by Robin Wells
I struggle to come up with something she wants to hear. “I—I wish it were you.”
This earns me a tremulous smile. “Me, too. This is probably the most awful thing that’s ever happened to me.”
“I don’t think you should look at a child coming into the world as an awful thing,” I say.
Her eyes flash. “I’m feeling what I’m feeling. Sorry if it’s not PC enough for you.”
A muscle jerks in my jaw. I tip back my beer and swallow about a half dozen biting retorts.
“Did you talk to Quinn?” she asks. “Do you have any idea what kind of role she wants you to have with Lily and the baby?”
“We talked a little. She made a point of mentioning that the donor agreement is in effect with the baby.”
“What else did she say?”
“That’s about it. We’re going to talk more tomorrow when Lily’s not around.”
“I thought about this while I was on the treadmill. I realize it’s unlikely a judge is going to take a baby away from its mother, but we could still try to get guardianship of Lily.”
I can’t believe she’s bringing this up again. “Jess, that’s not going to happen. It’s not right, and it’s not in Lily’s best interests. Quinn’s baby doesn’t change that. The baby will be Lily’s sibling, and they belong together.”
“Half sibling,” Jessica corrects. “If we have a child, he or she will be Lily’s half sibling, too.”
“That’s not part of this equation.”
“Not yet. But hopefully it will be.”
I don’t want to even open that discussion. “Let’s stick with what’s on the table right now.”
“I can be just as good a mother to Lily as Quinn.”
“Like your Realtor friend said about getting pregnant—it’s not a competition, Jessica. I don’t want to go against the birth mother’s wishes, I don’t want to drag Lily away from the only family she knows, and I don’t want to violate the terms of a contract I signed. Plus it’s such a legal long shot it’s ludicrous to even discuss it.”
She looks like she might cry. “Did you get a copy of the will?”
“Yeah.”
“And?”
“It’s pretty much what we thought.”
She stares at her water bottle for a moment. “Well, if you’re so keen not to violate the terms of your donor contract, you should just stay out of their lives until they’re eighteen, like you agreed.”
“But Lily knows I’m her father, and I assume the baby will, too. Do you want them to grow up thinking I don’t care about them?”
“But you weren’t supposed to be a part of their lives. You were supposed to be an anonymous donor.”
You should have thought about that before you impersonated me on that website. I sigh. “But I’m not anonymous anymore, am I? You can’t unring the bell.”
“David Foster Wallace.”
“What?”
“He’s widely considered the source of that quote because it appears in his fiction, but it was used in a trial in Oregon before he was born.”
“Your memory is amazing,” I say. If somewhat irrelevant, I think.
She gives a stiff smile.
“There’s another possibility.” I shift on the barstool to more fully face her. “We could eliminate the distance.”
“What?”
“We stay here. I’m sure the New Orleans hotel would be delighted to have you stay on. And I’m up for partner at my old law firm.”
She puts a hand on her chest. Her expression reminds me of the time we were walking in the park and she realized she’d stepped in dog poop. “But . . . we decided! You agreed to move, and I’m looking at houses.”
I raise both hands, trying to placate her. “Please—just think about it. The situation is different now. Two children are involved, and we didn’t know that when we made the decision about Seattle. Staying here might be best for everyone.”
“You think it would be best for me to turn down a promotion and give up living near my family so I can watch another woman have your baby and raise your children?”
She’s looking at it all wrong. “If we’re here, we could help raise them, too.”
“No.” The barstool squeaks on the floor as she rises from it. “No freaking way. Not just no, but hell, no! I didn’t sign up to be a stepmother to your children!”
“Jessica . . .”
She throws out her arms in a large gesture. “I don’t want to live here and play second fiddle to another woman. No! That sounds like my worst nightmare.”
I know it isn’t how she imagined things, but her stance strikes me as completely self-centered. Before I know it, the words I managed to squelch earlier are flying out of my mouth. “You should have thought about that before you impersonated me on that donor website.”
“Oh, wow.” She plops back on the barstool and holds the paper towel to her face for several seconds, as if I’d struck her.
I blow out a long sigh. “I’m sorry, Jess. That was an unkind thing to say.”
She lowers the paper towel. “You have no idea how much I regret that.”
“I think I do.”
Her expression is more resentment than remorse. “Speaking of things we shouldn’t have done, why the hell did you look up Brooke’s phone number and go to her house? Why didn’t you talk to me first?”
“Oh, like you talked to me before you went on the registry?” I feel my pulse throbbing in my temple.
She pulls in a sharp breath. Her cheeks puff out as she exhales. “You’re right.” Her voice sounds completely deflated. “I started all this. It’s my fault, and I know it.”
“I don’t want to cast blame,” I say. “I just want to do the right thing now.”
“For whom?”
“For Lily. For the baby. For you.”
“You just named me last. I see where I fall on your list of priorities.” Her voice has a bitter, acidic tone.
“Damn it, Jessica. You’re just looking for things to be mad about.”
“I don’t have to look very far, do I? What about the baby we planned to have together?”
