating me? Jesus, Flaca, I just gave birth. I’m exhausted. I’m sore. I don’t need this shit right now!”
“That’s my point. Are you really in the best position to be making such a huge decision?” Flaca asked. “As of yesterday, you were one hundred percent behind the adoption. And now, just because your mom shows up sober—for, like, the first time ever—you suddenly change your mind?”
“I told you, I can’t explain it. I just know this is what I’m supposed to do. What I have to do,” Lainey said.
“I’m worried about you,” Flaca said.
“Well, you don’t have to worry. I’m fine. I’m better than fine. I’m great.”
“I just think you’d better have a plan, that’s all I’m saying.” Flaca folded her arms and gave Lainey a penetrating look. “So, how’d they take it?”
Lainey looked away, gazing at Griffin’s downy head. “It was bad. They were pretty upset.”
“Yeah, well. I guess they would be.”
The two friends fell silent. Griffin opened his eyes and looked around. He opened his mouth in a wide yawn and blinked confusedly.
“Ohhhh,” Flaca said, leaning closer. “Wow.”
“I know,” Lainey breathed. “Isn’t he amazing?”
Fifteen
JEREMY
“You’ve got to eat something,” I said, standing in the doorway of our darkened bedroom. India was lying in bed, facing away from me, the white duvet pulled up over her shoulders.
“I’m not hungry,” she said.
Otis sat next to me, his ears pricked. At the sound of India’s voice, his tail thumped against the ground.
I tried again. “You haven’t eaten all day.”
India didn’t respond. I waited a minute, wondering if she’d change her mind and get up. She didn’t. I closed the door and headed downstairs to the kitchen, Otis at my heel.
“Is she coming down?” Georgia asked. She was sitting at the table, her arms folded in front of her.
“I don’t think so.”
Georgia sighed and pushed her hair back from her face. “Would it help for her to hear that the universe has a plan for everyone and everything happens for a reason, even if it’s not immediately clear what the reason is?”
“No,” I said firmly. If I had to wrestle Georgia to the ground to prevent her from charging upstairs and bothering India with talk of the universe and its plans, so help me God, I would do it.
“It’s so upsetting,” Georgia said. “I was sure that this baby was meant to be your baby.”
“I know.”
“All along, I’ve had a very strong, very centered vibe that this little soul—well, I say little, but really, all souls are limitless in their potential—was meant to be joined with yours. I suppose I could have been reading the energy wrong,” she added worriedly.
Normally, this was the point in one of Georgia’s visits where I’d escape, muttering an excuse about having to work, or walk the dog, or make an urgent trip to the drugstore to buy deodorant, and let India deal with her mother’s insanity alone. But India was not up to it today. And since I didn’t trust Georgia not to sneak upstairs in my absence, I was staying put.
“I need to figure out how to help India,” I said.
Georgia patted my hand. “India’s heart is broken. The only thing that will heal it is time.”
I picked up a flyer advertising a local dry cleaner off the stack of mail Georgia had brought in. I crumpled it up and threw it in the garbage with more force than was strictly necessary. “I wonder if Lainey was playing us the whole time—living here free, taking our money—and never had the slightest intention of giving us the baby,” I said.
“I don’t think so,” Georgia said. “For all of Lainey’s shortcomings, I don’t think she’s outright malicious. You have to understand, the mammalian drive for a mother to stay close to her young is quite powerful. And once you add in the hormones and the physical exhaustion of the delivery, it would be a lot for any woman to cope with, much less one as young as Lainey.”
I shrugged off this excuse. I was too angry to give Lainey even the smallest benefit of the doubt. She had deliberately allowed India to get her hopes up—she’d sat by while India bought baby clothes, and painted the nursery, and picked out a crib. She hadn’t said a word when India drove her to every single doctor’s appointment, or cooked all of her meals for months, or ran out for whatever random snack Lainey happened to be craving. Lainey had taken everything she could from India—her time, money, energy, hope. Everything. And in the end, she’d broken India’s heart.
“It’s unforgivable,” I said through clenched teeth.
“You can’t think that way. It’s not healthy.”
“I’m not angry for me,” I said. “I’m angry for India.”
Georgia looked at me. “Are you sure about that?”
