All the Good Parts

by Loretta Nyhan

  “And you are an expert . . . how?” she asked.

  “I’m almost an adult,” Maura said. “I understand more than you know.”

  “Is that right? Okay, then, sit on the bed. Join the circle of women.”

  There was a scary gleam in Carly’s eyes, and I worried about which emotions my questions had unleashed. Maura, no slouch when it came to discerning her mother’s moods, noticed as well, her movements slow and careful. I tossed her a pillow, and she stretched over the bed, resting her elbow on it.

  Carly clapped her hands together. “If you’re really thinking seriously about getting pregnant, let’s talk practicalities. Where are you going to live with this baby?”

  I gestured around us. “Here. Why not?”

  Carly glanced around the room as if she hadn’t seen it a thousand times. “Here. In the basement.”

  “It’s a nice basement,” Maura said.

  “Grandma Silvie lived in a garden apartment when she had Dad,” I countered. “He slept in a dresser drawer until he was six months old, remember?”

  “Your dresser is from IKEA,” Carly said flatly. “It can barely handle your days-of-the-week underwear. Don’t romanticize sacrifice.”

  “If you’re going to be so discouraging, why are we even bothering to talk about this?”

  “I’m trying to map this out for you,” she said. “You need to see all the variables.”

  “I have given it some thought already.”

  “Okay, then, have you looked into how exactly you’re going to make this baby happen?”

  I swallowed audibly. “I have. I’ve researched adoption, artificial insemination, freezing my eggs . . .”

  “And?”

  “Adoption is too expensive. So is freezing my eggs.”

  “Uh-huh,” Carly said. “Babies are expensive.”

  “I was hoping to use a donor.”

  “What kind of donation do you need?” Maura asked innocently.

  “Sperm,” Carly said, too loudly. “She needs sperm.”

  Maura nodded, her pale face going up in flames.

  “The problem with that is I don’t know any men,” I admitted. We sat there for a quiet moment, meditating on my general lack of contact with the opposite sex.

  “What about Dad?” Maura suggested. “It’s a donation, right? Like giving to UNICEF?”

  “It is nothing at all like giving to UNICEF,” Carly snapped. “No way,” she said to me. “He’s exhausted enough as it is.”

  “I would never ask Donal,” I exclaimed, overdoing it a little because the thought had crossed my mind. “That would be too weird.”

  “Way too weird,” Carly murmured, lost in thought. “So, how are you going to manage this? You need a suitable man—healthy, willing, and generally decent looking. Where do you intend to find him? At Costco on a Saturday afternoon? Craigslist?”

  “People sell organs on Craigslist, don’t they?” I said, only half kidding. “Maybe it’s not such a stretch, and it’d probably be cheaper. The sperm bank wants five hundred dollars a vial.”

  Carly rolled her eyes. “It must be run by men. Only they’d premium price such a cheap commodity.”

  “Very funny.”

  During our exchange, Maura filched my Community Health notebook from the floor, along with a black marker. She turned to a clean page, wrote something on it, and passed the notebook to me.

  POSSIBLE DONORS, it said across the top in Maura’s girlish handwriting.

  I wrinkled my nose. “Doesn’t that sound a little skeezy? Like I’m a gold digger?”

  Carly crossed out DONORS and replaced it with BABY DADDIES. “That better?”

  “Eww,” Maura piped in.

  “I can live with that title,” I said, taking the notebook and pen. “It’s more honest. But I still don’t know any men.”

  “Yes, you do,” Maura said, sitting up. “Garrett.”

  “The homeless math tutor.”

  “That’s just mean, Auntie Lee. He’s nice, and smart, too.”

  She looked so proud of her suggestion I wrote it down. “Do we know his last name?”

  Carly shifted uncomfortably. “I don’t remember.”

  Unable to resist, I shot her a look and wrote “the tutor” after Garrett’s name. “Okay, I’m going to add Mr. Pietrowski.”

  Carly snorted. “The home-health patient? Isn’t he seventy years old, and an amputee?”