Not again. “Jessica, we’ve tried and tried.”
“We haven’t tried with a donor egg. I told you I’m willing to do that now.”
“Well, I’m not. We’ve got enough on our plates without getting into that.”
“It’s the only thing I want on my plate.”
You only considered it after you learned I have a donor child. I refrain from saying it aloud. “I don’t want to talk about it.” I stand up. “I’m going for a run.”
“You don’t want to talk about having a baby with your wife, even though a stranger is carrying your child? Nice, Zack. Very nice.” She swings herself off the barstool. “I’m going to see if I can catch the flight to Seattle.”
I stand perfectly still. “You’re leaving tonight?”
She lifts her shoulders. “There’s no point in waiting until tomorrow. We’re both too upset to have a civil conversation or get any sleep together.”
She’s right, but it doesn’t make me feel any better. I run a hand down my face. “I’m sorry, Jessica.”
“Yeah, well, me, too.”
“Will you do me a favor and at least think about not moving?”
“How can you even ask that?” She throws out her arms, palms up. “There’s nothing to think about. The answer is no. I’m all in at the new job. And I thought you were all in, too.” She takes out her phone and pulls up the airline website.
We’ve always dealt with anger and disagreements in the past by giving each other space to cool down so we don’t say things we’ll regret. Right now, though, it feels as if there’s already too much space between us.
I go into the bedroom and change into my running gear. By the time I ret
urn to the kitchen to fill my water bottle, she’s hauling two suitcases out of the hallway closet. “I’m booked on the eight thirty flight,” she says. “I’m going to shower and get to the airport.”
I nod. “We’ll talk tomorrow.”
“Sure. Have a good run.” She gives me a quick peck—you couldn’t really call it a kiss.
My stomach sinks as I watch her disappear into the bedroom. I consider trying to talk to her some more, but I know it’s futile in her current mood. To be truthful, mine isn’t much better.
I put on my headset, turn on Springsteen’s “Born to Run,” and head out the door. I can run off some stress, but I can’t outrun the feeling that our marriage is in serious trouble.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
Quinn
Saturday, May 18
SINCE EVERYONE ON the planet now seems to know I’m pregnant, I figure I might as well tell my mom. I decide to call her around nine Saturday morning—it’s five in the evening in Dubai then—while Lily is upstairs playing with Alicia.
But first, I have to overcome my dread of the conversation, so I put in my EarPods, reach for my phone, and listen to the recording of my baby’s heartbeat. The fast whoosh whoosh whoosh always makes me smile. According to the baby books, he or she should be the size of a strawberry by the end of the week; by the end of the week after, the size of a fig. The thought buoys me enough to punch my mother’s number.
“Hi, Mom,” I say when she answers. “Can you talk?”
“For just a few minutes. We’re meeting some people for drinks in half an hour.”
I used to think you couldn’t drink in Dubai, but I’ve learned that’s not true. Knowing my mother’s affinity for booze, I’m sure it’s something she checked out before she agreed to move there.
“How’s Larry?”
“Fine. Busy. Busy with business, I mean. Not busy like your father was.” She gives an overly bright little laugh. I hear a tinkling sound that I recognize as ice in a glass. My mother is already drinking. Possibly wine; she used to think that if she put ice in wine, it negated the alcohol content. “Larry adores me.”
“That’s great, Mom.”
“He’s gotten a promotion, did I tell you? He’s a vice president now.”
“Yes, you told me.” Over and over. Mom is all caught up in the pecking order of oil company execs, and she’s thrilled that she caught a big fish who moved higher up the food chain. Larry even looks a big fish; he’s got big fleshy lips and eyes set so far apart he resembles a flounder. “Congratulations to him.”
I hear the ice clink against the glass again. “Oh, I have some news. The expat group here is putting on a play—Barefoot in the Park. And I’m playing Corie!”
“That’s wonderful.” She’s told me this, too, the last three times we talked.
“Rehearsals are going really well.”
“That’s great. I’m sure you’ll do a wonderful job.”
I can practically hear her preen. “You know, a producer I met before I married your father told me I could have had a career in Hollywood.”
I’ve heard this a million times, too. “I’m sure you could have.”
“Larry and I are going to Singapore in a couple of weeks. I just love the shopping there.”
“Terrific. Any plans to come to the States?”
“Not anytime soon. You know we hate that long flight.”
“Yes, well, I have some news that might encourage you to visit a little more often.”
“Oh?”
“Yes,” I say. “I’m pregnant.”
Nothing. The silence stretches until I wonder if she didn’t hear me.
“I’m going to have a baby,” I say.
“I know what ‘pregnant’ means.” Mom’s voice is curt. “By whom? I didn’t know you were even seeing anybody.”
“I’m not.”
“Quinnlyn Rose, is this some kind of joke? Because if it is, I don’t find it amusing.”
Hoo boy. I brace myself. “I’m going to be a single mother. The father is a donor. In fact, it’s the same donor Brooke used. It’s Lily’s father.”
“Good God! What in the world were you thinking?”
