He Gets That from Me

by Jacqueline Friedland

  I try to pull a last bit of his core, his lifeblood, into myself before I let go. I think I’ve been holding on too long already, so I step back and look to Donovan, unsure how he might be reacting to all this.

  His eyes only meet mine for a second, and then they careen to the doorway. “Wyatt!” he exclaims with what appears to be genuine enthusiasm. His eyes rove over Wyatt, taking in his grown-up form, and I feel a sense of pride in the handsome young man I’ve brought along today, the child Nick and I have raised. “Come in,” Donovan says warmly, and I wonder how anyone can sound so smooth and steady in this moment when my own emotions are more frenetic, more tumultuous than I ever knew was possible. “I haven’t seen you since you were two, three?” He smiles fondly at Wyatt. “Don’t worry, I won’t pinch your cheek.”

  It’s difficult to drag my eyes away from Kai, but if my own feelings are any indication, Wyatt, too, must have a lot going through his head right now.

  “Come.” I reach for his hand. “Meet your brother.”

  The sweat on Wyatt’s palm tells me that he’s not as relaxed as he’s trying to let on. His grip is tight, like he’s afraid I might let go.

  “Hey,” he says as he looks over at Kai, not budging from where we stand.

  “Hi,” Kai says again.

  I give Wyatt a discreet tug, prodding him farther into the apartment, closer to his brother. I hear him swallow loudly. It punctuates the moment.

  “Can I get one of those cookies?” he finally asks, motioning to the plate in Kai’s hand and walking toward him.

  Kai looks at the platter as if he’s forgotten he’s holding it and then lifts the dish out toward Wyatt. “They’re from Le Etoile,” he boasts. I assume it’s a fancy French bakery. I had wondered if his voice would be the same as Wyatt’s, but so far, the timber seems to be all its own.

  “Which color is best?” Wyatt asks, moving the conversation forward.

  Donovan lets out a loud sigh and turns toward Nick and me. “Drinks,” he says, motioning toward the wet bar. I assume he’s trying to engage us so that Kai and Wyatt can talk for a minute without the adults breathing down their necks. I ask for a glass of Perrier and Nick says he’s fine with nothing, but Donovan convinces him to try the juice he and the boys made earlier today from fresh Valencia oranges.

  “Wait!” I suddenly blurt, turning to Wyatt as he lifts a cookie toward his mouth. “Nuts. They’re macarons, right?” I ask Donovan. We are always so careful with Wyatt. Accidental exposure to hazelnuts or pistachios could send him straight into anaphylactic shock. How could I have allowed my distraction to lead to such carelessness?

  “Is he allergic?” Donovan asks. He looks stricken with remorse—horrified, even—as he as he grabs a cocktail napkin from the counter. “I’m so sorry; we should have checked. Here, put it here.” He holds out the napkin to Wyatt and then disappears with the offending pastries into the kitchen. I look over at Wyatt, who shoots me an eye roll, as if to say his allergy is no big deal, but I know how much it frustrates him to be singled out, limited.

  Chip starts ushering us toward the large sectional sofa to sit down, and Donovan reappears with a new plate of cookies.

  When Nicks sees the substituted offering, he smiles at Donovan. “Now you’ll have a friend for life. Oreos are his favorite.”

  I wish I could be like Nick, pleasant and ostensibly laid-back, even in the face of the intense emotions he must be feeling.

  “Oreos are my favorite, too!” Kai says to Wyatt with excitement. He’s clearly elated to see that he and his brother have something in common, even something as ubiquitous as Oreos. “What else do you like?”

  “Guys, come sit.” Donovan prods everyone toward the sofa. Kai sits next to Teddy, almost on top of him, and I realize I should introduce myself to the child who has grown up as my own son’s brother. I tune out from Wyatt’s enthusiastic list of favorite foods as I sit down on Teddy’s other side.

  “Hi Teddy,” I say. He regards me warily and then says, “Hey,” before reaching out and taking the Oreo out of Kai’s hand. Kai doesn’t bat an eye; he simply reaches forward to get himself another one. I can feel Donovan looking at me— wondering if I am a threat, perhaps. I notice that Wyatt has switched over from standard kid fare in his list of favorites to the more sophisticated food that Nick cooks.

