Rebecca

by Adam J Nicolai

  The observation arrested Sarah. In the light coming from the window, Rebecca's eyes did look like a rich shade of brown - a bit lighter than the black she was used to seeing. She felt a stirring in her chest she couldn't define. To move past it, she said, "Yeah, and Cal's hair."

  "Oh, yeah." Tiff ruffled the baby's sweaty hair. "Amazing how such a jerk can help make something so pretty."

  Sarah scoffed. "He told me yesterday that he didn't."

  Tiff's eyes clouded with confusion. Then realization dawned. "No way. Seriously?"

  Sara nodded.

  "Oh, fuck me. Right, because everyone knows you were the biggest slut in school."

  "I know!"

  "God. I mean, I knew he was a clueless asshole, but that's a low blow, even for him." She shook her head. "I always kind of thought he'd come around, you know, when the shit hit the fan. Christ. I'm sorry." Most people would've left it there. Realized there was no way the conversation had a happy ending, and dropped it. Not Tiff. "What are you gonna do?"

  I don't know, Sarah wanted to say. I have no idea. When she thought too much about the long-term plan, she could feel a wild scream clamoring at the back of her throat.

  But Tiff was looking at her. Not with pity or condescension, but confidence. Like they were in a tough spot going into the second half of a round, it was time to pull off something crazy to win, and she was looking to Sarah for the answers.

  The scream died. "Part of me just wants him to go away. But he has an obligation here, too. He's not that bad when he's not trying to play up to his friends. Or at least, he wasn't."

  "I don't know. If he acts different around you, how do you know that's how he really is? Maybe you're the one he's playing up to." Tiff chewed her lip. "You want to know what I think? I think he's an asshole. When you guys got together, I was... I couldn't believe it. And I've heard all kinds of shit about him. You remember that chick he was dating, Andrea?"

  "Yeah." She'd come to school one day with a black eye and sworn she fell on the stairs. "We actually talked about that once. He swears he didn't do anything. He's really... intense, but he's never done anything like that to me. I don't know, though."

  "Do you trust him around Rebecca?"

  That was a really good question. "I don't know. He doesn't seem to get that she's real. He only saw her for the first time yesterday."

  Tiff goggled. "What?"

  "Yeah, he was visiting Georgetown and didn't... I don't know, didn't think it was a priority, I guess."

  "Wow. Why can't he just be cool about it? It seems like they never are. You remember Dylan and Jenn - when she got pregnant, he dumped her, too."

  "He hasn't dumped me. Technically."

  Tiff arched her brows.

  "Yeah, I know. I'm just saying."

  "You're not seriously considering staying with the guy after he told you he doesn't think he's the father?"

  Sarah scoffed. I don't know. "Of course not."

  Tiff saw through her bravado. "You can't."

  "I know." Sarah stared at her hands, paused in the middle of the diaper change. "It's not like I want to be with him. He's just so clueless. I already have one baby to raise. And there's... you know, the other thing -"

  "You're gay."

  "Yeah." It was weird, admitting it so casually like that. Gay. Sarah wanted to chase the word, catch it, bottle it up before anyone else could find it. "But I mean... he is the father. What if he could take her, or...?"

  Tiff's face went carefully neutral. "You want to give her up?"

  "I don't know. Maybe." There's something wrong with me. I don't love her. "I just don't know how I can do this. It's so hard. Way harder than I ever thought."

  "Well... but why would you want to give her to him? He doesn't even want her."

  "I don't. It just feels like he should help. She's his responsibility too, and I'm doing everything."

  "Maybe he could pay child support or something."

  "Right. That's what I mean. I don't know."

  Rebecca was still a little red, so Sarah went for the butt cream. Rebecca kicked her hand, and the glob went flying into the carpet. Sarah sighed. "God! That is the second time she's done that. You wouldn't think a baby would have such good aim."

  "I got it." Tiff disappeared into the kitchen and reappeared with a paper towel. Sarah watched, stunned, as she cleaned up the mess.

  "Thank you."

  "No big deal," Tiff said, but it was.