  “He’s sixty-eight and very strong,” I said, feeling defensive. “With an awesome sense of humor.”

  “Put him on the list,” Maura demanded, clearly enjoying herself. She looked at me expectantly after I scrawled Jerry’s name, but I didn’t have anyone else to add. Desperate, I racked my brain.

  “We could add Jerry’s son, Paul.” I tried not to think of Paul’s condescending dismissal of me.

  Carly’s eyebrow lifted. “Jerry has a son? You’ve never mentioned him.”

  “He’s kind of an asshole,” I said, and then winced in Maura’s direction. “Sorry.”

  “Jerk,” Carly said quickly. “He’s a jerk.”

  Maura smiled and grabbed the notebook. “You two are such weirdos. I’m writing Paul under Jerry’s name,” she said. “With asshole next to it in parentheses.”

  “Hey, there,” Carly warned. “You are lucky to even be a part of this conversation.”

  “We’re talking about my future cousin. My only cousin. I should participate.” Maura wiggled with excitement. “Who else?”

  Who else? The list was pathetic enough already, so I didn’t feel bad suggesting Darryl.

  “Who’s Darryl?” both Carly and Maura asked simultaneously.

  “My online study buddy. He’s witty, and in school, so he’s ambitious?” I grimaced as I wrote down his name. “Maybe?”

  “I don’t mean to be a buzzkill,” Carly announced, obviously having no problem with it, “but if he’s an online student, he can be from anywhere, even overseas, right?”

  My hopes, suddenly and irrationally pinned to Darryl, deflated. “I’ll ask him where he lives next time we message each other, and—oh, God—this is ridiculous! How could I possibly ask any of these men to father my child? I barely know them. They’ll think I’m a lunatic.”

  “You are a lunatic,” Carly said, though her voice had regained some of its warmth. “That’s why we love you.”

  “I’m your only sibling. You have to accept my weirdness, or you’ll be all alone in the world.”

  “I’m not alone in the world. Have you noticed the disaster that is my house lately? I live with five tornadoes.”

  She was kidding, but I couldn’t help but think, She’s not alone. But I am. Before I could take another breath, tears sprang to my eyes. As I wiped them away, Maura put her head on my shoulder.

  “Maura, go upstairs and try to get some sleep,” Carly said, watching me. “I want to have an adult conversation with Auntie Lee.”

  “No. I’m old enough to stay.”

  “What did you say?”

  “I said no,” she replied, but the Ping-Pong ball had ricocheted again, to something a little less forceful, more of a question than anything else.

  Carly was silent a moment before saying, “Why is it I have to be honest with you all the time now? When did that happen?”

  Maura shot a quick, frantic glance toward me, and shrugged as if to say, How in the world do I answer that?

  I shook my head. No idea.

  “I want to say some things to Auntie Lee that might embarrass her,” Carly explained slowly, an edge to her voice. “If you’re here, she’ll feel even worse. Got it?”

  Maura opened her mouth, horrified. “Oh. You’re really going to do that?”

  Carly gave her a push. “The thing to do right now is go.”

  “It’s okay,” I said, pasting on a smile. “We’re just going to talk.”

  “I don’t think it’s nice to embarrass anyone,” Maura said as she unfolded her legs and scooted off the bed.

  “Ad
ults understand that sometimes in trying to be nice, you end up being mean,” Carly pronounced.

  Maura made a face. “That makes no sense at all.”

  “I don’t care,” Carly boomed, her patience worn to nothing. “Upstairs. Now.”

  With a great deal of feigned exertion, Maura huffed and puffed up the stairs with a heavy foot, her sighs blowing with more force than the air wafting through our ancient vents. When the sound of her steps faded to nothing, Carly said, “You sure you want one of those?”

  “I know you think it’s crazy, but I do.”

  “I don’t think it’s crazy,” she said. “I think it’s irresponsible. Think about it as something other than a fairy tale for just a minute. Even if you found some guy to help you out, you know how hard it is to raise a kid when there’s not enough money. You witness it every single day. That’s what I don’t understand. How could you possibly think this decision is a good one for you or a baby?”

