Cal had one of those huge, brazen smiles, like something out of a teen TV drama, and he was brandishing it when she opened the door. It had always driven Heidi wild, but had never done anything for Sarah. Today, it actually annoyed her.
"Glad you could make it," she spat, and took a small measure of contentment in watching his grin melt.
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"I don't know. Maybe that your baby's almost two weeks old and this'll be the first time you've seen her."
He huffed, threw up his hands. "All right. Is that how this is gonna be? Do you even want me here?"
A furnace roared to life in her cheeks. Oh, you'd like that, wouldn't you? Sure, blame it all on Sarah. "She doesn't even want me around."
Fuck you.
"No, no, by all means, come in. Chica casa es su casa."
He shook his head, bewildered, as he closed the door. "Come on, Sare. I was out at Georgetown. I can't be in two places at once."
"Right. Because there's any chance that a tour of Georgetown would make you change your mind about going there."
"I don't want to move anywhere without seeing it first. Georgetown or otherwise. This is my life we're talking about, here."
"Well, that's very pragmatic." Rebecca started rooting; she must have smelled Sarah through her shirt. "Here." She thrust the baby at Cal. "You're here; take a look."
He huffed again, theatrically shook his head and glanced at the wall. Then he took the baby.
"You need to support her head. She has, like, no strength in her neck."
"Yeah." It was awkward, but he got it done: rested Rebecca's head against the crook of his arm and cradled her butt in his hand. "I heard about that, too. You gotta put it on its stomach everyday so it can start working on its neck muscles."
"Wow. Look who's been reading."
"It's not like I just forgot you were having a baby back here, Sare. I just had stuff to do."
She scoffed. "And I didn't?"
He looked confounded. "I couldn't have the baby for you."
No. You also couldn't be at the hospital, get up with her when she cried, or get me some goddamn coffee yesterday.
"Well, you're here now. Maybe you can watch her while I go tour Yale."
He rolled his eyes. "Come on, Sare. You're not going -" But some remnant of his good sense must've tripped him up, making him stumble on the words. "You don't have a tour scheduled."
"Well, I should."
"All right." He held up his free hand, like he was trying to tame a dog. "Look. I'm sorry. I wish I could've been here. Okay? The timing was just bad."
Sarah barked a mirthless laugh. You can say that again.
"I just want to... I don't want to do this. I don't want this to be ugly."
A chill ran down her back, condensed into her next words: "Don't want what to be ugly?"
The room fell silent, the air crackling with portents. He stared as if she had just pulled a gun on him. Carefully, he answered, "Just... this. Our relationship. I know you didn't want this." He jerked his chin toward Rebecca. She was rooting against his bicep now, her fingers flexing.
"Cal, you better just say whatever it is you came to say."
"Come on. Don't take it that way." He set Rebecca in the swing, where she continued to root for something that wasn't there. "Why are you acting like this?"
She shouldered past him, annoyed. "You have to buckle her in. It's not safe like this." She secured the straps and popped a pacifier into Rebecca's mouth.
"Okay. Sorry. I'll do better." He sidled up behind her, wrapped his arms around her tender stomach. She winced as the fabric of her t-shirt scraped against her bare nipples. "Look, I'm sorry I wasn't here. I wanted to make it up to you." He bent his head to her neck and nibbled.
She pulled away from him and whirled, incredulous. "You came here to get laid? Are you serious?"
He broke into that broad grin again, playing the stupid, hapless boyfriend. "What? Aren't we still a thing?"
"What makes you think I'd even want to do that?" The doctor had his arm in me up to the fricking elbow.
"I..." He shook his head, uncomprehending, the moronic grin frozen in place. "Why wouldn't you?"
"I almost bled to death, Cal. I had four people on me, trying to stop my uterus from killing me after giving birth to your daughter."
"What? You didn't say anything about that."
I shouldn't have to. You should've been there. "When would I? You haven't even called since you got back."
