He Gets That from Me

by Jacqueline Friedland

  There’s a knock on the front door and then I can hear Chip welcoming our guests.

  “Here.” I hand Kai the plate of colorful French macarons I picked up from the bakery, then place a hand on his back. “Come on.”

  I round the corner and see Maggie’s familiar, smiling face as she greets Chip, and I can tell, even on first glance, that the smile is forced, that she is nervous. She sees me and her face transforms, the smile turning genuine for a moment, softening and reaching her eyes, and she opens her mouth to says something—but then her eyes drop down toward Kai and the color immediately drains from her face.

  “Kai.” She says it on a gasp of air, as if her voice has failed her. She steps toward him and then freezes, unsure. I give him a slight nudge, sending him forward to greet her properly.

  “Hi,” he says as he begins to study her.

  “Hi,” she repeats, her eyes glued to my son’s face with reverence, as Nick steps up beside her and looks down at him too.

  “Hello, Kai,” Nick says. “I’m Nick.” He holds out his hand to shake, and I’m grateful to him for trying to normalize this moment.

  Kai shakes back, the expression on his face somber, earnest.

  “Can I, would it be okay if I gave you a hug?” Maggie asks.

  Kai doesn’t look at me for guidance, like I expect him to; he simply lets go of Nick’s hand and nods back like the sweet child that he is.

  As she lowers herself to hug him, I try to imagine what this must be like for her, and I simply cannot. Those days after the Relativity test, when I thought we might have been given the wrong baby in the hospital, that our child could have been switched with another family’s at birth, I ached for the son I thought we had sent to the wrong home. I see the same anguish in the quiver of Maggie’s shoulders as she moves toward Kai, in the tightness of her jaw as she wraps her arms around him. Her eyes close, and it’s as if she is trying inhale Kai back into her body, to breathe in his essence and find her own breath through his.

  Kai is still holding the porcelain dish full of pastel macarons. He uses his free hand to gently hug back, a token gesture born of his polite nature. Just as I begin to wonder if I need to separate them, Maggie pulls back and looks up at me, her eyes wet. My eyes dart away from hers, and it’s only then that I notice Maggie and Nick are not alone: Wyatt is with them, lurking in the open doorway, a look of uncertainty on his face.

  “Wyatt!” I exclaim too loudly, forgetting myself, as I take in this man-child who I last beheld when he was a messy toddler. He’s grown into himself in a way you wouldn’t expect of a thirteen-year-old. Rather than an awkward stage, Wyatt seems to be moving toward his golden age. His curls, once so wild and endearing, have been tamed into a closely cut style leaving only a hint of a wave to his rich brown hair. He’s tall, like Nick, though lanky still, in the way of childhood. He turns to me, startled, when I call his name, and the look of surprise, of apprehension, renders his features so similar to Kai’s that I have to catch my breath.

  “Come in,” I say, keeping my voice steady, trying to put us all at ease. “I haven’t seen you since you were two, three?” I glance at Maggie, and she nods with pride about her grown boy. “Don’t worry, I won’t pinch your cheek,” I joke. I don’t say what I’m really thinking, which is that I thought Maggie and Nick were coming alone. As if this wasn’t awkward enough.

  Maggie looks over at Wyatt and holds out a hand.

  “Come,” she says softly. “Meet your brother.”

  My eyes dart immediately to Teddy, who is standing over by the sofa, dipping a carrot into the bowl of tzatziki. He doesn’t look up, doesn’t display any sign of having noticed Maggie’s words, but I’m fairly certain he just felt a dagger in his solar plexus. Lord knows I did.

  “Hey.” Wyatt says, as he remains near the door but tips his chin up in greeting—a little too-cool-for-school, if you ask me.

  “Hi,” Kai says again.

  “Can I get one of those cookies?” Wyatt asks, looking at the plate.

  Kai lifts the platter a little higher up as he walks closer to him. “They’re from L’Etoile,” he boasts, mentioning my favorite French bakery.

  “Which color is best?” Wyatt asks, and I’m heartened by the question, by Wyatt’s aplomb in this moment. I know that when it comes to macarons, Kai has much to say about the pros and cons of each cookie, so I turn to Maggie and Nick.