I knew I was likely to get a negative reaction from her—that’s just Mother’s way. All the same, I find myself swallowing my disappointment as I explain it to her.
“Good Lord, Quinn!” I hear a brief splash. She’s probably refilling her glass. “Please tell me Margaret is going to take Lily back.”
My whole body stiffens. “Lily isn’t a piece of merchandise I want to return.” Unlike how you felt about me, I think hotly. “Lily is a child I love.”
“Oh, don’t go getting all high horsey on me. I’m just asking if Margaret will get well enough to raise her.”
“Margaret’s slowly making progress, but I’m going to be Lily’s permanent guardian.”
“And you’ll have a baby to take care of, too? Oh, Quinn!” Her tone is full of melodrama and disapproval.
I’ve heard that soul-crushing Oh, Quinn! my whole life—when I got my clothes dirty playing outside; when I didn’t get a part in the junior high play (which I’d only tried out for to please her); and—in what is probably the most telling incident—when I refused to dye my hair red at age fifteen to help Mom look “like a natural redhead.”
She has a way of saying my name that proclaims my complete failure as a human being. Oh, Quinn! used to make me cry myself to sleep, because more than anything, I wanted my mother’s approval. It wasn’t until I was grown that I realized I was never going to get it.
Judging from the way my stomach tightens now, I’m still not immune to longing for it.
“I’m very excited and happy,” I tell Mom now. “And Lily’s thrilled to have a new little brother or sister on the way.”
“Of course she is. She’s three. She’d be equally excited about a puppy.”
Wow. Mom may have hit a new low. “Well, I know you’re busy, so I won’t keep you. I just thought you’d want to know you’re going to be a grandmother.”
“Oh, Lordy! I’m way too young for that.”
Trust Mom to make this all about herself. I hear a jingle and a clink. I can picture her bracelets hitting her drink glass as she raises it to her lips. “Quinn, you’ll be so tied down! And it’ll be next to impossible to find a man who’ll want to take on two kids.”
“I’m not looking for a man. I plan to be a single mother.”
“Yes, but you didn’t know you’d be raising Lily, too. How far along are you?”
“It’s early days. But I heard the heartbeat, Mom. It’s recorded, and it’s amazing.”
She sighs. “I suppose it’s too late to change your mind.”
My muscles knot. “That’s not something I’d ever consider.”
“No need to get all snippy. I’m just interested in your welfare.”
Is that why you haven’t asked how I’m doing? “I’m feeling fine, thanks,” I say.
She totally misses the sarcasm. “Well, that’s good. I was constantly nauseated with you.”
“I’m having a little morning sickness, but it goes away if I eat something.”
“I’m glad it’s manageable. Just be careful not to gain too much weight. You had that little chubby spell in junior high, remember?”
I sigh. Some things never change.
* * *
—
THE CONVERSATION WITH my mother casts a pall over my mood. I take Lily and Alicia to a playground, then drop Alicia at her home for lunch. Lily and I eat chicken sandwiches, play Candyland, and take naps. Around three, I take Lily to Sarah’s house and head to my shop.
I’m worried about the meeting with Zack. Now that Lily knows he’s her father, I’m sure he’s going to want to be more involved in her life. The fact that he sent a minion to the attorney
’s office to get a copy of Brooke’s will doesn’t bode well, either. And then there’s the baby to consider; whatever level of interaction he has with Lily will no doubt be what he expects with the baby.
* * *
—
THE WORRY MUST show on my face, because Terri looks at me with concern. “Are you feeling okay? Do you need to lie down or eat something?’
“I’m fine,” I tell her.
We rearrange some items at the store, go over the books, and discuss upcoming client appointments. At five o’clock, I turn the Open sign on the door of the shop to Closed.
“Do you want me to stay so you’ll have someone in your corner?” Terri’s face is earnest, her eyes warm with concern.
I smile. “You’re a sweetie, Terri, but really, there’s no need.”
“Well, feel free to call me if you want to talk afterward.”
She leaves, and I putter around the store, looking through the day’s sales receipts and seeing to odds and ends. About fifteen minutes before Zack is due to arrive, I call Sarah. “I’m nervous about talking to Zack. What do you advise?”
“Be cordial but direct,” Sarah says. “You need to know what you’re dealing with. You need to know his thoughts and how his wife feels about things.”
“I’m really worried about her.”
“I know you are. Maybe you and Lily should try setting up an outing with both of them so you can see how things go.”
“Not a bad idea,” I say. “Thanks, Sarah.”
Zack arrives five minutes early, which is fine with me, since I’m working myself into an increasingly high state of anxiety. I spot him through the window as he approaches. My heart knocks against my ribs as his knuckles rap against the door.
I answer it, and my skin gets the premonition prickles. Every time I see him, I’m shocked all over again by how his eyes mirror Lily’s.
“Hi,” he says.
“Hi.” I’m usually a hugger, but with him, I hesitate. Maybe it’s knowing I’m carrying his child; maybe it’s the fact that he’s married and so darned good-looking.
I hug him anyway, and it’s every bit as unnerving as I feared. My goose bumps get goose bumps.