Rebecca burped, her little body tightening with the effort.
"It's easier for me. I wish it wasn't, but it is. The other way is better for you, but we gotta do what the doctor says."
Some part of her was marveling at how much she was talking. It can't understand you, an old voice taunted. It doesn't speak English. But Sarah wasn't so sure anymore. Rebecca seemed truly interested in listening to what Sarah was saying. Even if she couldn't possibly understand the words, she understood ideas. The idea of feeding. The idea of security. The idea of sitting with her mom and talking.
Suddenly, she wanted to cry again. She fought past it, found a smile on the other side, and gave it to her daughter. "Can I tell you a secret?" she whispered as she gave the girl the bottle again.
"I like this.
"I like it a lot."
60
Tiff had been threatening to make Sarah watch Buffy The Vampire Slayer for years, and that night, she made good. She insisted that Sarah watch starting from the beginning. Sarah tried to rebuff her - starting a seven-season television series from the beginning felt like an overwhelming task, even if it did require nothing more than keeping her butt on the couch - but Tiff would not be rebuffed.
After the first episode ended, Sarah asked wryly, "And you say there's seven seasons of this?"
"Oh, come on. It's the first episode. Give it a chance."
Sarah yawned. Rebecca was asleep in her arms; her warm weight was an anchor, dragging Sarah down. "I can't promise I'll stay awake."
Tiff shrugged. "That's all right. How's the old uterus feeling?"
"All right. Nothing like it did last night."
"You taking your antibiotics and everything?"
Sarah rolled her eyes. "Yes, mom."
Tiff scoffed. "Whatever. Did your mom freak when you told her?"
"I actually haven't told her," Sarah realized. "She didn't call today and I didn't..."
Let's just get married.
"I didn't think to call her."
"She'll freak," Tiff said matter-of-factly. "Probably cut her trip short."
Sarah snorted. "Hardly. What for? I'm fine." She hesitated, not sure whether she wanted to tell Tiff about the rest, but her need to talk about it overcame her reluctance. "Cal called, though."
"Oh, yeah?"
"Yeah, right after you left, actually."
"After what he said to you before?" Tiff huffed. "The guy thinks he's some kind of fuckin'..." She waved her hand, grasping for the word. "I don't know, God's gift or something. He thinks he can get away with anything."
Sarah breathed a dry laugh. "Yeah, you could say that. He asked me to marry him."
She wasn't ready for Tiff's response: she fell silent, the color draining from her cheeks. On the TV, the soundtrack to Buffy's main menu periodically played an obnoxious guitar riff, waiting for them to start a show.
"Wow," Tiff finally answered. "Wouldn't have expected that, after what an asshole he was earlier. What did you tell him?"
"I told him to fuck off, I think." The conversation was a white-hot sheet of flame in her memory; she had to pick through it for details. "You should've heard how he did it. It wasn't... you know, it's not like it was romantic or anything. He was like, 'We should just get married.' He didn't even do it in person. Oh, yeah, and he told me to shut up first. I was talking too much for him."
"What a dick," Tiff breathed.
"Yeah. Then he hung up on me." Sarah looked at the wall. "I was so mad, Tiff. He just... he doesn't get it. He doesn't get anything. He thinks he can still go to Georgetown, and me and Rebecca can just come along and hang out in the apartment while he's doing his thing? I guess?"
Tiff was quiet.
"And, you know, he didn't even bring up Yale. He didn't even mention having me go there, while he took care of Rebecca." She paused, fuming. "Well, that's not exactly true. He brought it up long enough to say it was idiocy. 'You're obviously not going to Yale, chica.'"
"What an ass," Tiff spat. "He has no clue who you are. You could go to Yale if you wanted, Sarah. You could make it work. You are the only person I know who could. You're a fucking genius."
The words completely blindsided her. "What?"
Tiff searched her eyes, disbelieving. "Oh, come on. Really? If anyone could do it, you could."
"Tiff, I don't even know what day it is most of the time. I can barely make it to the goddamn grocery store."
Tiff barked a laugh.