  “Drinks,” I say, and motion them toward the wet bar.

  I try to make small talk as I pour a glass of Perrier for Maggie and then an orange juice for Nick.

  “Wait!” Maggie suddenly blurts, turning to Wyatt like she’s just realized something. He stops with a chocolate macaron halfway to his mouth. “Nuts. They’re macarons, right?” she asks me.

  “Is he allergic? I’m so sorry; we should have checked.” I grab a striped cocktail napkin from the counter. “Here, put it here.” I hold out the napkin to Wyatt and hurry back to the kitchen, where I find an old package of Oreos in the cabinet and start piling cookies onto a plain white dinner plate. Kai was deathly allergic to eggs as a baby; I wonder now if allergies are a Wingate family trait.

  When I return to the living room and hold the cookies out to Wyatt, Nick says, “Now you’ll have a friend for life. Oreos are his favorite.”

  “Mine, too!” Kai says with excitement, his eyes opening wide. I see a new enthusiasm dawning in his face at the wonderment of similarity. “What else do you like?”

  “Guys, come sit,” I interrupt, and I shepherd everyone toward the sofa.

  Kai sits down next to Teddy, so close he’s almost on top of him, but Teddy doesn’t scoot over to make room. Instead, he stays right where he is, his shoulder half-covered by Kai’s, as if their bodies can simply meld into each other.

  “Well,” Wyatt starts as he sits on the chair catty corner to the sofa. “My favorites are pizza, lasagna, wings . . .”

  Kai nods enthusiastically about Wyatt’s impeccable taste as he continues his list. As we listen to the boys talk, I take the opportunity to size up Maggie and Nick. Nick looks the same as I remember—rugged and handsome in that devil-may-care kind of way. Maggie is different, though. Her curly hair is shorter, now reaching only to her shoulders, and she has lines around her eyes that weren’t there the last time I saw her. She holds herself differently than she used to, as well, and I can’t decide whether I’m detecting a posture of wisdom or resignation.

  “That’s the basics,” Wyatt is saying, now that he has listed every comfort food known to man. “I also like a lot of fancier things,” he adds, “like coq au vin and veal marsala. Did you know that my dad—our dad,” he corrects with a self-conscious half smile, “is a chef?”

  Even though no one else was speaking, the room suddenly gets much quieter.

  “Wyatt,” Nick says, and then he looks over at Chip uncertainly.

  “No, that’s okay,” Chip says. “Wyatt, we haven’t really figured out yet what Kai should call your mom and dad. We thought that after we got together today, maybe we could come up with something that made everyone comfortable.”

  Kai is looking at Teddy while Chip is talking.

  Wyatt nods.

  “Having two dads can be confusing enough. Three dads”— Chip shakes his head with a smile—“sounds like the beginning of a bad musical.”

  “And another brother,” Wyatt adds with a small chuckle.

  Kai smiles at that, his cheeks pinking up. Teddy leans forward and grabs three Oreos from the plate on the table before wiggling back into place, wedged against Kai.

  “Teddy, why don’t you show everyone the baby book?” I suggest. Now that the ice has been broken, we could use a little something to do.

  Teddy seems hesitant, but he leans to the side and reaches to where the album has been hidden behind him. When he hands it to Maggie, she studies the cover for a moment and then turns to Nick.

  “Wait, is this—this is the book that you sent, isn’t it?”

  Nick sits up to look
over her shoulder.

  “Huh. Yeah, I guess it is.” His voice is clearly filled with wonder, as if he can’t believe we kept it.

  “You’re sure it’s okay?” Maggie looks over at me.

  “Go ahead.” I stand and walk behind the couch so I can see the pages of the book as they open it up.

  “I remember you guys just like that,” Maggie says to Kai and Teddy when she looks at the picture on the first page. It’s a shot of the babies side by side, swaddled in their matching hospital blankets, knit caps on their tiny heads, just a few hours after they were born. There are some action shots from the delivery room, too—Chip cutting the cord, me reaching out to the doctor for Teddy. You can make out a corner of Maggie’s hospital gown in a few of the pictures. I wonder if she notices the pieces of herself in the photos.