  It really was.

  43

  They hung out for a few hours, but Rebecca kept waking up to eat, and Sarah would rather die than try to breastfeed her in front of Tiff. After the third time the baby started crying in as many hours, Sarah begged off.

  "All right," Tiff said. "Well... look, if you ever need any help - a sitter or something - give me a call."

  "Okay," Sarah said. "We should hang out sometime. I mean, it's not easy with the baby, but..."

  "We could figure it out." She was smiling as she left.

  Sarah tried again to put Rebecca down for the night, but the kid wouldn't have it. At three in the morning they took their customary places in the rocking chair. Rebecca seemed content to stare and blow raspberries, her arms jerking like a zombie directing traffic.

  As Sarah started to doze she remembered Tiff's voice, shining through the phone like sunlight stabbing through cloud cover.

  "Are you watching Eliza?" She was bemused, wry.

  "Of course I'm watching Eliza."

  "How many kids do you think this chick has?"

  Sarah lay in bed in the dark, her eyes on the TV, and considered. "Twelve."

  Tiff gave a throaty, muted laugh. The sound glowed and splashed; it made the darkness lighter. "You're so full of shit. You shouldn't make me laugh like that, my dad's gonna come in here and read me the riot act."

  "I like making you laugh. You have a pretty laugh."

  They fell silent, but it wasn't weird because she knew exactly what Tiff was doing: drinking in the words, tasting them, letting them warm her. It was a quiet exhilaration, like riding clouds. She knew, because she had felt it too.

  "You got any college apps in yet?" Tiff finally asked.

  "Yeah. Yale is the big one."

  "Yale? Holy shit."

  "It's a long shot. My mom wanted me to go for it. I'd rather stay around here."

  "Instead of Yale? Why?"

  Mainly to be with you, she'd wanted to say, but she'd danced around it, like she'd danced around so many other things she wanted to tell her. "I don't know. It's home. I like it here."

  "Me too. You should apply at Mac, I bet you'd get in there no problem."

  "Is that where you're going?"

  "Yeah."

  "Then I will."

  Another easy silence. Sarah clicked the TV off. She wanted Tiff's voice to be the only light in the room.

  "Sarah."

  "Yeah."

  "I... I'll really miss you, after next year."

  Sarah closed her eyes, a sweet ache sweeping through her as she clung to the words. "I'll really miss you, too. I want to stay here, if I can."

  "I hope you can."

  "I hope so too. I..." The words hovered above her; they were within reach, if she would just take them. I want to be with you. Don't leave.

  I love you.

  Rebecca kicked her, and she started awake. The girl was reaching toward her face, her expression somber. Sarah smoothed her hair, even kissed her on the forehead, as the thrumming heat of her memories slowly drained away.

  In the flickering light of the infomercials, Sarah could just make out the rich brown of her daughter's eyes.

  44

  The sun was starting to peek in when Sarah finally passed out. At eight o'clock - two hours later - her mom called. She shuffled to the phone like a zombie, as Rebecca stirred awake in her arms.

  "Did I wake you up?"

  "Is it that obvious?"

  "Sorry honey, I just never know when to call." A decent person might deduce
from this observation that she should hang up, maybe have her daughter call her back after getting some rest. Not Sarah's mom. "Look, I'm sorry about how things went when I talked to you before. I just wanted to say that of course I know Becky is Cal's."

  Sarah opened her mouth, but no answer came out. It was too early for this.

  "Hello?"

  "Yeah, I'm here."

  "Did you hear me?"

  "Yes." What do you want me to say? "Oh, so you don't think I'm a slut after all?"

  "All right. Well, I just wanted to make sure you knew that. And I don't mind if that Tiff comes over."

  That drew Sarah up short. "Oh."

  "I just... you've got to be really lonely over there. I do understand that. I remember having a newborn daughter too, you know. And I was thinking about it and it's not like just having her around is going to... I just didn't..."

  She sounded like a worm on a hook. Sarah let her squirm until she fell silent.

  Finally, she drew a breath and said, "The truth is, I was worried last year, Sarah."