"I called today, didn't I? God, Sarah, cut me a little slack at least. I've got a lot going on. I hadn't even seen the campus yet, and school starts in a month."
"I wouldn't know. I'll be here, taking care of your daughter."
He recoiled; the last vestige of the stupid grin disappeared. "You know, this isn't all my fault. You could've been on the pill."
"And you could've worn a condom." Even as she said it, she knew this was unfair.
"I offered. But you said -"
"Oh, bull-shit."
"You just couldn't wait, you had to have -"
"Screw you!"
Rebecca spat out the pacifier and started whining.
"Look, are you done? I need to feed your daughter," Sarah said.
His mouth worked. He started to gesture with his hand, then dropped it. "You keep saying that."
"Saying what?"
"That it's my daughter. I mean, we don't really know that for sure."
If her tone was chilly before, it was ice now. "What?"
"Well, really. How do I know how many guys you were fucking?"
Her heart raged in her throat. She wanted to shriek, to pummel him.
"Get out!"
32
They were all over her. Shadows swarming in the darkness, materializing next to the bed. "We have to apply pressure now, Sarah. Do you hear me?"
Yes, she answered, yes, okay. The blood was everywhere: soaked through the sheets, coating her legs, drenching her nightdress. They punched their locked hands into her gut with the force of dropped bowling balls. She gasped. It hurt. Oh god, it hurt bad.
The doctor said, "You have clots on your uterus. I'll need to remove them so your cervix can close and stop the bleeding. There may be some discomfort."
Two more nurses grabbed her legs, forcing her open. The doctor put on a long glove. Jagged glass raked inside her, and she screamed.
33
She woke with the carpet scratching at her face, her body stiff from hours on the floor. It was dark, but the first hints of dawn teased between the shades.
The days and nights were melting into one another. She was in her bedroom, right next to her futon; why had she gone to sleep on the floor? She levered herself to her knees, wiped a stale smear of spit from her cheek, and tried to remember what day it was.
It was Monday. Tiff was coming over today. The clock said 5:15 AM.
In the living room, Rebecca was chittering.
She hated being woken by her daughter's cries, but this was actually worse. She had made the sound once before, in the hospital, the one night Sarah had tried to keep her in the same room. Sarah had been dozing when she heard it: a muted, staccato barking, rattling out from deep in the child's throat. She'd thought she was having a nightmare.
"Don't do that," she mumbled as she gained her feet. She opened the door and saw that Rebecca had worked one arm loose from her swaddling. She was flailing it as the swing went back and forth.
"Eh-eh-eh-eh-eh-eh-eh."
"No. Here." She turned the swing off and started to undo the buckles. In the gloom, the flickering light of the TV played across the girl's glaring black eyes and red mouth, gnawing at the air, straining for her.
Sarah shook the impression off, pulled Rebecca out of the swing, and started feeding. For once, the girl latched on quickly and correctly. A parasite, her sleepy brain mumbled.
A pale parasite, growing better at ensuring its own survival.
34
The
morning dragged by, and the sleepiness she'd woken with condensed into a deep, throbbing fatigue which settled into the back of her skull. She made some coffee - there wasn't much left, now - and tried to resign herself to being awake.
Thinking about Cal was like squirting lighter fluid on a smoldering fire: every time she did it, the headache flared. Part of her wanted him to just go away, and he seemed happy to oblige. But another part wasn't willing to let him do that. He'd gotten her pregnant. This whole situation was as much his problem as it was hers.
What she really wanted, more than anything, was someone to talk to about it. She cycled through ideas - Heidi, Mom, even Pastor Dennis - and remembered, again, that Tiff was coming over today.
She's just getting her book. It's not like she wants everything to be the way it was.
But things had changed. She'd told Tiff she was gay. If she could tell her that, maybe she could talk to her about anything.
Don't be stupid. You heard what she said. You really hurt her.
She stumbled through the day, waiting for Tiff's call or text, longing to talk to her and simultaneously terrified of it. She kept the phone close, but when it rang around noon, it was just her mom.