  She begins turning the pages, reading the little notes I’ve written about each event. The first time the kids slept through the night, when they ate solid food, when first teeth grew in, a lock of hair from each boy taped into the book in tiny, clear plastic bags. We didn’t cut Teddy’s hair until he was eighteen months old, but Kai’s hair grew like crazy and had to be cut when he was only seven months old. I watch as Maggie pores over the pages, smiling at intervals, running her hands appreciatively against the card stock.

  I’m surprised that perusing this book with Maggie, Nick, and Wyatt feels so much more gratifying than showing it to friends, or even our parents. Maggie and Nick care about each milestone, each photo, in a way that friends or more distant relatives never would. I also feel such a strong sense of pride with each turn of a page, as we showcase for these people what an excellent job Chip and I have done raising our children. Look how happy and secure we’ve made their upbringing, I want to say, what a loving home we’ve given them, how much we adore and nurture them.

  When we finally finish flipping through the book, I’m feeling so much more at peace than I was when the day started. I’m glad now that Chip convinced me to allow the Wingates to visit, to tell Kai everything we know about his history. I get the sense that Maggie and Nick are feeling more relaxed, as well, as smiles and small talk are flowing easily now.

  Nick finally glances at his watch and gives Maggie a pointed look. “We should get going,” he says, looking over at Chip. “We’re meeting Maggie’s sister and her new husband for a late lunch.”

  “He’s not new anymore, Dad.” Wyatt says this like it’s a statement he’s made several times in the past, and then he glances at me. “My aunt and uncle. They’ve been married a year and a half already.”

  I begin formulating a sage statement about how time passes differently for adults and kids, but Wyatt’s focus has already returned to Kai. “You have another aunt and uncle to meet,” Wyatt says.

  “Cool.” Kai is noncommittal, and I’m glad the Wingates are readying themselves to leave.

  “I forgot you had a sister in the city,” Chip says as everyone rises from their seats.

  Maggie reaches for the vegetable platter on the coffee table, where only a few spurned slices of red pepper remain. She lifts it like she’s going to bring it into the kitchen for us.

  “Leave it,” I say. “Please.”

  She looks uncertainly toward the kitchen and then places the platter back on the table.

  Nick shakes Teddy’s hand and says how nice it was to meet him, at last, and Teddy seems to puff up under his praise. Nick then shifts his focus to Kai.

  “Kai,” he says, looking down at my boy. His boy. My boy. They look at each other for a long moment, and I wonder if there are silent messages passing between them, or if they are simply taking each other in. A boy and his father. But not really his father. “You ever need anything,” Nick finally says, his voice unsteady, “there’s nothing we wouldn’t do for you.”

  Kai nods, solemnly, like he understands the weight of the words he’s been told.

  Maggie is standing beside Nick and she sighs loudly.

  She puts her hand on Kai’s shoulder, and we all look on, waiting to hear what she’s going to say.

  She opens her mouth to speak, and then closes it again. When she starts a second time, the words she blurts nearly stop my heart. “You could come live with us,” she declares. “We’re your family too, whatever the labels.”

  “Maggie,” Nick says.

  She ignores him and keeps speaking to Kai. “You’re welcome with us, if that’s where you think you should be.”

  “Maggie.” Nick says it more forcefully this time.

  “I’m just saying so he knows,” she snaps at him. “Somebody has to say it!” She looks back at Kai. “We would have wanted you then if we had known. And we want you now.”

  Chapter 21

  MAGGIE

  AUGUST 2018

  It’s only 11:00 a.m., but the humidity is already stifling as we walk the three blocks from the subway station to the Rigsdales’ apartment. When we finally reach the chilled air of the lobby, I become more aware of the sweat that has accumulated beneath my hair, along my neckline, in the valley between my breasts. As we step into the elevator, I’m tempted to rub my forehead against Wyatt’s shoulder, to dry my damp skin, transfer my nerves to his cotton T-shirt. I find a crumpled tissue in my purse and blot it against my face. It’s not helping nearly enough.