Before I could respond, the phone rang. It had been ringing all day—Mike Jankowski, Mimi, the few select friends I’d given Mimi the green light to tell. And each time the phone rang, I lunged at it, hoping—even though I knew it was pointless, stupid even, to hope—that it was Lainey calling to tell us she’d changed her mind again. That she’d sign the papers. That India’s grief would be stemmed before she drowned in it.
“Hello.”
“Jeremy, is that you?”
It was my mother. I’d left my parents a message to call us after we got back from the hospital, although I hadn’t gone into any of the details on their answering machine.
“Hi, Mom,” I said. I glanced at Georgia and indicated I was going to take the call in the other room. She nodded and got up to pour herself a glass of wine.
“What’s wrong? You sound odd,” Mom said as I walked into the dining room, closing the double pocket doors behind me. Otis followed me and settled down on his circular bed with a contented sigh.
Before I could tell her what happened, my mother continued. “I’m glad you called. I’ve been wanting to talk to you about what happened between you and your brother. Stacey has been very upset.”
I was so emotionally exhausted that it took me several long beats to figure out what she was talking about. Then, suddenly, I remembered: the big fight with Peter. But that had been weeks ago.
“Wait—you just found out about that?”
“Yes. India never did tell me why she dropped out of the shower at the last minute. I thought it was incredibly rude, especially since I’d already sent the invitations out, and so I was left having to explain her absence to everyone. Apparently, Peter forbade Stacey from telling me. I suppose he didn’t want her getting upset by thinking about it. That’s the problem with men: They always think that talking about things is the problem, when in fact, it’s the not talking about them that causes trouble.”
“Mom,” I said, rubbing one hand over my face. “It’s been a long day. Can we talk about this some other time?”
“No. I want to settle this once and for all.”
“Settle what?”
“I want you and India to call Stacey and Peter and apologize. Today.”
“No way! They started it!” I said. Then, aware that I sounded like I was eight years old, I took a deep breath. “Look, you don’t know what happened. You weren’t there.”
“I heard what happened! Stacey said that India was offended simply because she was pregnant. And that because of India’s hypersensitivity, you and Peter ended up in a fistfight!”
“If that’s what Stacey told you, she’s leaving out some crucial details.”
“The small details of who
said what to whom don’t matter. What matters is that Stacey was a guest in your home, and you upset her. She’s at the end of a very difficult pregnancy. We should all be supportive and loving with her,” Mom said.
“How is her pregnancy difficult?” I asked, wondering if there was a health issue I hadn’t been told about, and feeling the first twinges of guilt.
“She’s very uncomfortable. Her feet are swollen,” Mom said. Then, in a brisker tone, she said, “Why don’t you put India on. I think it’s time she and I had a talk.”
“No, Mom.”
“Someone has to talk some sense into her, to explain that she can’t be so oversensitive all the time. And let’s face it, Georgia’s not going to do it,” my mother continued, ignoring me.
I thought of India, lying in the darkened room, numb with grief.
“I know it will be tough for her to hear it—no one likes having their faults pointed out to them—but believe me, it’s for the best,” Mom continued. “If she doesn’t know it’s a problem, she’ll never be able to change. So may I speak to her?”
“No,” I said.
“Jeremy,” Mom said, in the sort of threatening, do-what-I-say-or-else tone she’d used back when I was ten.
I drew in a deep breath and pinched the bridge of my nose with two fingers. “Lainey—the birth mother of the baby we were going to adopt—went into labor last night. She delivered a baby boy this morning. Sometime afterward, and after India and I had spent time with the baby, Lainey changed her mind and told us she is going to keep the baby. The adoption has fallen through. India is devastated. So, no, I am not going to put her on the phone just now so you can tell her how she’s being too sensitive,” I said. I kept my voice level—what was the point of shouting?—but even so, the muscle in the outer corner of my right eye started to twitch.
There was a long, stunned pause.
“Oh, no. Oh, dear,” Mom said, her voice faltering. “I’m so sorry. How are you two doing?”
“I’m okay. Upset, obviously. And India’s … not good.”
“Did you have any idea this was coming, that the birth mother was having second thoughts?”
“No. It was a surprise,” I said. This didn’t seem like the right word for what had just happened to us. Surprises were supposed to be good things, happy things—birthday parties, Christmas presents.
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