So why did something tug at my heart in panic every time I considered it? Maybe because of the part where I had to come out to everyone, especially my parents. Or the part where I wouldn’t know how my child was doing. Or the ticking time bomb: when this kid grew up—by which point I might be married and/or have other kids—they’d probably do some research, figure out who I was, come find me, and ask, “Why didn’t you want me?”
And what would I say? “Actually, I kind of did. I just chickened out.”
Lame.
Sinter: I’m sorry to bug you, but I have another question. Would you be able to choose who adopted the baby? Google says in the US you can (open adoption), but I couldn’t tell for sure if the UK has that
Fiona: I’ve not gone into those details yet myself, but Chelsea thinks it could be done. I would have to interview couples in depth though, which I admit sounds dreadful
Sinter: Yeah good point, that would suck. It’s just … I picture the baby ending up with someone who might be anti-gay, or oppressive in some other way, and it’s been bugging me
Fiona: I don’t like that idea either. But if we’re both to sign over our rights, there’s only so much we can do about what happens to the child after that.
Sinter: Then … what are the odds they’d let us visit once in a while? Get to know the kid? Or me at least, if you don’t want to
Fiona: I would guess not very high, though such things could possibly be worked out. I really don’t know yet. I’d need a social worker to tell us this. Lawyer perhaps
Sinter: Sorry, yeah. I’m sorting it out and still haven’t decided
Fiona: Decided?
Sinter: Well I’ve been thinking about taking the baby myself. If you still don’t want to. But I’m not sure
Fiona: Oh. I’m surprised. I assumed you wouldn’t even consider it
Sinter: It’s probably crazy. My mind just won’t shut up about it. I don’t know
Fiona: Well … I’ll think about it too. Although nothing legally binding about custody can be decided until the birth, if I understand correctly
Meaning she could change her mind by September and take the kid herself. Which would make the child easier for me to visit, probably, but would also make life much more complicated between Fiona and me—for the long haul. Dread hooked itself deep inside me. To still have to tell my parents about the kid, but with the complication that I wasn’t married to the mother … to be a father from a distance, an outsider exactly the way I didn’t want to be … to have Sebastian start dating Fiona and become more of a proper father to my own kid than I was … to be bi and trying to figure out how to manage that in the dating world, while also trying to manage familial relationships from across the Atlantic … or I could move over there to be closer to the child, get citizenship at long last, but then I’d be permanently farther from Andy …
Argh. Please no.
Sinter: Do you feel like you’ll change your mind? About wanting to be a mum
Fiona: I don’t think so. But life does keep going differently than I expected
Sinter: I know the feeling. I’ll think on it some more and be in touch, ok?
Fiona: All right. I’d like to have a plan in place by, say, the beginning of June. In case I do need to talk to adoption agencies
Sinter: Beginning of June. Will do
CHAPTER 28: THE PROMISE
I TAPPED INTO MY HUMAN OBSERVATION MODE, LIKE I DID WHEN STUDYING FOR ACTING ROLES. I focused on people with young kids—on the sidewalks, in our apartment building, in the café. As if auditioning for the role of “the dad,” I watched what those parents or nannies or caretakers did. Coaxing kids to walk a little faster. Reminding them not to reach for dogs without asking the owner. Spooning yogurt into their mouths. Hugging them and carrying them the rest of the way when they fell over and had a meltdown. Reading colorful cardboard books with them. Telling them not to shred napkins all over the floor. Encouraging them when they tried to say a word, and playing voice games where they mimicked each other’s sounds.
It looked like a shit-ton of work. I already worked plenty.
But wasn’t I working toward something? Toward, say, a life with more meaning, more stability, than it currently had?
Gordy, who played Shakespeare in The Fair Youth, was in his thirties and had a wife and two kids. One evening as we wrapped up rehearsal I asked him, “So is the whole family coming to see the show?”
“Just Sara,” he said. “The kids are too little to get it.”
“Ah, yeah. They’re how old?”
“Five and two.”
“That’s a lot of work,” I said. “Little kids and a theater life.”
“It is, but it’s hard no matter what your job is. And I’m not on tour or anything, so could be worse.”
“Ah. True.”
“In any case, it’s totally worth it. They’re still the best thing I ever put into the world. Including every part I ever played, or anything else I ever created.”
I nodded. “That’s what people say.”
I had two thoughts then: one, I wanted to be able to say that about my child rather than, “I wussed out and gave them to someone else.” Two, had my parents ever said that about me, to anyone?
Doubtful. My relationship with my parents, however, was a separate issue.
I reached out to one more expert for feedback.
Hi Chelsea,
I know this is out of nowhere, but I have a question for you. If it’s too personal, you don’t have to answer or anything.
I’ve been thinking about the baby, and I’m weirdly tempted to take him or her. That is, assuming Fiona doesn’t want to. She told me you were single when you adopted Mina, so what made you choose to do it? How were you sure you wanted to? What kind of things should I be planning for? I know I’ll need help, daycares or nannies or something, but I don’t know the costs, whether I’m being an idiot for even thinking about it … I guess, just how do you know you should do it?
Thanks for being there for Fiona. I feel really bad about it all.
Sinter
Hi Sinter,
It’s not too personal a question! I love talking about Mina. And really, I could go on and on about what she means to me and why I chose to have her when I did, which in my case involved infertility and the knowledge I was getting older and wanted to start already. That’s all different in your case, of course. Still, when it comes to deciding to have kids, it’s actually quite simple. You either want them or you don’t. Nearly all the parents I know have said the same. I knew I wanted her. If you know you want this baby, then that’s your answer. It’s honestly no more complicated than that.
