Picturing Perfect

by Brown, Melissa

  My mom had been a different woman since my father passed away. He had been sick for my entire freshman year in college, battling cancer that invaded his pancreas. She knew the day was inevitable when we'd have to say goodbye to him, having gone to each chemotherapy appointment and every appointment with the oncologist, who delivered bad news again and again when the cancer refused to stop spreading. But, it didn't matter. She had a breakdown and was placed into psychiatric care for several months. Those were the worst months of both of our lives. She was fighting with reality and so was I.

  She wanted to live in a reality where Martin Foster was still with us. And I was fighting to maintain his memory without completely losing her as well. During those months, I would visit her at the facility. They were some of the scariest, most uncomfortable times I'd ever experienced.

  "Mom," I said. It was the middle of July and I was home for the summer. She'd been at the psychiatric treatment center for three weeks and looked more like a zombie than ever before. She was wearing the same pajamas she'd worn the last time I'd visited. Her hair looked stringy and unwashed.

  "Can I braid your hair, Ma?" I asked, holding up her hairbrush and a tiny plastic elastic that was given to me by the nurses. No belts, no shoelaces, nothing that a patient could use to harm themselves. This tiny little elastic couldn't be used to aid my mother in hurting herself. It pained me that something so tiny and seemingly insignificant had now become a part of our lives. I was only nineteen years old and I had to worry about which hair accessories could be used to help my mother do something suicidal.

  Mom nodded and turned her body so I could sit next to her on the bed. She stared at the walls as I talked to her about school and friends and the steady stream of flowers and well-wishes we received from friends and family in her absence. At times, she'd respond with a small "hmm" and at least I knew she was listening.

  When I finished weaving her blond hair into a braid, we sat in silence for a minute or two. Feeling brave, I wrapped my arm around her shoulder, hoping to comfort her as she had always comforted me. She didn't cry, she didn't yell, she just stared at that cold, concrete wall. And I mourned the woman she used to be.

  The pads of my mother's fingers pressed into my shoulder, bringing me back to my current reality. My emotions were a whirlwind. My baby could be sick and it was the most frightened I'd ever been. Possibly more frightened than the day my parents told me about Dad's cancer or the day my mom was admitted to the treatment center. The responsibility of it all, the responsibility of another life inside of mine was the most intimidating and overwhelming thing I'd ever experienced. But, my mother was comforting me, and I clung to the idea of the old Allison Foster being there with me again. Relief covered me like a blanket and I clutched it with every ounce of strength remaining inside me.

  "It's nothing, really."

  Making eye contact with Ellie was impossible. I had been avoiding her for two weeks. My feelings of hypocrisy consumed me since I'd spoken to Dr. Myers. Since the day I realized I was living a lie. I adored my clients, but was terrified to have a child with special needs. It'd taken everything in me not to give Pamela my notice just so I could escape the guilt that weighed so heavily on my shoulders.

  "Lies," she said, with a shake of her head. "I'm not leaving until you talk. You've been a zombie for days. I know I'm not your best friend or anything, but I'm really worried."

  "I don't want you to worry," I said. My eyes darted away from hers again.

  "Too late," she said, her voice stern.

  "I don't know how to tell you. I…I'm a horrible person."

  "Oh puh-lease. If you're a horrible person, then this world is full of utter scumbags. Now, talk."

  "My triple screen blood test was positive…which means the baby may have Down's or a couple of other genetic disorders."

  "Oh shit," she said, instantly covering her mouth after saying the words.

  "I know," I nodded, "And I don't want that. I'm selfish. I want a healthy baby. I know that makes me such a hypocrite. God, I don't deserve to work here anymore, do I?"

  "Oh my God, you can't be serious." She pulled her chair to mine, sitting to face me. "Look at me, Hadley. You are not a bad person…you're just scared. Everyone wants their baby to be healthy. Everyone."

  "Our clients are healthy." I raised an eyebrow as I said the words.