"Oh my gosh, Sarah, it is so hot here."
"Yeah?" Her brief conversation with Tiff, the promise of company this evening, gave her the strength to humor her mother.
"Oh. Gosh, yes. It's dry, at least. That helps. But still horrible."
It's muggy here, Sarah thought to say. Sticky. Feels like rain. Outside, the sky bulged with threats. But she knew her mom didn't care, and she didn't want to give her another chance to prove it, so she just said, "That sucks."
"Yeah. So how's Becky?"
"She's good." How come you always ask about her before you ask about me?
"She eating better?"
No. "Yeah."
"Oh, good. I told you she would get the hang of it. You just need to let her show you what to do."
This notion was so absurd, it was all Sarah could do to hold back a snort. "Yep."
"What is it like there? Still hot?"
Well, yeah, there's no A/C in the apartment, so it's actually pretty miserable. "Yep."
"How are you doing, honey, hanging in there?"
"Yeah. Everything's good. Gonna have company tonight, shake it up a little bit."
Dammit. Why did she say that?
"Oh? Is Becky gonna be able to sleep?"
Dammit, dammit, dammit. Sarah pinched her eyes shut. "Yes, Mom. I'm not throwing a house party, just having a friend over."
"Cal?"
"No. Not Cal."
"Who's coming over?"
Look, she wanted to say. Is this my place or not? I'll have anyone I want over. But her mom was paying for the place, and she'd be quick to point it out. Again.
"Sare? Who's coming over?"
She gritted her teeth. "Tiff."
"Tiff? Not your old debate partner?"
"Yes, her."
"Oh." A chilly silence. "I don't really care for her, Sarah."
"Well... yeah, I know that."
"Why don't you call Cal? Has he seen Becky yet?"
"I don't want to see Cal."
Mom scoffed, caustically, like she was talking to an idiot. She could've said, You shouldn't have fucked him, then. "Well, you're going to. He's the father."
"I understand that."
"I don't think you really do. He's the father, Sarah. You might not like him anymore, but it's too late for that. You need to make it work for your daughter."
Like you did for me? she almost snapped, but bit it back. God dammit, she didn't want to do this. Not today. She had actually felt hopeful, for once. "I don't think that's gonna happen."
"You can't blame him for going out of town, Sarah. You know he had colleges to check out."
"College. Singular."
"Well, raising a child is a big responsibility. You're not going to be able to do it by yourself."
"You did."
"I did after your father decided he was better off without us. He decided that, not me. You do remember that."
She saw the picture in her head again of her father bathing her in the kitchen sink, smiling a sweet, happy smile. I remember that you turned into a crazy Bible-thumper, she thought. I remember that you drove him out and I begged him to take me with him, though I couldn't explain why.
He'd declined, but promised they'd still see each other; a lie, as it turned out. He couldn't stand it in that house anymore: couldn't stand Mom, couldn't stand the religion. Couldn't stand me. Mom called him a sinner and a host of other names, most nastier than that. For awhile Sarah had gone along, because she thought nurturing the hate was easier than living with the pain, but she wasn't so sure anymore. Sometimes, she thought, that hate had always been there. If he'd known that, could she really blame him for leaving?
"Don't talk about him like that. I hate when you do that."
"What? Why?"
Sarah's hand quivered against Rebecca's head.
"Nothing," Sarah said. "Forget it."
"You know, I'm paying for that apartment and everything you have there."
Yeah. I'm aware.
"You could at least try to meet me halfway. I don't want some gay girl in that apartment. I don't have any problem with it but there are plenty of other places for her to go."
You've already got some gay girl in the apartment, she wanted to snap. You've been living with some gay girl your whole life.
Even having the thoughts felt like toeing a cliff's edge. She backed away from it, eyes wide and breath shallow. But she wanted her to shut up about Tiff, so she said, "Cal said he wasn't the father. He said I couldn't prove anything."
