Hitts & Mrs.

by Lori Bryant-Woolridge

  “They kept coming and going. I’m not due for another two weeks so I thought they were those Braxton Hicks things. Oh, God, I think I just peed on myself,” Amanda whispered.

  Sharon noticed the thighs of Amanda’s maternity jeans were wet. “Driver, change of destination. Mount Sinai Hospital, please. And hurry,” she requested, choosing the hospital nearest to the Sarbains’.

  Amanda held tight to Sharon’s hand as they rode the rest of the way in silence. Outwardly, as Sharon helped time the contractions, she appeared calm and reassuring. Inwardly, she was cracking like a crystal water goblet at a Jessye Norman recital. Was this some kind of wacky practical joke the fates were playing on her? Be careful what you wish for, you just might get it? Or was this a we-are-the-world tutorial? God’s artistic use of poetic justice to teach her a lesson about the brotherhood of man?

  Dazed, Sharon pinched herself, hoping the pain would wake her up from this progressively bizarre nightmare. The small bruise on her arm was proof enough that she was indeed awake, even if she felt like she had fallen into the Twilight Zone. Suddenly a decision that had felt so right now was being punched full of holes by questions with answers that only created more questions.

  Why hadn’t Amanda revealed this information sooner? And had she done so, would Sharon still have agreed to adopt this baby? She had agreed to raise Amanda’s child as a single parent, knowing what a challenge that would be, but to raise a biracial child into adulthood by herself? She was a white, middle-aged, suburban housewife. What did she know about raising a child of color? And what if it was a boy? She’d seen articles about African-American men being called an endangered species. If this was true, what expertise did she have to teach this child about surviving this world as a black man? That was veering off into uncharted waters without so much as a compass. Particularly considering her recent revelations about her personal attitudes about race.

  Am I capable of loving a child who is so different than me? she wondered. Can I go through a lifetime of people staring at me and this child? Whispering behind their backs, wondering how we could be connected?

  She was forced to push all this to the side when they arrived at the hospital. Amanda’s labor pains were ten minutes apart, Sharon informed the nurse after introducing herself as the labor coach. She left the girl in the capable hands of the medical staff in order to find the nearest pay phone and call Amanda’s mother. When the maid told her that Mrs. Sarbain “was unavailable at the moment,” Sharon left a hasty message asking her to meet them at the hospital and adding that Catherine’s daughter urgently needed her. Sharon hung up, furious that the woman wasn’t home, especially since she should be expecting them to arrive at any moment.

  Sharon quickly dropped more money into the phone and punched in Gwen’s number. She needed her own source of support as she readied herself to bring this child into the world. Gwendolyn had been her rock throughout all this turmoil and Sharon was forever grateful for their friendship. Once agreeing to the adoption, Gwen had helped her find a lawyer to make it a legal reality. Sharon was surprised to learn that it was all so easy. She alone could adopt the baby. As long as Amanda and Kevin gave their consent, the baby was hers and neither John nor Catherine Sarbain could stop her. Sharon didn’t anticipate any resistance from any of the parties concerned, as she seemed to be the only one who earnestly wanted to keep and raise this baby. Or had, until half an hour ago. Now she wasn’t so sure.

  Gwen wasn’t home either. Sharon left a message, leaving out Amanda’s taxicab confession, and hung up. She took a moment to ask God to help them both get safely through this experience and then hurried back to Amanda, who had quickly progressed into active labor and had been taken to a labor/delivery room.

  Sharon and Amanda worked together, breathing through each contraction just as they’d learned in Lamaze class. While Sharon coached her through each breath and massaged her lower back, she tried to keep her poisonous thoughts from derailing her concentration. She couldn’t help thinking that this baby would be a cruel lifetime reminder of John and Melanie’s dalliance. Did she really want to put herself through that? Sharon wished so much that she could freeze this moment and take some much-needed time to think about what she was really getting into.

  An hour later, Amanda was close to being fully dilated and nearly ready to push. Sharon once again left the room to call the apartment and was told that Catherine had received the message. The maid offered no further information and Sharon, trying to keep her anger in check, hurried back to the labor/delivery room.