"I'm not kidding. I... this..." She looked down at Rebecca, still sleeping. "I wasn't ready for this. I had no idea how hard it would be. They tell you, or they try... but I had no idea." She remembered Pastor Dennis, urging her to keep the baby, and scoffed. "If anything, they glossed over it at church. Tried to tell me it wouldn't be that hard. I thought I'd need a week or two to get my feet back under me, and then..." She shook her head, marveling at what an idiot she'd been. "There's no way. There's just no way."
"Maybe there's no way alone," Tiff pressed on. "If her dad wasn't such a loser, he'd offer -"
"But he won't."
Tiff deflated a bit. "Yeah."
Sarah grabbed the remote and muted the TV; the constant noise from Buffy's menu screen was driving her nuts.
"But still," Tiff went on, "there might be another way. There's daycare you could look at. Couldn't she go to daycare while you were at class?"
"I guess." Sarah fidgeted. She wanted to go to school, but it was a poisoned hope. She shot down Tiff's suggestion reflexively, trying to keep it from getting its barbs in her. "But I need to study, too. I can't keep her in daycare 24 hours a day."
The specter of adoption hovered, but Tiff didn't mention it. "If you were going somewhere around here, I'd help if I could."
Sarah looked at her, watching for some sign of sarcasm, and found none. "Really?" She couldn't understand this. "Why?"
"I don't know. You're in a shitty situation. It's not fair."
Sarah shrugged. "Yeah, but I couldn't let you do that. It wouldn't be fair to you either."
Tiff returned the shrug. "I wouldn't mind. I like Becca. And I think... you know, I think... we make a good team."
Sarah was paralyzed. You know what she's saying, Pastor Dennis whispered. You knew this would happen again. Get away from her. Get away.
She couldn't shut him up.
Tiff must've read the hesitation in Sarah's eyes. Sarah caught a glimpse of searing pain there before Tiff snapped her gaze down to her lap. "Sorry," she said. "It's stupid, I know. Forget I said anything. I'm not trying to make you uncomfortable. I'm not..." She sighed. "You don't need this right now."
She stood up, grabbed her purse, lurched for the door. "Sorry."
Then she was gone.
61
They huddled in the rocking chair, mother and daughter, as the night hours dragged past. Sarah left Buffy on, either as an act of defiance or because she was so sick of infomercials and trashy talk shows that anything was better. When the first disc finished, rather than get up and find the second, she simply started it over.
But she wasn't really seeing it. She was seeing herself coming home from a day of classes to catch Tiff arriving at the apartment with Becca, having just picked her up from school. She was seeing them laughing and talking while she made dinner. Both of them sitting down to study after Becca was in bed. (Because she would sleep through the night on her own, sometime. Eventually. Wouldn't she?)
These visions didn't feel like the same grey nightmare she'd been living through for the last few weeks. They felt exciting. They felt like an adventure.
They felt so right, they made her ache.
When she dozed she saw the days with Cal instead, flitting behind her eyelids like nightmares. He came home late. He berated her. They fought - all the time, they fought. Sometimes while she was sleeping he would mount her like a dog, and she would wake feeling sickened and violated. But she wouldn't say anything.
She was supposed to enjoy it.
She'd read an article
on some news site a few years ago about how some people were born asexual. They simply didn't get aroused. It wasn't deviant, it wasn't sinful - it just was what it was.
She had latched on to this idea with every fiber of her being, wishing for it to be true for her. For a rare few weeks, she had found some peace; had been able to put worries about her sexual identity blissfully away. Then one day she had seen a group of senior girls in the hallway, just talking, and couldn't get them out of her mind. At home, after school, she had lain in bed and thought about them while she touched herself, her cheeks burning with shame.
She blinked the memory away, but there were dozens (Hundreds, Pastor Dennis accused) like it. She wasn't asexual. There was something wrong with her. She'd known since elementary school, when she'd seen Margie Jacobson twirling around in the holiday play in a pink dress.