  “I’m not ashamed of my financial situation because I’m working to improve it.” I hugged a pillow to my stomach. “Do you really think I’m being irresponsible?”

  She thought for a moment. “What you’re contemplating is irresponsible.”

  “I don’t see the difference.”

  “It’s there, but slight.”

  “Is this supposed to be the embarrassing part?”

  “Isn’t all of it embarrassing?” Carly said, turning away when she realized I wasn’t going to agree. Her profile reminded me of Sargent’s Madame X, beautiful and haughty and so certain of her superiority, and it rankled me. Why was it when someone wanted to do something out of the ordinary, others countered the impulse with shame?

  “You’re jealous,” I blurted out.

  She faced me, her expression blank. “There is not one single thing I’ve said to substantiate that accusation. Why would I be jealous of you?”

  “If I want to change my life, I don’t have to answer to anyone but myself.” Which was honestly terrifying—I hadn’t trusted myself with much more than my own basic survival—but I wasn’t about to discuss that with Carly.

  “We aren’t talking about what I can and can’t do,” she countered. “But if I wanted to change my life, I would.” She snapped her fingers. “That quick. I’m capable of making a decision and following through.”

  “And I’m not?” I said, knowing I was walking straight into a trap but unable to help myself.

  Carly took a breath, gearing up. “You’ve never made a decision in your life. Think about it. Things happen to you and you react. You let people steer you one way, and then another, and then another, like you’re a shopping cart with a wonky wheel. Don’t fool yourself, Lee, that’s not making a decision.”

  “That isn’t true,” I said weakly, my will faltering because I knew what she still had in her arsenal. When she hit me with it, it would hurt.

  “How can you deny it? When we were in high school, I thought the sun rose and set on your spiky-haired head. You were so cool, so different, so talented. You had opportunities, and you floated past them without ever stopping long enough to give yourself a shot. And then you left college, and Andrew—”

  “Stop. Please, just stop. If you start listing my failures, we’ll be up until dawn.”

  Surprisingly, she fell silent. I concentrated on the light sound of her breathing, searching for something to soothe my jumpy nerves. When my eyes began to drift shut, Carly spoke again.

  “This can be about choice, but it doesn’t have to be about that particular one,” she said, her tone more measured. “I want you to have options, and I want you to pursue them with everything you’ve got. You can argue with me, but I’ve never seen you actually make a choice and follow through. I’ve never seen you put in the effort.”

  “No,” I said. “That’s not right and I can prove it.”

  She sighed. “How?”

  “Nursing school. I’m almost done, and when I am, I’ll have something for myself. I’ll have done something for myself.”

  “Nursing school was Dad’s idea,” Carly said. “And even then you chose to study online. You never had to leave this basement, never had to put yourself out there.”

  “I have a job,” I said, my voice breaking.

  “Yeah,” Carly said. “You’ve got a job.” She tossed the pillow from my lap and grasped my hands. “Answer quickly—why do you want a baby? Are you lonely? Bored? Worried about getting old?”

  “Are those bad reasons?”

  “No, they’re just things that can be fixed more simply.”

  “Don’t make it sound so superficial,” I said, trying to grab hold of my squirming thoughts. “I just feel, deep down, in my bones, that I’m meant—”

  “Don’t give me that internal-voice bullshit,” Carly interrupted. “It’s not your intuition, that voice whispering in your ear. It’s past regret trying to glom on to your future, plain and simple. It’s a furry little weasel who messes with your head and makes you do irrational things in the desperate hope that you can make up for whatever you lost.” She squeezed my fingers. “This baby is not going to happen, Lee, and that’s okay. You’ve got to give yourself that message so you can let other things happen.”

  “What if this is what I want? Shouldn’t I try?”

  Her eyes softened. “Oh, babe. With who? An amputee? A homeless guy?”

  “I thought you liked Garrett.”