  “You’re fine,” Nick says, even as his own fingers tap nervously against his thigh. We are all on edge. I do not own this moment alone. I’m still unsure we were right to bring Wyatt here with us. Over dessert last night, Nick’s parents convinced us that our firstborn son ought to be included in this historic family moment. With the sweet taste of cinnamon babka in my mouth, I agreed, but now, in the light of day, I’m wondering whether this would be easier if Nick and I were tackling the meeting alone. I realize now that I should have forewarned Donovan and Chip with a call or at least a text so that Kai would be prepared to meet not only his birth parents but also his biological brother. I was so wrapped up in making the right decision for Wyatt that I didn’t think enough about Kai. Yet another way I have failed that boy.

  When we reach the apartment and Chip opens the door, he’s as bright and shiny as ever, as if he hasn’t aged a day since he rolled his two babies out of the hospital at UCLA. I let him study me and digest the ways that I’ve aged, changes that make me proud; the wrinkles beginning to show at my eyes, signs of squinting at my schoolwork until late into the evenings. The laugh lines that have deepened in my cheeks, proof of the happy life I’ve been living as I’ve finally found my way into adulthood. Then he’s wrapping his arms around me in a warm hug, and I remember how Chip’s outsized personality always managed to make me relax, to quash whatever awkwardness could have arisen between us. Except today, I’m still nervous. I plaster a smile on my face and pull back, scanning the room for Donovan.

  He emerges from behind a cutout to the kitchen, and for the briefest moment, I’m filled with genuine joy at seeing him, this man who’s always felt like a kindred spirit. I take in his face—his skin still smooth, his dark eyes deep and round. He smiles back at me with that unassuming, almost tentative grin I remember, but then I’m distracted by the form that emerges beside him. My gaze shifts downward, and there, standing before me, is my son.

  Our eyes meet, and it’s as if someone has wrapped a fist around my vocal cords. I absorb his appearance all at once—his wispy dark hair, parted on the side, those slanted eyebrows, so long and dark above his wide eyes, the pointy chin, the thin lips. He is the spitting image of my mother. I’ve always thought Wyatt looked a lot like my mom, but seeing Kai standing in front of me, it’s like my mother has just walked into the room, like she is standing beside me and whispering in my ear to go hug that precious boy.

  “Kai.” I finally manage to croak out the word. People always talk about the bond that parents feel when a child is born. Mothers worry that they won’t feel the elusive “insta-bond,” the sudden and intense love that supposedly materializes in delivery rooms everywhere. It happened for me with
Wyatt. I wish I could say that I felt the same sudden love, the same connection when Kai was born, but I didn’t. I felt relief and joy, and many wonderful emotions that I can no longer name precisely, but there was a degree of separation there, because I didn’t believe the children I’d just given birth to were mine. Yet now, standing before this child who is so clearly of my own flesh and blood, so much more a part of my family than he even realizes, that insta-bond has come back at me with a vengeance. I want to inhale him, to wrap my body around this child whose first ten years I have missed, to devour him, to smother him in love, limb by limb and moment by moment.

  I take a step toward him, bursting, but then I remember— he doesn’t know me, not the way I know him. I carried him for nine months in my body, I share his DNA and know parts of his history he could never guess, but to him, I am a stranger, an intruder . . . so I stall.

  Donovan gives Kai a slight nudge on the back, sending him forward toward me.

  “Hi,” he says.

  “Hi,” I repeat, desperate for more. Then Nick is beside me, and there’s so much I want to say. Does Nick see it? Does he feel it?

  “Hello, Kai,” Nick says. “I’m Nick.” He holds out his hand to shake, and I’m astounded by his ability to sound so calm, so regular.

  “Can I, would it be okay if I gave you a hug?” I ask, my voice stilted. Kai nods back and it seems like he needs it too, for us to physically connect with each other.

  I bend myself in half and wrap my arms around his slender shoulders. He smells sweet, like vanilla and flowers. His bones feel delicate, unlike Wyatt’s ever did. I’m careful not to squeeze as hard as I want to, not to snap this exquisite being into pieces. He’s holding a dish full of cookies in one hand, but he wraps his free hand around me, and I squeeze my eyes shut to prevent the sudden tears from rushing out and frightening him. I want to run my hands all over his body and discover who this child is, to know him like I know my other one. But that is not my right, to touch and caress him the way I would a child who has lived with me since birth.