  "To a degree, yes. But, Violet has a heart condition that's tied to her Down Syndrome. And I'm pretty sure you knew that."

  "Yeah," I said with a conciliatory nod.

  "What pregnant woman doesn't want a healthy baby with no special circumstances? Stop demonizing yourself. I mean it."

  "I can't help it…every time I look at Warren, I want to cry. I adore him. I'd be lucky to have a child like him."

  "He's not a child," she asserted.

  "I know." Silence hovered in the air.

  "So, how many false positives happen with this test?" The optimism was building in her eyes. She was looking for the bright side of things. Something I usually did. But, not this time.

  "A lot."

  "So everything could be just fine?"

  "Yeah."

  "When will you know more?"

  "In two weeks…hopefully. I have my 20-week ultrasound. They'll be able to check certain things to see if they match up with the screening."

  "Okay. So, in two weeks—"

  A knock came from the office door. Nick peeked his head in. His carefree expression was wiped away the moment he locked eyes with his wife.

  "Oh, sorry," he said as he closed the door quickly. Ellie rolled her eyes, jumped out of her seat and opened the door.

  "Get in here, Miller." She waved him into the office. I did my best to mask the distraught expression on my face. Not that I had any kind of poker face whatsoever.

  "Didn't mean to interrupt," he said, walking into the office without looking me in the eye. Such a guy. They never quite know how to deal with an upset woman. Sitting on the couch, he rested his elbows on his knees, focusing his attention on Ellie.

  "We need your opinion on something."

  "Ellie, no—" I started to protest. She raised her hand up to me with a reassuring nod.

  "When you and I get pregnant," she began. Nick's eyebrows shot up.

  "Are you?" he asked her, placing his hand on her stomach.

  "No. Not yet. We just started trying, babe. It takes time," she said, taking his hand in hers. "But, when we do get preggers, we'll want a healthy baby, right?"

  "Of course," Nick said. "That's a no-brainer, Ells."

  "Okay, so…if I had a test done—a standard pregnancy blood test—and that blood test showed signs of the baby having Down's…" she tipped her head to Nick, hoping he'd fill in the blanks on what she was inferring.

  "It'd freak me out." He put his hands up in front of his face in mock surrender. "I'm sorry. Maybe that makes me a dickhead. But…"

  "No, it doesn't," Ellie said with a smile.

  Nick Miller was Sunnyside's star employee. He loved those clients with all that he was. Working with them was his life's work, his passion. He was there day in and day out spending his time making the clients' lives as fun and productive as possible. He was an exceptional human being.

  "It makes you honest," I said. "Thanks, Nick."

  Nick's eyes finally found mine. They looked pained.

  "Is everything all right? Is the baby okay?"

  "I'm not sure yet." I shrugged, pursing my lips together.

  "She'll know more in a couple weeks. I just wanted her to see that she's normal. Her reaction is normal."

  "So, I was your guinea pig?" Nick asked, turning back to his wife. "Geez, Ells, what if I had said the wrong thing?"

  "Impossible." She shook her head. "I know you too well."

  "All right…now you're starting to mess with my head." He laughed and walked to the door.

  As he placed his hand on the door, he turned back to me. "You know we're here for you, right?"

  "I do," I
said with a smile.

  "Good."

  Ellie looked back to me. "Have you told Tucker…or Jason?"

  "I'm waiting to tell Tucker. I want to have more info first. But, Jason knows."

  "And? What does he think?"

  "He's so wonderful. He's doing lots of research. He won't let me Google anything myself. But, he's constantly looking things up. He wants the baby to have the best life possible. And he's not pushing me the way Tucker does."

  "He's a good guy."

  "I know."

  "Hold onto that one."

  "He's not mine to hold onto."

  "We'll see."

  My belly flinched as the cold gel made contact with my skin. My heart was racing like crazy. Jason was right. The love I felt for this child was unwavering. Regardless of what the tech said, I was completely and utterly in love with my baby. But, I wanted him (or her) to be as healthy as possible.