  “. . . like coq au vin and veal marsala. Did you know that my dad, our dad, is a chef?”

  I smile, thinking of all the wonderful pieces of our family that I want to share with Kai, to relive with him.

  “Wyatt,” Nick says, and there is reproach in his voice, warning. Nick looks over at Chip hesitantly, and I realize that the concern is because Wyatt said “our” dad. Well, it’s hardly a secret. Everyone knows why we’re here, and it doesn’t seem to me that we should be tip-toeing around the elephant in the room.

  “No, that’s okay,” Chip says quietly to Nick. “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.” I think he’s going to ask Wyatt if he’d like to be involved in that decision, along with Kai and Teddy, but the question doesn’t follow.

  Wyatt nods into the silence, and Chip finally adds, “Having two dads can be confusing enough. Three dads”—he breaks into a smile worthy of a Crest commercial—“sounds like the beginning of a bad musical.”

  “And another brother,” Wyatt adds, playing up to Chip.

  I realize that I’m staring at Kai again, but I can’t help myself. I want to memorize every detail, from his neatly trimmed fingernails to the faintest hint of a widow’s peak at his forehead.

  “Teddy,” Donovan says, interrupting my thoughts, “why don’t you show everyone the baby book?” I think this might be an attempt to get me to stop ogling, to distract me from the fact that I’m falling in love.

  I look away, glancing down into my lap instead, and I notice I’ve placed a hand protectively over my own empty womb, as if there’s anything left in there to safeguard. Teddy does as Donovan asks and pulls the album out from where it is wedged between his body and mine. Teddy hands it to me, and I take a minute to read the words on the cover.

  “Wait, is this—this is the book that you sent, isn’t it?” I realize the answer as I ask the question of Nick.

  “Huh. Yeah, I guess it is.” He sounds surprised.

  “You’re sure it’s okay?” I ask Donovan, mainly to be polite.

  “Go ahead,” he says, standing from his seat. I wonder if he’s leaving the room to let us study these pages in privacy, but then I realize he’s coming to stand behind my seat on the couch so that he can look at the book along with us.

  The first pictures are from the hospital, before I had even gone home. As I study the photos, I suddenly hear the voice of my old work friend, Bara, in my head. You have to have taken at least one picture, right? Not even right after the delivery?

  This picture in front of me is the one I would have wanted. I’m surprised by the level of attachment I feel, not just to Kai but to Teddy too. We’re all family, all related.

  “I remember you guys like that,” I say to the boys, careful to include Teddy, to make this day important for him too. I can see small pieces of myself in the pictures, an elbow in one, my toes in another. I hadn’t wanted them to take any photos with me at the hospital. It was their moment, I had said.

  I move slowly through the pages, glancing at Nick for confirmation each time I’m ready to flip the page. He nods solemnly in response, ready to confront the next section— more pages of moments we’ve missed, opportunities we’ve squandered. We’re both reading all the little notes Chip and Donovan have written, papers they’ve glued inside to caption each event. This book is a scrapbooking tour de force. I would have expected no less from Donovan. As we meander through the boys’ shared past, Nick and I get to see the photos of so many milestones—first steps, first solid food, the moment after a first word. And ea
ch time, it’s Chip or Donovan hugging the boys and smiling for the camera. As I study the photos of Kai’s pudgy baby cheeks, his toothless smiles, I wonder how Nick can ever possibly forgive me. We could have been a family of four. All these firsts we missed for our own child. A lifetime.

  We reach the page from Kai’s first haircut; his hair apparently grew long before Teddy even needed a trim. All that crazy hair, growing like weeds—just like mine, and like Wyatt’s. There’s a small plastic baggy taped to the page, a lock of Kai’s downy baby hair inside it. It’s all I can do not to rip the bag from the book and shove it deep into my pocket.