  “Is my mom coming?” Amanda asked as Sharon wiped the girl’s forehead.

  “She’s on her way,” Sharon said, not knowing if it was true or not. No more talk was exchanged when Amanda let out a huge cry of pain.

  “I think this baby is ready to make an appearance,” the doctor said as he and the nurse prepared for the actual delivery. While they spread the sterile drapes and arranged their instruments, Sharon talked to Amanda, softly congratulating her on being so brave and wonderful, encouraging her to hang in there. Even though her labor had progressed quickly for a first-time pregnancy, Amanda was exhausted.

  “Where’s my mom?” Amanda asked again, squeezing Sharon’s hand.

  “She’ll be here soon,” Sharon promised, cursing Catherine Sarbain all the while.

  Sharon stood at Amanda’s side, positioned where she could both provide comfort and witness the actual birth. She watched in amazement as the baby’s head began to crown. The doctor instructed Mandy to stop pushing as he helped ease the head out. Sharon observed in quiet awe as they suctioned the baby’s nose and mouth before assisting the shoulders and torso. The rest of the body slid out easily, and immediately the room came alive with the thin cry of their newborn son.

  “It’s a boy!” Sharon told Amanda as she gave her a warm kiss. Mandy gazed with intense curiosity at her baby as the doctor placed him on her abdomen. He was a wrinkled, slightly scrawny, puffy-eyed bundle, not quite the little cherub she’d expected. His head was huge and slightly pointed and covered with a thatch of straight black hair. She tried to find herself and Kevin in his face, but the baby was still too smooshed from his journey through the birth canal to really tell.

  Physically, she was tired and thirsty, relieved that this part of the ordeal was over. Emotionally, Amanda was a mishmash of feelings. She felt vaguely connected to this child, and yet strangely disengaged. More like a sister than a mother. Maybe it was the circumstances surrounding his conception and birth that prevented her from feeling particularly maternal. Or maybe she was just like Catherine—a depressing thought that made her glad she had decided to give the baby to Sharon. Amanda reached out and lightly brushed the baby’s wet head. Even though she didn’t want to raise this child, she was glad that Sharon did, so she could still maintain some contact.

  “Would you like to cut the umbilical cord?” the doctor asked Sharon. She nervously snipped the cord right above the clamp and the nurse immediately whisked the newborn away to the warming table to clean him up and evaluate his condition. Once he was declared healthy and fit, the nurse swaddled the infant and presented him to Amanda.

  “Why don’t you give him to his mother?” Amanda suggested as her true emotions emerged. Mandy smiled as she watched the woman she viewed as her best friend fall in love with her baby, just like a real parent would. Seeing them together, Amanda realized that the reason she didn’t feel like a mom was because all along she’d considered herself a surrogate for Sharon. She was so happy that the news about Kevin had not dissuaded Sharon from wanting her baby.

  Sharon accepted the newborn and examined every aspect of his angelic face. His skin was light, with undertones more yellow than pink. The rims of his little ears were darker, revealing that his true skin color would deepen. Sharon peered into this child’s open eyes and touched his tiny hands, counting every wonderful finger. Her earlier apprehensions about Melanie and John, about race and color and her ability to love past them tried to barge
their way into this tender moment, but the realization that she already adored this tiny little creature blocked their advance.

  “Happy birthday, baby boy,” she whispered as she cuddled him closer. Sharon reached over to hold Amanda’s hand, overwhelmed with emotion for both her baby and his birth mother. This was such an amazing and sacred exchange between them. A mutual gift, wrapped in unqualified love and blind trust.

  “What are you going to name him?” Amanda asked.

  “I don’t know. I haven’t really decided,” Sharon admitted before the nurse gently took him from her arms and carried him off to the nursery.

  “I like Craig Arthur Carlson,” Amanda weighed in.