  My mom held my hand, her best reassuring smile plastered to her face. Relieved to have her there with me, I was able to relax slightly. Auden had offered to come, but I wanted my mom and I to take this step together. Luckily, Auden understood. Besides, I think the entire idea of an ultrasound would have been a little overwhelming for my best friend. She was nowhere near ready for this step in her life. Even though she'd been supportive, my being pregnant was still surreal to her. I kept telling her to "join the club." It was still surreal to me each morning when I felt the baby move within my belly.

  The tech focused on the screen, humming as she took measurements of the fetus. I hated that word. He or she is a baby, a person, a human being…the word fetus was just too clinical for the life growing inside of me. I tried not to take it personally since she spent her days looking at images on ultrasound screens. But to me, this was everything. This was my present, my future, my life changing moment.

  "Have you thought about names?" the tech asked as she typed in more measurements, never looking away from the screen.

  "Yes," I said, nodding and wiping the sweat from my brow.

  "You have?" my mother asked.

  "Marty," I said softly, looking into her clear blue eyes. She gasped softly.

  "For your dad?" She looked surprised and…genuinely happy. Her eyes glistened and I stared at her in disbelief. Tears hadn't fallen from Allison's eyes in three very long years. Her grip tightened on my hand and she placed her other hand on top of mine. "If it's a boy, it'll be perfect. Martin would've loved that. But, what if it's a girl?"

  "Martie." I shrugged. "She'll be Martina or Marta or something like that. But, to me, she'll be Martie. No matter what, I'm naming the baby after Dad."

  "I can tell you if you'd like to know," the tech said. I smiled and nodded eagerly. "Do you see this?" she asked, pointing at the screen.

  "It looks like a little turtle," I said, scrunching my nose. "So, it's a…"

  "Boy," my mom said softly next to me.

  "Yep, it sure is," the tech said. She wiped the gel from my belly as I continued to stare at the screen. "Everything looks good, but I'm going to give the measurements to Dr. Myers. You can meet her in her office."

  "Thanks," I said, my pulse was racing again with those words. Gathering my things, Mom and I walked down the hall to the doctor's office.

  A framed copy of an ultrasound photo sat on her desk. I didn't realize Dr. Myers was a mother. The door swung open and Dr. Myers entered the office. For the first time, I noticed that she had a very small baby bump. My doctor was pregnant herself.

  "Hello, ladies," she said as she took her seat. My mom nodded at her. She'd been my mother's gynecologist for years, too. Regardless of the familiarity in the room, I was still on edge. I needed her to talk to me about Marty. I needed to know he would be okay.

  "As you know, ultrasound is not a diagnostic test. But, I must tell you that everything looks normal. His femur measures at an average length, as does the skin behind his neck. There is no indication of any heart defects or anything else that, at this stage, would indicate Down Syndrome. There is also nothing to indicate Trisomy."

  A huge sigh of relief left my mouth. My mom squeezed my hand as I took another deep breath in.

  "Oh my god, thank you," I said.

  "The only thing I'm concerned about is your placenta. As pregnancies progress, the placenta should move towards the lower region of your uterus, up towards the top. Yours hasn't moved as much as it should. So, we're going to keep an eye on that."

  "What does that mean?"

  "For some women, it can lead to placenta previa. If you have any bleeding, I want you to call the office immediately. Other than that, just be sure to take it easy as much as possible."

  "If she had placenta previa," my mom said, clearing her throat, "what does that mean? For the baby, I mean."

  "It can be dangerous and would mean bed rest until the bleeding stopped. And if you're past 36 weeks, it might mean delivering the baby. It would certainly be a C-section delivery, as well."

  "Oh," I replied, clutching my belly, doing my best to process all the information given to me.

  "As long as you communicate with me and take care of yourself, there should be nothing to worry about." Her smile reassured me. Somehow knowing she was pregnant too was comforting. She understood. She understood my worries and my concerns. I had to trust that she'd take care of Marty and me.