It worked, for a second. Then: "Is that true?"
Sarah made a choked noise. She held the phone away from her ear and stared at it, like it had started spewing gibberish.
"Sarah?" it said. The word was tinny and distant, a transmission from another planet.
"I have to go," she managed, and hung up.
35
She stood and stalked in a circle: from the living room, through the kitchen and dining room, and back to the living room.
You shouldn't have called Tiff, Pastor Dennis told her. Your mother will not be happy when she finds out about you two.
There's nothing to find out about, she retorted.
But you want there to be. She was a good friend, but you always wanted more.
No I didn't. Why would I want that? It's wrong. Look at how much I did to push her away.
And now you're calling her back.
Well, I'm fucking lonely!
This place was like a prison, and she was tortured twenty-four hours a day: unable to sleep, unable to think, unable to leave. Tiff is the only person I can stand who's willing to come see me!
You could call Heidi. You could call friends from Youth Group, at church.
But she couldn't. Something fundamental had changed. She was a pariah now, to all of them. She had become that gravest of failures: the teen mother. Proof that she was a promiscuous slut and a profound sinner, all rolled into one.
She wanted to cry, but she was too sick of it.
Screw it. Tiff is coming over. She had one thing to look forward to, even if it would involve a difficult conversation, and she refused to let Cal or her mom drag her down. Not now; not today.
Defiant, she sat on the couch with Rebecca and turned her around so they could face each other.
"Hi," she said. She smiled a refutation at her. "We're going to have a good time tonight. Your..." She wanted to supply a title, like Auntie Tiff, but couldn't think of anything. "My friend Tiff is coming over. I think you'll like -"
Rebecca vomited a stream of warm, half-digested breast milk. Sarah recoiled, felt it splash against her closed eyelid and drip down her cheek. A violent shudder started in the base of her spine and rippled upward, making her hands quake. She felt her face sagging like she'd just had a stroke.
Sh
e imagined dropping the baby and running, screaming, from the room. Somehow, she managed to set her on the floor instead. She walked to the bathroom carefully, one eye open, fighting her own urge to vomit.
Her face smelled like puke.
When she cleaned up and came back to the living room, her phone was blinking with a text from Tiff.
-I fucked up. I forgot I promised Kevin id watch his game tonight. He is really excited. I can't bail on him. sorry. Tmrw?-
Kevin - Tiff's little brother. She watched her fingers text back: -Sure. NP-
Then she was alone with the baby again.
36
Night fell and the rain fell with it, fat drops splatting onto the parking lot like sizzling grease on a griddle. The sun stayed up until after nine most nights, but not tonight: by eight, the sky had been scrubbed out with charcoal. The apartment was stale and bloated, the open windows a standing joke.
"And you can see this line right here," the announcer on the TV said, gesturing at a map boiling with reds and purples, "stretching from Eden Prairie nearly into Brooklyn Park and heading east. We haven't seen any rotation in this cell but it is definitely something to keep an eye out for."
As a kid, Sarah had watched these kinds of broadcasts with mixed excitement and terror, both willing a tornado to appear and dreading it. Her parents had always assured her they'd be safe in the basement, and that had calmed her down.
It suddenly struck her that one day, Rebecca would be looking to her for that same reassurance. There was no basement in the apartment, though. It could have been a metaphor for her entire life, for the multitude of ways she had screwed up.
She wouldn't be going to Yale. She hadn't brought her daughter to church yet, not once. She couldn't manage to breastfeed without crying in pain. She didn't have a basement and had no idea what they would do if a tornado did come.
Fuck-up, fuck-up, fuck-up.
Before she knew it, Rebecca would be old enough to realize how pathetic her mother was.
Outside, the first peal of thunder cut loose, and Sarah's heart quickened. That first thunder crack was like a scream in an alley, or the sudden roar of a car crash. You could be busy with your little concerns, going about your mundane life, and suddenly you'd hear the earth-shaking growl of a forgotten god.
Rebecca Page 6