by Ann Hood
“Oh, I don’t think so,” Maya said.
“I would like for them to meet you. For you to see my life now.”
It seemed a small thing to ask, Maya thought. “All right,” she said. “I’d like that.”
“WITH THE NEW WIFE?” Emily said when Maya called her after she got back to the hotel. “Oh, this is terrible.”
Maya had heard enough stories about the few times Emily had to be with Michael’s ex-wife to know that it was never easy.
“I feel like I need to do it, for him and for me.”
“Why?”
“Emily?” Maya said. “I want to tell you something.”
“Okay,” Emily said.
“Adam and I…” she began. She closed her eyes to ward off the light-headedness that swooped in. “We had a baby. A daughter,” she added.
“What?” Emily said.
“And something terrible happened to her.” The tears she had been hoping for all afternoon came now. “I did something terrible to her.”
“No,” Emily was saying, “no you didn’t.”
“It was an accident,” Maya said. “But she died.”
“You don’t have to do this,” Emily said.
Maya wasn’t sure if she meant she didn’t have to tell her what happened, or that she didn’t have to go to dinner.
“Come home,” Emily said.
“I feel like if he wants me to come to dinner, then I need to do it. I owe him so much.”
Emily was silent. “I think,” she said finally, “you only owe yourself forgiveness.”
“Ah,” Maya said, “just the easy stuff.”
SHE BROUGHT FLOWERS, an oversized bouquet of beautiful gerber daisies in vivid reds and pinks. She brought wine, white and red, both too expensive. These small gestures did not calm Maya, but she at least wanted to appear like a gracious person, like someone who did not kill babies or walk away from grieving husbands.
But as she stood at the door of Adam’s house, her extravagance seemed foolish. Flowers and wine did not erase what they all knew. As she waited for someone to open the door, Maya wished there were a bush or shed to drop the gifts into. The house was all weathered wood and glass, low-slung and open. No hiding places here. Maya sighed and pressed the doorbell again. She hoped she was hearing wrong and it didn’t chime “Ode to Joy.”
When the door did open, Maya was surprised that Carly had come instead of Adam.
“Look at all this!” Carly said, making Maya feel even more foolish for the too-large bouquet and ridiculously expensive wines.
Carly had straight blond hair, long with bangs, and black square glasses that Maya would have called librarian glasses, if Carly weren’t a librarian. She was pretty, in an urban way that Maya hadn’t expected: the cool glasses and the black leggings and ballet flats. One arm was lined with Bakelite bracelets. She was more Sheryl Crow than Laura Ingalls Wilder, Maya thought. Her eyes paused a moment on Carly’s stomach. When she looked up, Carly was nodding at her.
“I know,” she said, stepping aside so Maya could come in. “We’re due in October.”
We’re. Maya cringed. “Wow,” she managed. “Congratulations.”
Outside the wall of windows, the Pacific Ocean crashed noisily against the beach. Adam stood, holding a platter of steaks, poised to go outside. A little girl, blond like her mother, naked except for a diaper, held on to his leg with one hand and a droopy stuffed pig in the other.
“That’s Rain,” Carly said.
Afraid she might fall, Maya sat on the nearest chair. Everything inside was blue and white and green, as if the ocean were inside too. Maya closed her eyes for an instant. When she opened them again, Carly was standing in front of her with a glass of wine.
“White okay?” Carly asked.
Maya took it from her and set it on the coffee table—a monstrous thing with a glass top. Beneath it was sand and starfish, shells and sea glass.
“Adam made this,” Carly was saying, pointing to a platter of roasted tomatoes sprinkled with rosemary and garlic and feta cheese.
Maya put some on crostini and took a bite. “Delicious,” she said.
Carly watched her chew.
To Maya, the crostini crunched too loudly. Uncomfortable, she tried to eat it quickly.
“Thank you for coming,” Carly said. “I needed to see you for myself.”
Finally, Maya could swallow. “Not what you expected me to look like?” Maya said.
“I’ve seen pictures, of course,” Carly said.