  An hour later, my mom and I were enjoying a quiet dinner at a restaurant near the condo. I sent Tucker a text the moment we left the doctor's office, but there was no response. I couldn't say I was surprised. Any time I sent him a text or left a voicemail about the baby, he didn't respond. Message received, Tucker. You son of a bitch.

  A feeling of calm was finally running through my body, despite my slight fears regarding the possible placenta previa.

  But, there was something else bothering me. Something that only my mother and I could fix. Together.

  "I need to talk to you, Mom. But first, I want to thank you for today. It was so nice having you there with me."

  "Of course," she said. Her brow creased as her cautious eyes gazed into mine. This was going to be difficult.

  "I need to get my own place."

  "I—I don't understand," she said, placing her fork on the table and her hands in her lap.

  "You're not well, Mom. Not really. I know you're trying your hardest. But, with the baby coming…it's just not enough. I'm going to use the money that Dad left me."

  "Hadley, I'm really not sure that's the right decision."

  "Mom, I love you. But, I'm not asking permission. I'm twenty-two years old and I'm going to be a mother now. I have to do what's best for the baby. And for myself."

  "But, I want to help you."

  "I know, but you have to help yourself first. It's time, Mom," I said, giving her the softest expression I could as I extended my hand across the table, hoping she'd take it. She hesitated at first, but took it in her own, squeezing tight.

  "Your father would be disappointed at how I've carried on, wouldn't he?" she asked. She looked ready to accept the conversation.

  "He'd want you to move on. He'd want you to be happy. I know it may seem like a weird time for me to move out, but I think it's for the best."

  "Okay." She nodded.

  "I miss him, too," I said, looking into her eyes as they continued to water. She squeezed them tight and nodded, tightening her grip on my hand.

  "I missed him so much it physically hurt. Every single day. I thought it would get easier, but it didn't. The meds help me get through the day…and I'm terrified to go off them. I don't know if I can do it, honey."

  "I know, but there's got to be a better way. You need to feel again. The baby deserves the best of you."

  "And so do you," she said, tears spilling from her eyes. "God, I've been awful, haven't I?"

  "Not awful…just not you. And I need you."

  "I can do this," she said, taking a deep breath in and smiling a brave smile. "I can. I will. I promise."

  "Where would you li
ke this box?" I asked Haddie, holding a bundle of her belongings in my arms. She had moved into a small apartment complex in a quiet, safe area of town. It backed to a beautiful wooded area and her small balcony had a really nice view. I felt good about her living here.

  "Um…" she said as she searched the box for clues. "Oh, living room. It's picture frames and stuff."

  "Got it," I said, placing it on the coffee table.

  "This place is gorgeous," Auden said, carrying a lamp into the spare bedroom/future nursery.

  "Thanks…I think it'll be good place for the baby," Haddie said, looking guilty. I knew she felt like she was letting her mom down, but I was proud of her for putting the baby first. That's the kind of thing good mothers did.

  Just then, her mother walked into the living room, carrying several shopping bags.

  "Groceries," she said with a weak smile. "I thought we could stock your fridge."

  "Thanks, Mom," Haddie said, taking a few bags from her mom. I took them from her, giving her a wink, and placed them on the kitchen counter. I was being a little overprotective, but I didn't want her lifting anything too heavy or putting any strain on her body. Not when I was there to help.

  It took a few hours, but eventually all of Haddie's belongings were moved to her new place. Auden and I offered to take her out to dinner, but she was too wiped.

  "We can order a pizza," her mom suggested. Haddie looked pleased. I knew Haddie wanted to connect with her. The fact that she was reaching out was making an impact. Auden and I exchanged a glance, knowing we needed to give them some time together.

  We said our goodbyes and walked to our cars. I was feeling really unsettled, but I wasn't quite able to put my finger on the reason.

  "What's going on in there?" Auden asked, tapping her fingers lightly on the side of my head.