  With each passing photo, I become more convinced how wrong I’ve been, how desperately important it is that we find a way to bring this child home, back to his family. As I hand the baby book back to Donovan, I squeeze Nick’s hand, a symbol that we should go. We have so much to figure out, and it suddenly seems there isn’t a moment to waste.

  Nick pulls free of my hand, and when I glance over at him, he won’t meet my eyes.

  “We should get going,” he announces to the room. “We’re meeting Maggie’s sister and her new husband for a late lunch.”

  “He’s not new anymore, dad.” Wyatt groans, looking at Chip and Donovan, performing for them. “My aunt and uncle. They’ve been married a year and a half already.” He turns to Kai, who’s still sitting on the couch, sort of flopped on top of Teddy and adds, “You have another aunt and uncle to meet.”

  “Cool.” Kai smiles, his cheeks turning rosy again.

  “I forgot you had a sister in the city.” Chip stands too, but my focus is still on Kai, on those eyes that have been in my family for generations. I want to pick him up right this minute and run with him out of the apartment, extract him entirely from the life we accidentally dropped him in. We’ve lost so much time with him already. I want to pull him by the arm and start teaching him who he really is as we race to the elevator and out into the sunshine. All my schooling and experience instructing children his age tells me not to come on too strongly; I should wait, should move slowly and give him time. But as we prepare to leave, I feel like I’m abandoning him all over again.

  “Leave it,” Donovan says, and for a moment, I think he’s talking about Kai, that I shouldn’t mess with the situation as it is, but then I realize he means the vegetable platter I’ve just picked up.

  I return the platter to its spot and try to hurry Nick along. The sooner we can talk through our next steps, the better. One thing is certain: I want to cancel our return plane ticket. There is no way I’m leaving this state without my entire family.

  “Kai,” Nick says, looking down at our boy, and I can hear a decade of regret filling that one word. In my mind’s eye, a reel plays, and I wonder if Nick’s seeing it too. All of those useless fertility treatments, the years of trying to conceive another baby, the tepid acceptances—it all could have been avoided.

  They regard each other silently for a moment as the rest of us look on. For a flash, I think Nick is going to go for it, that he’s going to ask Kai if he wants to leave with us this very second.

  “You ever need anything,” Nick finally says, his voice unsteady, “there’s nothing we wouldn’t do for you.”

  Kai nods, and I believe I see a flash of disappointment fill his eyes. That’s all Nick can offer our son? I sigh loudly, not caring what message I’m sending to the room.

  If Nick isn’t going to do it, I sure as hell am. I put a hand on Kai’s shoulder so he will look at me in the eye. “You could come live with us,” I say. “We are your family too, whatever the labels.”

  “Maggie,” Nick says.

  “You are welcome with us, if that’s where you think you should be.” I keep going. He needs to know.

  “Maggie.” This time, Nick’s word is a bite.

  “I’m just saying, so he knows,” I say. “Somebody has to say it.” I hear the hysteria in my voice and try to rein it in as I turn back to Kai. “We would have wanted you then if we had known. And we want you now.”

  Kai looks back at me with those big saucer eyes, and I can’t name the emotion I see in them. It could be hope or regret or confusion. As the adult in this relationship, I need to take control, to help him process and understand.

  “You could come live with us.” I start more gently, a conversation opener.

  “Maggie, not now.” Nick is moving closer to us.

  “We are your family.” I feel Nick’s hand close around my wrist, an insistent squeeze trying to corral me before I go further. “This has all been such a horrible mistake,” I persist. “Your dad knew it from the beginning, that you didn’t belong here.” Nick’s fingers tighten on my wrist so forcefully that I shriek and my head snaps in his direction.

  “We’re leaving,” he says, his eyes stone.

  I try to escape his grip, but he pulls me toward the door without easing up on my wrist. Donovan and Chip look on with shell-shocked expressions as Nick propels Wyatt toward the open door with his free hand.

  As we step into the hallway, he turns to me with a look I’ve never seen from him before. His expression has moved well beyond cold, beyond spent. “Go wait by the elevator,” he commands, releasing my hand, and then he heads back inside the apartment, the door of which is still open.