“So why did you need me to come here?”
Carly shook her head. “I don’t know. I needed to look in your eyes. Isn’t that strange?”
Maya took a sip of wine, unsure what to say next.
“My cousin died when she was a baby. My aunt never really got over it,” Carly said.
“You don’t get over it,” Maya managed to say.
“Do you sleep at night?” Carly said.
“It was an accident,” Maya heard herself say.
“I know,” Carly said, gently. “But still.”
“I am known as a solid person,” Maya said. “Both feet planted on the ground. Trustworthy.”
Carly narrowed her eyes. “That’s what I thought,” she said.
SOMEHOW, TIME PASSED. The steaks cooked. The salad was tossed and dressed. Maya said nice things to the little girl. Dinner was served. For Maya, it was like she was watching a foreign movie. Nothing seemed familiar, the subtitles were too blurry.
In her pocket, her cell phone vibrated. Probably Emily, calling to offer support.
Maya ignored it and listened to Adam catch her up in his career. The phone vibrated again. Emily wouldn’t be so persistent. She would know Maya was still at dinner, unable to talk.
The little girl stared at Maya with solemn eyes. She ate slices of avocado with a plastic fork shaped like an airplane.
Maya’s phone vibrated again.
“Can you excuse me?” she said. “My phone keeps going off and I just want to make sure everything’s okay.”
She didn’t wait for an answer. Turning slightly away from them, Maya pulled her phone from her pocket and looked at the missed calls. They were all from Samantha, at the office.
“Work,” she said, holding the phone out as evidence.
The little girl frowned at her.
Maya got up and walked over by the windows. The sun was low in the sky now. The water had calmed.
Samantha’s voice message came on.
“Maya. Hi, it’s me. I hope your vacation’s going good. You’re not going to believe this, but we just got a batch of referrals. DTC September 24. All the babies are from Hunan. What cuties!”
Maya took a breath. Held it. Outside, the sky was streaked lavender and violet.
“Maya,” Samantha continued, “should I wait until you get back before I call them?”
Rain had come over to where Maya stood, and now she peered up at her. Something in her face made Maya feel like she might fall right out this window, to the ocean below.
“Lady?” Rain said. “Lady?”
It was the eyes, Maya realized. They were just like Adam’s. They were just like her own daughter’s.
“Should I call them now?” Samantha was saying, and the little girl who was not hers kept asking, “Lady? Lady?”
Quickly, Maya dialed Samantha’s number,
Maya squeezed her eyes shut so that she did not have to look into Rain’s face. She struggled for equilibrium, to keep from falling.
“Wait,” she told Samantha. “I’ll take the red-eye and be there first thing in the morning.”
“So I should—”
“I’m on my way,” Maya said.
14
The Families
SOPHIE
Sophie stood in Jack and Jill, a used children’s clothing store, and fingered the soft onesies, the feetie pajamas, the blankets decorated with bears and baby bottles. She had waited for so long to be this person, a woman shopping for her baby.
But she did not feel the thrill she had imagined she would. Sophie had always believed that if she were a good person, good things would come her way. Instead, here she was, finally pregnant, with a husband she could not trust. Even when she’d told him about the baby and he’d taken her in his arms, Sophie wondered if his emotions were genuine. She had let him back into bed that night too. His careful lovemaking, as if she might break, had irritated rather than pleased her.
Remembering, she turned from the sherbet-colored clothes and headed for the door. Her doctor had estimated that she was just entering her second trimester. Plenty of time to figure out what to do about her marriage. There was plenty of time to buy baby things.
Emily from the adoption group had invited her to her house to knit a baby sweater. Sophie had wanted to go. She’d even bought lemon yellow yarn and large needles, hoping she would remember how to knit. Back in college, she’d knit a sweater for her boyfriend. It had taken her months to finish, and by the time she did he had broken up with her. Carefully, Sophie had unraveled the entire sweater, rolling the yarn back into a fat ball. Her mother had warned her to never knit a sweater for a man who wasn’t her husband. “It’s bad luck,” she’d said. Sophie hadn’t listened to her then, or when she’d told her not to marry Theo. “He doesn’t look people in the eye,” her mother said. “What’s he hiding?” Only a five-year-old daughter, Sophie thought as she got into her car. She wished her mother were still alive so she could call her and tell her that she had been right about everything. Sweaters and Theo and Sophie’s blind optimism.