They talked about it at church, and she'd listened. It was a sickness of the soul, Pastor Dennis said. It could be caused by a demon. For years, she'd been convinced that's what it was. She was too ashamed to tell anyone, but she'd prayed, furiously, begging God for help. She'd made vows to stop. She'd told herself she'd join a convent after school.
Then she'd met Tiff.
There were other kids at school who were openly gay, but Tiff was the first one Sarah had really spent time with. Everything was different for her: her parents were supportive, and she seemed completely unashamed of herself. Sarah had been tempted, a few times, to ask her if she even knew what the Bible said about homosexuality - but had never done it. Ultimately, she didn't want to tarnish that confidence, that normalcy, that Tiff projected.
She loved it too much.
Her thoughts turned back to the idea of living with Tiff, of facing life together. Why not? she challenged herself. Since she'd started debate, she'd learned anything could be challenged. Anything, even the truth, could be disproven or debunked. Why can't I have that? She had never yearned for anything so much before. If it's a sin, so what? Isn't what I'm doing a sin already? I can't make this go away. I've tried. There was some Bible verse about how wanting something was as bad as doing it. Looking desirously at a man's wife was the same as adultery.
If that were the case, she had committed a lot of adultery.
She looked down at Rebecca, still sleeping in her lap. Tried to imagine a life where the girl had two mothers.
I'm getting ahead of myself. She didn't ask me to marry her. She just offered to watch Rebecca after school. What if Sarah had misinterpreted her? What if she was letting her own internal issues get tangled up in what Tiff had said?
She just feels sorry for me, that's all. She just wants to make me feel better.
Rebecca woke abruptly. For once, Sarah was relieved to see it.
"You hungry?" she asked. "Let's get you a bottle."
62
They went in the morning to pick up a few basics: milk, coffee, oatmeal. When they got back to the house, Sarah's phone buzzed. She had the door open behind her, the baby carrier in one arm and three plastic grocery bags dangling from the other.
"Hang on," she said as the phone buzzed again. She balanced on her good foot and pushed the door closed with the one she'd hurt the day before, wincing. Rebecca was grumbling but not screaming with hunger yet, so she set her down with the groceries and grabbed the phone without checking the caller ID.
"Hello?"
"Hi, honey," her mom said. "Everything all right?"
Sarah chuckled. "You always pick the worst times to call. It's like a skill with you."
"Sorry." She didn't sound sorry. "Should I call back?"
"At a worse time? Nah, that's okay." Sarah crossed the living room and flopped on to the couch. Mom didn't handle teasing well. She'd better lay off.
"Aren't you feisty today."
"Yeah, I guess. I took Becca to the grocery store."
"You sound like you're in a good mood."
"Yeah. Nice to be alive, I guess. Had a close call the other night."
Mom hesitated. The distinctive chime of a booting PC fluttered in the background. "You... what?"
"Thursday night. I had a uterine infection. I spent the night at the hospital over here." Where had she been? An acronym came back to her, a relic from a night of fevered horrors. "HCMC."
"What?" It was juvenile, Sarah knew it was, but she felt a little thrill at finally making her mother take notice.
"I guess I'd had it the whole time. It hurt ever since I came home but I just assumed it was from the beating I took in the maternity ward." She danced over the words, using them to lilt past painful memories without actually touching them.
"Oh, no. Is Becky okay?"
"Yeah, I'm -" The question tripped her, sent her sprawling. She's fine, she started to answer, but stubbornly refused. "Oh, me? I'm fine. Thanks for asking."
"I -" She sounded bewildered. "Sarah, that's not fair. I know you're fine. I'm talking to you. Did she stay with you at the hospital?"
"No." She paused at the edge of the cliff, debating whether to jump off. Screw it. "Tiff kept her for the night."
In the long silence Sarah could hear her mother's coworkers chatting, another PC booting, the whine of a distant train. When it finally came, her mother's voice was chilly. "Why Tiff?"
Sarah scoffed. "Who else would I call?"
"How about Cal?" she accused.
"I couldn't reach him."
"Did you try?"
"Yes," she lied.