  “Amanda Rose, are you in here?” an affected voice interrupted, before the poster child for New York’s social register burst through the door. “Oh, my God. You’ve already delivered,” Catherine Sarbain gasped. She surveyed the scene with a critical eye before going to her daughter and delivering a perfunctory kiss.

  “Hi, Mommy,” Amanda said, sounding like the young girl she still was. “I had a boy.”

  “Are you all right?” Catherine inquired, completely ignoring the reference to her newborn grandson.

  “Yes. This is Sharon Carlson. I’m sorry you had to find out this way, but I didn’t know how to tell you,” Amanda said before breaking into tears. Sharon’s heart broke for her as she watched Mandy drowning in self-recrimination while looking desperately toward her mother to toss her a forgiving lifeline.

  “I already knew, darling. Sharon told me months ago,” Catherine admitted, pushing a stray hair from the girl’s face. Amanda looked up at Sharon, her eyes full of confusion. Sharon knew exactly what she was thinking, and after all the girl had been through, Sharon couldn’t bear the thought of Amanda being hurt this way.

  “I’m sorry, Amanda, but I thought it was best that your mother knew what was going on, so I called her in Tokyo. She wanted to come right away, but I finally convinced her to wait until you were closer to delivering,” Sharon said as she looked first at Amanda and then at Catherine. “But we hadn’t anticipated cutting it quite this close,” she said, trying to add a bit of levity.

  “Yes, dear. It was Sharon’s idea that I wait or you know I would have come immediately,” Catherine lied, suddenly feeling embarrassed by her delay not only in returning to the States, but getting to the hospital. She didn’t reveal that she’d been sitting in the lobby for twenty minutes trying to figure out how to deal with the situation. How could this have happened? Yes, she knew of at least three of her friends whose daughters had found themselves in this unfortunate predicament, but they didn’t have the child. If only Amanda had come to her she would have taken care of it quickly and quietly before anyone was the wiser. But not only had Amanda carried the baby to term, she had actually given birth in New York. They’d agreed that Sharon would arrange for the birth to take place in a Connecticut hospital, not in Catherine’s own backyard.

  “Mommy, Sharon is going to adopt the baby and she’s going to let me see him whenever I want,” Amanda said, unable to contain her yawn.

  “Really. That is very nice of her, isn’t it?” Catherine said, arching her right eyebrow in surprise. “You’re tired, dear. I’ve arranged for a private room, so while they move you and you get a little rest, Sharon and I need to have a little chat.”

  “How could you promise her that?” Catherine barked once they had settled into a niche off the corridor. “I agreed to this arrangement because I thought you would be taking this baby away and Amanda could get back to her normal life.”

  “This is the way Amanda wants it.”

  “I don’t care what she wants. I am her mother.”

  Then why don’t you act like one? Sharon wanted to scream at the woman. “Catherine, I’ve spent a lot of time with Amanda recently. I think she needs this connection to her child, and I have no problem with it.”

  “Is this about money? Well, you can forget about it. We will not pay you one cent.”

  “I don’t need your money,” Sharon said, appalled at the suggestion. “This is about your daughter and grandchild.” Sharon could see the discomfort rising up under Catherine’s perfectly made-up face.

  “Well, it’s really a moot point, because as soon as she has recovered, Amanda Rose will be going off to boarding school in England,” Catherine said, once again refusing to acknowledge the baby.

  “Don’t do that to her,” Sharon protested strongly. “Amanda is a wonderful girl. Sending her away like that will suffocate the life out of her.”

  “I don’t think I need you to tell me what’s best for my own child.”

  “I think you do, because you have no idea who Amanda is and how much she loves and needs you.” Despite the awful way you ignore her, Sharon thought but didn’t speak. “Do you know how I met your daughter? She was trying to steal a pair of jeans from Bloomingdale’s.”

  “That’s ridiculous! She has a very substantial allowance. Amanda does not need to steal anything.”

  “She didn’t even want the jeans. She wanted to get caught so you would stay here with her, instead of going to Japan with your husband. Amanda didn’t want to get pregnant. She didn’t even want to have sex—not really. What she did want was for the boy she loved to love her back. Maybe if she felt loved at home, she wouldn’t have had to look elsewhere for it.”