Now that the morning sickness had finally passed, Sophie wanted to eat all the time. She unwrapped an Almond Joy and ate it in her parked car. When she finished, she ate another one. The snow on the street had turned gray and dirty. Everything looked sad. Sophie sighed. The elastic waistband on her pants felt tight and itchy. Her craving for chocolate, her expanding waistline, all of the things that should make her happy only made her more aware of how uncertain she felt about everything.
Her mother would not let her wallow in self-pity like this. She’d moved from a farm in Idaho to Colorado when she was only eighteen years old. “No future on that farm,” she’d told Sophie matter-of-factly. “The only person you can really rely on is you.” Sophie had laughed at her. “I can rely on Theo,” she told her mother. “You’ve never truly given yourself to anyone. You don’t know how wonderful it is.” Her mother took a long drag on her Marlboro Light and shook her head. “Always keep a part of your heart to yourself, Sophie. Don’t give the whole thing away.”
But she had. She had given everything to Theo. Sophie fished in her bag for another Almond Joy. Only empty wrappers. In the glove compartment she found two Reese’s Cups and she ate them, slowly. She pulled the waistband on her pants below her belly and glanced down. Sophie smiled. That was the belly of a pregnant woman, no doubt about it. She placed her chocolate-smeared hand on her stomach.
“Hello in there,” she said softly.
THEO
He had told Nell no, he could not meet her, even just to talk. But here Theo sat, in the backseat of her BMW with her, smoking a joint.
“Do you do this much?” Nell asked him.
“Yes,” Theo laughed. “I just wouldn’t think you did.”
“My fertility doctor gave it to me. She said I needed to relax.” Nell leaned across the front seat and pressed the cigarette lighter. She brought it back with her, its tip glowing red. “As if I could relax.”
Theo watched her light the joint and inhale. She leaned back and closed her eyes, holding the smoke.
“It has been years,” she said without opening her eyes.
Theo wondered if she meant years since she’d gotten high, or since she’d tried to get pregnant. She took another hit, and he began to wonder if she was going to pass the thing to him.
“Vietnam is closed. Guatemala, closed. A woman at work said she could get me an older kid from Hungary or somewhere. There’s Kazakhstan, but not a proven record. Russia is still good.”
The car filled with the sweet smell of marijuana. Theo reached over and took the joint from her. “You don’t share,” he said.
She still didn’t open her eyes.
“You look pretty stoned,” Theo said. “It makes you look kind of smeared. You’re usually too neat.”
Nell laughed. “You should see our house. You could eat off the floors.”
Her cell phone rang from the front seat but she ignored it. “Brazil. I put in an application for Brazil, but then they closed too.”
“Whoa,” Theo said, “your doctor gets good pot.”
“It’s the medicinal stuff,” Nell said.
They passed the joint back and forth in silence. In the distance, Nell could see shoppers pushing carts to a big Wal-Mart. Her phone rang again.
“What?” Theo said.
Nell shook her head. “It’s too complicated,” she said.
Theo shrugged. “If we smoke all of this, we are going to be so wasted.”
“I think I already am,” Nell said. She thought about all of the countries in the world, all of those babies. And she couldn’t get even one.
“Sophie is pregnant,” Theo said.
Or that was what Nell thought he said.
“I am definitely stoned,” she said.
“No,” Theo said. “Well, yes, you are. But you heard me right. Sophie’s pregnant.”
Nell sat up. Her mouth went dry as sand. When she opened it to talk, her lips smacked together loudly. “That’s not fair,” she said, hating the way she felt with her sandpapery tongue and her cloudy brain.
“Remember Heather?” Theo said.
“No.” As if from somewhere very far away, her phone rang again.