  I want to argue with him. That is my kid in there. How dare he get all up in my face like he owns this situation? But I’m frightened, and I tell myself that maybe waiting is best, that we can strategize while we let everyone’s emotions settle.

  “Come,” I say forcing calm into my tone and looping an arm around Wyatt’s back. Angry red bruises are forming already on my wrist where Nick’s fingers cut into me. I don’t know what he’s saying to them now inside that apartment, but I don’t wonder long before he’s back in the dimly lit hallway, marching toward the elevator bank with a storm raging on his face.

  He jabs at the elevator button and I wait for whatever he is about to say. Wyatt, thankfully, has the presence of mind not to insert himself into this situation; he stands a few paces apart from us, silent.

  The elevator doors open, and we all file in. Images of Kai’s chocolate eyes keep flashing through my mind. I want to press the red emergency button on the elevator panel, to stop this whole trajectory. If only there was a button on the panel to rewind, to send us back a decade in time, so I could make different choices from the beginning. I find the fresh bruises on my wrist, five dark smudges matching the placement of Nick’s hand against my skin, and I fit my own fingers to their placement, pressing into the tender flesh with all the strength of my own, smaller hand.

  Chapter 22

  DONOVAN

  AUGUST 2018

  I keep a sharp eye on Teddy and Kai as they bodysurf in the waves on Sunday afternoon. Even though Chip is out in the water with them, I worry. A wave might catch them unaware and knock them too forcefully about while Chip’s attention is momentarily elsewhere. An undertow could surprise them and pull one of them too far out to sea—away from me, out of reach. There’s a kite in the air dancing high above the boys’ position in the ocean, flapping and struggling against the wind in the perfectly blue sky. I try to enjoy the chorus of gulls and sea spray, the rhythmic tapping of a paddle ball somewhere down near the surf. As much as I want to luxuriate in this visit to Jones Beach, the campiness of crowded beach blankets and colorful umbrellas, everywhere I look, I see potential for disaster—distracted lifeguards, reckless jet skiers, broken beer bottles, sharks.

  Fine, I don’t see any sharks. But it could happen.

  I’ve spent enough time in therapy to understand that my current state of hyper-anxiety is a reaction to the Wingates’ visit yesterday.

  Gina interrupts my thoughts from her chair, which is low to the ground in the sand beside my own, as she passes me an open bag of Lay’s.

  “Frito?” she offers.

  “I don’t know how you eat those things.” I shake my head.

  She shrugs and digs back into the bag. Gina looks terrif
ic in her halter-top bikini and a pair of aviator sunglasses. She has her hair in one of those messy buns on top of her head, a few loose strands whipping around in the wind. Her sunblock-slicked legs are stretched out in front of her, crossed at the ankles, and she’s rocking her feet from side to side in time with the country music wafting toward us from somewhere down the beach. She seems so happy and relaxed, so unlike her usual knackered self, and I assume Graham the Widower is the variable precipitating this positive change.

  “Stop staring at me,” she says without turning her head.

  “Sorry.” I laugh lightly. “You seem good, G.” I turn back to the water, scanning the waves until I locate the boys again.

  “I can hear the wistfulness riding on your voice like a freaking swan song. You got more to say about yesterday, say it.” She emphasizes her statement by snapping into another chip.

  I let a full minute go by without saying anything.

  “It just doesn’t sound so bad to me,” Gina finally says. “So what that Kai knows his birth mother would have liked to raise him? It’s better than feeling unwanted. He’s big enough to understand that she feels regret.”

  “No.” I am beginning to understand what has me so on edge. “It wasn’t an apology or an expression of grief. She was full of intention.” I can’t even utter the next part of my thought because Gina’s kids are weaving their way toward us through the patchwork of sunbathers. Both of them are licking at extra-large wafer cones as soft-serve ice cream melts onto their hands.

  “Here,” Miles says as he hands Gina change for the ice cream and the bottle of Diet Pepsi that she asked for.

  “You two better eat fast,” she says.

  “Yeah.” Flora licks a line of chocolate ice cream off the inside of her forearm in agreement. “Here, you want it?” She holds the cone out to her mother.