  “She told you all of this?” Catherine asked. The harsh impact of the truth caused her voice to crumble along with her haughty demeanor.

  “Yes. We talk quite a bit. And she’d talk to you too if you’d only pay attention to her and act like you’re interested in who she really is—not who you want her to be. Catherine, Amanda is a remarkable young woman. She has given me back a part of myself I didn’t even know I’d lost. Don’t cheat yourself out of experiencing her love. And don’t cheat her out of yours.”

  “I do love her. I do,” Catherine insisted, finally revealing some tenderness. “It’s just that she’s so different from me. We don’t like the same things or people. I don’t understand her.”

  “She’s a teenager. You’re not supposed to like the same things.”

  “And my life…`well, it’s so complicated.”

  “That’s definitely something we have in common.”

  “I just got married again and this time it has to work. I refuse to be divorced a third time. Nelson travels so much. I’m afraid if I’m not with him, I’ll lose him.”

  “Trying to keep a marriage together is hard, but what kind of man makes you choose between him and your child?” Sharon asked.

  “Nelson likes Amanda. He wanted her to come with us to Tokyo, but she said no, and I agreed because we’d just gotten married. Amanda is very stubborn and independent. I thought she’d be okay….” Catherine’s voice trailed off as she too heard the frailty of her excuses.

  “Spend some time with your daughter. Talk with her. You’ll find out that she needs her mother. In fact, she asked for you several times today.”

  “Really? She never acts like she needs anything. Sharon, I owe you an apology. And, it appears, a huge debt of gratitude.”

  “You owe me nothing. Your daughter gave me the one thing I’ve always wanted, and I want to repay her by helping her get back the only thing she really wants—you.”

  “Maybe I’d better get back to her now,” Catherine said.

  “I’m going to stop by the nursery. Why don’t you come with me?”

  The two women walked back toward the glass room that housed the city’s newest tenants. Several people, some alone, others in small family clusters, gathered around the windows, all trying to take a peek at their own little arrivals. Fifteen feet from the nursery, Catherine stopped and turned to Sharon.

  “No. I can’t,” she said softly, as she turned and walked back down the hall to join her daughter.

  Sharon continued to the nursery and pressed her face up against the window. She scanned the rows of isolettes in front of her, looking for baby Weiss, soon
to be Carlson, among all the pink and blue bundles. She couldn’t find him in the group in front of her so she turned the corner and peered through the second glass wall. There he was, asleep in the second row, surrounded by a virtual rainbow of colorful faces, all peeking out from tiny knit caps. She watched as the nurses went about their duties—feeding, changing, soothing—doing whatever was needed to make the newborns’ welcome to the world less traumatic.

  Sharon stood for several moments, staring in wonder at all the little babies. They came into this world the same way, each exotic seedling waiting for the care and nurturing he or she needed to blossom. And no matter what variation of bloom, they all required the same the thing—loving attention. At that moment Sharon realized that even if she didn’t know everything about the flower in her care, there were plenty of experts to help grow her little bud into adulthood.

  She watched with wonder each breath he took, before breaking into laughter. John was never going to believe how much they now had in common.

  Sharon arrived at St. Paul’s shortly after five o’clock. John’s doctors were in the middle of an examination, so Sharon decided to go down to the cafeteria and grab a cup of coffee until they finished.

  She settled into her seat and pulled out the mail. She put aside the catalogs and began sorting through the letters, separating the junk mail into one pile, bills in another and personal correspondence in a third. She opened a note from Betsy at the club, who was writing to extend her warm wishes for John’s full recovery, followed by an invitation to a thousand-dollar-a-plate political fundraiser, before she got to an envelope addressed to her in a cruelly familiar script. Sharon immediately recognized it from the letters she’d found in John’s old briefcase a lifetime ago.

  Her immediate reflex was to tear the letter in two. She had no desire to read anything this woman had to say, but curiosity gnawed away her disdain and she ripped open the seal and pulled out two sheets of paper.