  Sarah's breath caught. No way. "What do you mean?"

  "You two were spending so much time together, and talking on the phone late every night, and... you know, I knew about what she was but I didn't want to say anything, and..." She heaved a sigh. "It was stupid, I know. I just worry. I want you to have a good walk with God."

  Funny. Mom had noticed all the stuff that had made Sarah break it off to start with.

  "I do, Mom."

  "Have you talked to Pastor Dennis yet about dedicating Rebecca?"

  It was an accusation, not an innocent question. "No, not yet. I'll call him this week."

  "You haven't been to church since you moved out," she said, as if it had been Sarah's decision to leave.

  "I know. I've just been really tired."

  "Even before Rebecca came, Sarah. You can't give up on Jesus. He's not giving up on you."

  "I know."

  "All right."

  "Mom?"

  "Yeah?"

  "This is..." She listened to herself, wondering what she was doing. "This is a lot harder than I thought it would be."

  "Well, you're a tough girl. You'll be all right."

  "Yeah. I'm trying, but sometimes I feel so overwhelmed. I just can't make her happy. She cries so much. And I'm so tired all the time. I didn't even know you could be this tired."

  She didn't recognize the sound coming from the phone at first. She had expected to be brushed off, or belittled, but her mom wasn't doing that.

  She was laughing.

  "Kid, you're telling me."

  Sarah bristled. She wasn't sure whether to be offended, or...

  "It's been almost twenty years since you were born," Mom went on, "and I still don't feel like I've made up my lost sleep."

  "You're not helping."

  "My point is, I survived it. You'll survive it."

  "You had Dad."

  "That wasn't always a big help, Sarah." Mom sighed. "Listen, it gets easier. I know it seems impossible to believe now, but she'll start sleeping through the night. She'll start smiling. All those great little things. Before you know it, she'll be racing around the house with her toys, leaving stuff all over the place for you to trip over, and you'll miss these nights when you could just hold her. I still can't believe you're all grown up."

  "But here I am. Old enough to screw up my whole life." Sarah bit her lip, braced for the torrent of demands for her take responsibility for her mistakes.

  "Yeah," Mom said. "Well, no one's perfect, kiddo. At least you're doing the right thing. I don't know if I've told you this, but I'm proud of you for that.

  "And no matter how many mistakes you make, you'll always be my little girl."

  45

  That afternoon, she sat and looked into Rebecca's eyes.

  She didn't expect her to cooperate - she expected her eyes would rove constantly - but the girl surprised her. Her gaze lingered on Sarah's own, straying only briefly to flick over her features. As if there were no greater wonder than the sight of her mother's face.

  "You really do have my eyes," Sarah told her. The beady blackness that had accosted her every night since they'd come home was banished; in the light, Rebecca's eyes were rich coffee.

  "Eh-eh-eh-eh-eh."

  "How did you get those eyes?" Sarah breathed.

  She knew the answer to this question, technically, but the beauty of her daughter's gaze made the technical answer feel insufficient. Those eyes came from her. Rebecca had a part of her. She understood it, yet it was incomprehensible.

  There were other things, too. Like her tiny fingernails, miniscule yet perfect replicas of her mother's. Like the baby's warmth, the energy in her little body, coiled and thrumming like a live current.

  She had spent plenty of time holding her, but she had never really felt her.

  "Hi," Sarah said, as if she had never beheld this creature before in her life.

  Rebecca twisted one corner of her mouth up, in a smile that lit her face. Sarah didn't choose to return it; something inside her was returning it before she even realized it was happening. A radiant feeling, like sunshine, blossomed briefly in her chest.

  The crooked smile collapsed as quickly as it had appeared. Watery vomit bubbled into Rebecca's mouth, welling against her oblivious bottom lip. She hiccupped, and the substance sloshed toward her chin.

  Sarah caught it in a towel, brimming with triumph. "Not again, you don't." She wiped the girl's face and folded the rag up. To the untrained eye, both baby and towel were still pristine.

  An idea struck her: an idea of such simple brilliance, it left her reeling. "You," she announced, "need a bib."