  “I do like him, but he’s one of those people who comes into your life to play a role and then departs when he’s finished the job. He’s not father material.”

  “Doesn’t that make him perfect?”

  “You’re not seeing the point.”

  “What I see is pretty clear. You don’t think I’m mother material.”

  She shook her head vehemently. “That’s not what I’m saying at all. If how you treat my children is any indication, you’d be a wonderful mother. But that’s beside the point. Don’t you get that? Dr. Bridge recklessly planted that baby seed. You’re watering it and weeding out other goals because you don’t see yourself as capable of achieving them, but you are! Apply to grad school, take a trip, find a man—you can do whatever you want. You have never allowed yourself to pursue that kind of freedom, Lee, and you can’t blow that chance by getting knocked up. A baby is just one more person to lead you around life by the nose. You’re almost forty. Aren’t you done with that shit?”

  The silence Carly left in her wake felt heavy but agitated, and I didn’t go back to sleep right away. I propped my pillow against the headboard and leaned back while trying to mentally re-create our conversation. Arguments with Carly always required some postgame analysis and armchair psychologizing. Was she really saying what she meant? Was I being honest with myself? Underneath our words lay the fossils of past battles, hardened and immovable and revealing of our core selves. Carly was bold and smart and convinced she was right. I was introverted and emotional and usually willing to accept her rightness. Was it time we finally evolved into something different?

  I did have to admit she wasn’t out of line to question me. Was I being honest about why I wanted a baby? I was lonely. The thought of growing old alone made me twitchy and nauseous. Activity kept boredom from edging into the unfilled cracks in my life, but only temporarily. Those reasons weren’t shameful, but they did strike of narcissism. The decision to bring a child into the world had to mean more to me than that.

  I want a baby. Just thinking it put me on the defensive. Was there anything so fraught with conflicted emotion as wanting something just for yourself? Was I so used to camouflaging my impulses that I couldn’t recognize their merit?

  Why had I said yes to Dr. Bridge? What was it I’d felt in her office?

  Sure.

  I’d felt sure.

  Maybe my internal voice wasn’t the zombielike past reaching out to grab hold of my brain, but my future self, doing her best to shove me down the right path. She didn’t speak in a whisper, but shouted like a passenger on a plane spiralin
g downward. She said what people usually did when they thought they might not make it—she talked about what was important. She talked about love.

  And that’s why I’d said yes to Dr. Bridge. I had to remember—the end goal of this whole thing was love.

  I propped the notebook on my lap and studied the four names on our list:

  Garrett the tutor

  Jerry Pietrowski

  Paul (asshole)

  Darryl

  Ridiculous, I thought. Unrealistic. Pathetic. Desperate. And, in Jerry’s case, unethical.

  But those words, even if they were true, tumbled through me without leaving a mark. Donal’s words were the ones that stuck, the ones that etched themselves onto the marrow of my bones—I don’t think it’s wrong for you to pursue this love. I almost think it’s necessary . . .

  I was looking for permission to proceed, and now I’d gotten it twice, from my brother-in-law and Jerry Pietrowski.

  Could I grant it to myself?

  I studied the list again. Garrett. Jerry. Paul. Darryl. Four men who had no clue I existed six months ago, and might not remember me in a year. It didn’t matter. They were a start. They could—and probably would—say no if I asked, but in even considering them I’d be telling the universe, out loud, that I was ready to make some changes.

  Pursue this love . . .

  I would.

  CHAPTER 7

  Nursing 320 (Online): Community Health

  Private Message—Leona A to Darryl K

  Leona A: Did you finish the quiz?

  Darryl K: Are you kidding? It isn’t due until tonight at midnight. Why? Don’t tell me you’re done.

  Leona A: Turned it in last night, sucka!

  Darryl K: Brownnose. Don’t you know that you should never appear too eager, in any situation? People will question your confidence.

  Leona A: Or they’ll think I’m supremely organized, ambitious, and hardworking. (I am none of these things. But I am very good at giving the appearance of such online.)