“The woman I love? The love of my life?” Theo was saying. “She showed up with pictures of our baby and Sophie is so pissed at me because I never told her—”
“What are you talking about?” Nell said.
“Heather had a baby. That’s why we split up. I thought I told you.”
Nell swept her hand through her hair. “I don’t believe this,” she muttered.
“One day I have nothing, and now I have two children,” Theo said.
“Shut up,” Nell said, gritting her teeth.
When the damn phone rang again, she answered it. “What?” she demanded.
The voice on the other end began to talk. Nell shook her head, as if that would help her understand better.
“What?” she said again, gently this time. “What?”
When she hung up, she turned to Theo.
“Three,” she said.
He smiled a lazy smile at her. “Three?”
“You had nothing, but now you have three kids. That was Samantha from the Red Thread. Our referrals are in.”
Theo was saying something, but Nell didn’t listen to him. She didn’t care if he had three kids or three hundred kids. She had one. One baby. She had everything.
CHARLIE
Charlie could not pinpoint when the idea of a baby stopped scaring him and became, instead, the one thing he wanted. For years—forever, he sometimes thought—all he had wanted was Brooke. All the years she had talked about a baby, Charlie had just let her talk, knowing that he could not do it. He could not take in someone else’s child and love it as his own. Even if they had been able to have a baby themselves, Charlie did not think he could be a father. At least, not the kind of father a kid should have. He loved Brooke. Wasn’t that enough?
“You just go along with things,” Brooke always told him. She didn’t mean it as a compliment. She shook her head when she said it. Her mouth went all tight and thin. “You just go along.”
He wanted to tell her that was how he survived his childhood. Plates crashed. Fists landed. Shouts and insults flung about. Charlie just went along with things. He ducked. He hid. He went into the backyard on hot Florida nights and hit baseballs until the house grew mercifully quiet.
“I know I do,” Charlie agreed. “That
is just my way.”
When Brooke started taking home brochures full of smiling Asian babies, he read them and nodded and said how cute the babies were.
He sat through the orientation, letting Maya Lange’s piercing gaze rest on him. He shook hands with the guy who recognized him. He smiled at Maya’s jokes and let Brooke do the talking.
Then there were forms to sign. A social worker looking in their closets and asking them their business.
Charlie went along with it all. But deep down he feared he would not go through with this adoption business. Even when Brooke made him his favorite fish tacos one night, and lit tiki torches in the backyard, and told him statistics: a hundred and fifty thousand abandoned baby girls in China a year, maybe more; a one-child policy that favored boys; how in China, it’s the boys who inherit property and money and even ancestors long dead; in some provinces, Brooke told him as she fixed him another taco, adding that coleslaw she made with chipotle peppers and homemade mayo, in some provinces they can have a second child if that first one was a girl. “See, Charlie?” she’d said. “They can try for a boy. But if the second one is a girl too, she gets abandoned.” He felt bad about all those baby girls left in boxes and baskets, on roadsides and bridges and doorsteps. But he didn’t want one. He didn’t want anything except Brooke.
Until something changed.
Standing in what used to be the spare bedroom, his jeans dotted with yellow paint, the smell of fresh paint all around him, the walls the soft yellow of lemonade and sunshine and every other corny yellow thing Charlie could think of, his heart felt enormous and open and about to burst. He stepped back and surveyed his work. The room was beautiful. When the paint dried he would move in the white crib he’d bought, hang the mobile of a fat crescent moon and a cow and a spoon. He would put the rocking chair in the corner, the rug shaped like a daisy in the middle of the floor.
Charlie liked boy names for girls. He always had. It was sassy and sexy and funny to hear the name Johnnie or Frankie or Pete and have a girl answer to it. He thought for sure Brooke would fight him on this. Her own name was so feminine. It was trickling water. It was warm and babbling and gentle. Surely she would want that kind of name for their daughter. He imagined she would put up a fight, insist on Lauren or Lilly. But last night, when he brought it up, Brooke had said sure. Just like that.