  46

  Her mom had bought bibs, she could've sworn, but she couldn't find them anywhere. She didn't mind. She suddenly felt like leaving the apartment, and with Tiff having brought nearly everything they needed for the next week, the missing bibs provided a great excuse.

  There was a gnawing voice at the back of her mind, vaguely disturbed that she was suddenly in such a good mood. It whispered to her about hormones, depression, and mania, but she ignored it. She couldn't have articulated why, but for this moment, things felt okay. They just felt okay, and she wasn't willing to question that.

  Rebecca even chittered at the mobile long enough for Sarah to take a quick shower. When she was ready to go, she picked up her daughter and allowed herself to relish her warmth for a second before grabbing the diaper bag and heading out.

  They looked at the bibs at Target together. There was a cute pink one with elephants on it, but in addition to being a little too girly, it cost nearly ten dollars. Sarah didn't have a lot of money of her own - a couple thousand dollars she had saved up from working over the school year that she'd intended to bring to Yale - so her mom had offered to give her a little spending money each month for groceries and incidentals. But she wanted to buy the bibs herself. Ten dollars wasn't much compared to the full two thousand she had saved, but it just felt like too much for a bib.

  They had slick bibs and fabric bibs, plain bibs and bibs with pouches at the bottom (the thought of Rebecca's milky vomit sloshing around inside one of these made her stomach turn). She ended up with a green one featuring a host of zoo animals, and a yellow one that said, "I Love My Mommy!" Both were so long they reached Rebecca's ankles.

  "Full body protection," Sarah told her. In response, the girl snorted and whined. Sarah had a flashback to her last Target trip, the one that had ended in disaster, and unbuckled her to try to calm her down. "You want out? Come on out."

  When she laid the child against her chest, it felt like hugging a hot water bottle. It wasn't just the girl's normal warmth. The store was frigid - the A/C must've been blasting - but Rebecca's cheeks were flushed and hot.

  "All right," Sarah told her. "Hang on. Let's get these bibs and get home. Okay?" Her voice sounded remarkably sure.

  Inside, she had no idea what to do.

  47

  Rebecca start
ed keening in the car. Too late, Sarah wondered if there was any medicine at home that would be safe for her. She should've gotten some while she was still at Target.

  At home, she stuck the baby in her swing while she went hunting for the thermometer. She had one in the bathroom, but it was a normal one, and the books said she was supposed to take the temperature rectally. She left it where it was and checked in the bedroom closet, where a bag full of old baby shower presents still lurked in the corner.

  Rebecca's wailing ratcheted upward, scraping her nerves raw as she searched. Finally, she found a little package of child-proofing equipment which included, inexplicably, a bulb syringe and a rectal thermometer. She tore it open and yanked out what she needed.

  At the smell of her, Rebecca started rooting feverishly. "In a second. Hang on." She pulled the child out of the swing; her flesh felt like the wax on a lit candle. She tried to pull off the kid's little yellow shorts, but she wouldn't hold still. And the screaming. The screaming was constant.

  I thought we had a good afternoon. The thought was hot and vivid. Why are you doing this? On some level, she knew the accusation was asinine, but she couldn't suppress it.

  "All right. Fine. Let's eat first." She grabbed the nursing pillow and settled into the rocking chair. Rebecca burrowed toward her chest like a rat.

  "Ow!" The baby let her go, reeled back, and shrieked. "Here, here, here." She pressed her breast expertly into Rebecca's open mouth, but again, the girl bit down wrong. Sarah's nipple twisted, crackling.

  She's not hungry. She's scared. Sarah worked herself loose, wincing. "Look," she said, and suddenly shut up. Rebecca couldn't understand her. All she knew was that she hurt. Talking to her just made Sarah sound stupid.

  "All right," she said, more to herself than the child. "Temp time." She brought Rebecca to the floor, where she wrestled off her shorts. The girl's naked, stubby legs lurched like spasms. She grabbed them both by the ankles, bent them back above the baby's head, and realized she couldn't take her temperature without some kind of lubricant.