"You could've called me."
"Mom, you're like a thousand miles away."
"I could've found someone. Betty might've been able to help."
Betty, from church. Of course. Church was always the answer. "It was like one in the morning, you wouldn't have called Betty."
But her mom wasn't dissuaded. "You shouldn't have brought her into it, Sarah." She snapped the sentence like a lash.
Drop it. That's what she was supposed to do now: apologize, promise not to do it again, move on. "She's a lesbian, Mom, not a pedophile." Some part of her marveled at the words as they leapt from her tongue. Her mom started in, but Sarah spoke over her. "And besides, she came right away. Right away. Took my car, took Becca back to the apartment, brought her back the next day. I was out of it. They had me on morphine. I didn't even know what was going on. I would've been screwed without her help.
"Screwed."
"You just need to be careful, Sarah. You can't just trust everyone with your daughter. She's just a baby."
She didn't want to do this - not again, not right now - but she couldn't stop. "I can trust Tiff, Mom. If I couldn't... I don't know what I'd do. God," she wondered aloud, "is this how you treated Dad, too?"
"What do you mean by that?"
She should've pulled it back, said, "Nothing," and changed the topic. But she didn't. "I mean were you always on his case this same way, when he was just trying to do the best he could? Not everything has to be Pastor Dennis-approved all the time, you know. Sometimes even a lesbian can do something right."
"That is none of your business."
"It feels like it is, because you're always telling me I'm doing things wrong. I mean, I know church is important, but do you ever think it wasn't worth losing Dad over?"
The words faded slowly, like the raw, lingering tone of a plucked guitar string. Too far, she knew at once.
"You don't know what you're talking about," her mother said coldly, "but since you asked, no. I don't think that, because it wasn't my decision. He decided to leave because he would rather be a sinner than a born-again Christian. He wasn't okay with me going to church, and I wasn't okay with him staying home. But I never divorced him, Sarah. You get that straight. You've been on this Dad kick lately, like you think he hung the moon, but you get that straight. He left us."
Weird, Sarah wanted to throw back, because I've noticed you have a penchant for throwing sinners out of your house. Something in her mom's tone stopped her, though. Some pain there made her say instead, "All right. Sorry."
Mom too
k the olive branch. "Okay. Just, next time, call someone at the church. The whole prayer chain is posted on your fridge."
Sarah didn't want to argue anymore. "Fine."
"All right. I'm glad everyone's okay."
"Yeah." Whatever.
"Did you get a chance to call Pastor Dennis about Becky's Dedication?"
Crap. "No, not yet. I was in the hospital, and then... you know, I needed yesterday to recover and stuff."
"Do you want me to call him?"
"No, that's all right."
"I don't mind. I know you have a lot to manage there. You just can't let this get away from you, Sarah. The most important thing you can do for that child is give her over to God."
Sarah froze. Something about the words left her shaking.
"Yeah," she finally managed. "Yeah, I know."
63
Becca nodded off after eating, so Sarah took the chance to search on her phone for daycares in Connecticut. Despite her better instincts, bracing herself for failure, she searched first for "daycares Yale." The tiny phone screen went blank; a little bar at the top labored to fill using her tremulous internet connection.
She felt stupid even looking at this. They weren't going to have a bunch of daycares around Yale. You didn't go to Yale to find a place to stick your kid. You went to excel. You went to change your life.
The screen lit up with the results. Yale had a page on its website dedicated to on-site childcare.
Her breath caught. No way. She clicked on the first link, and everything looked great: they were right on campus, they took infants at least six weeks old (which Rebecca should be by then, just barely), and they served "Yale families as well as community families." She couldn't find pricing, though - it said to call for that.
She tried the second link and found a center very similar to the first. A wild hope fluttered in her chest.
It'll be expensive, I'm sure, on-site daycare at Yale? Crazy expensive, but maybe Mom will go for it. She could afford it.
She clicked back to the main page, with the daycare listings, and clicked on the heading to try to find more general information about enrollment. It took her to a page for faculty and staff.
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