It would be good to have a support network in place to help with childcare. Grandparents or other relatives are ideal, though friends and neighbours and nannies can work too. Other than that, yes you can do calculations, google everything imaginable, try to work out how your finances and living situation will look, how much sleep and free time you’ll lose, how you’ll manage your job. But if people went solely by those calculations, no one would ever have children except William and Kate. :)
Fiona doesn’t want children. She’s said so, and I think it’s the truth in her case. But she’s going through with it for the benefit of others, and if that other is you … well, in some ways that would be easier for her and in other ways not. You have to choose based on what you want, though. Not to please her or anyone else.
I don’t know if this helps or makes any sense. It’s just what’s proven true for me. I hope I can be of help to you and Fiona, whatever you both decide.
Take care, and we’ll talk soon about the film release among other things!
xo,
Chelsea
I should have listened to her. I shouldn’t have gotten onto the internet.
Because really, if you want to stress yourself out to the absolute max, try that: get online and look up how to take care of a newborn. Or a toddler. Or an elementary-school kid. Or a teenager, if you�
��re still reading by that point and haven’t shoved your computer out of a fourth-floor window, then thrown yourself out too.
Diapers. Sleep deprivation. Formula. Immunizations. Teething. Pacifiers. (Or not.) Colic. Scary infections. Strollers vs. front carriers vs. backpacks vs. slings. Incredibly expensive daycare. Intrusive advice from other parents and grandparents.
At the thought of my parents appearing in the room to loom over me and school me on what kind of baby food I should be buying and goddammit, son is that car seat even installed correctly?, I smacked my laptop shut and devolved into a panic attack.
It was one of the rare evenings I didn’t have rehearsal. I’d returned from a barista shift awhile earlier. Andy was still at work. Convinced the world was a hellscape of dangers, drudgery, and evil, I curled up on the couch and deployed my deep-breathing skills.
When Andy got home, I didn’t move from my fetal position. (Oh hey, same position my kid was in.) He crouched by the sofa to frown at me. “Now what?”
I swallowed to moisten my dry mouth. “I looked up how to take care of babies.”
He lay on top of me, spreading himself over my balled-up form like a starfish on a bed of rocks. “That does sound terrifying. But you know, people with less money and intelligence than you have figured it out.”
“In theory.”
“If it’s stressing you out this much, why even consider it? Why not sign off on adoption?” His chin dug into my shoulder.
I grunted and shifted my arm, but stayed under him, comforted by his weight. “I keep thinking of Chelsea,” I said, my mouth mashed halfway into the sofa cushions. “She was single when she adopted Mina. Now Mina’s two and Chelsea’s still working in movies. She did it. She managed.”
“Maybe she’d have advice, then.”
“I emailed her.”
“And?”
I elbowed him out of the way, sat up and found the email on my phone, and handed it to him.
He sat next to me to read it. Then he just said, “Ah,” and continued gazing at the message.
“I think why I’m so scared,” I said, “is that I do know my answer.”
He chewed his lower lip a moment. “You’re going to do this.”
“If Fiona will let me. Yeah. I think I am.”
He handed me back my phone. “But … your parents.”
I covered my eyes, groaning. “I know. Why do you think I’m so freaked out?”
“Well. They can’t control you or really do anything to you. You’re an adult.”
“But I want to fix things with them, get us back on good terms, have them be my ‘support network,’ or at least part of it. Then I keep doing things that are going to make them lose their shit.”
He stayed quiet a few seconds. “Like being bi.”
“Exactly.”
“Which they don’t even know yet.”
I nodded, let my hand drop from my eyes, and stared at the floor.
“Well,” he said, “one confession at a time, I guess.”
“I guess.” Remorse smacked me like a slap. I was shoving the coming-out onto the back burner, relegating Andy to a dirty little secret when, in truth, he was one of the people I treasured most in the world, all because I was a coward and couldn’t deal with more than one scary situation at a time.
I wanted to be braver, but if being braver meant dragging him deeper into my screwed-up life—well, that wouldn’t be doing him any favors either. He’d probably get fed up before the year was out and leave me, and I’d never see him again.
I swung my knee aside to touch his leg. “I’m sorry I’ve been so stressed and weird.”
“I don’t blame you. Anyone would be. I’ve been stressed too, what with Tokyo, and … everything. Life’s been busy. Seems like we’re hardly ever home at the same time anymore.”
We hadn’t fooled around for several days. I was fine with blaming that on my schedule instead of on deeper problems.
“Actor hours,” I said. “They suck sometimes.” I found a bit of stuffing coming out of a couch cushion and pulled at it. Though I absolutely did not want to say this next thing, I felt honor-bound to. “Look, if you meet someone … some normal guy who doesn’t work nights and weekends … obviously that would be cool.”
Jealousy and pain were screaming and beating their fists against my bones from the inside, but really, it was cool.
“I’ll be leaving the country in a few months,” he said. “Wouldn’t make sense to get involved with someone. Which is why it’s been handy you let me use you for your body.”
“Well, I’m using you right back, so.”
“Exactly. Reciprocal using.”
We smiled, but not exactly at each other. Our gazes touched, then flicked away.
“I’m going to do it,” I said at dinner the next night. “I’m committing. I’m taking my kid.”
Andy blew out a breath, long and slow, and set down the forkful of spaghetti he’d been lifting to his mouth. We were in our kitchen, and I’d prepared a basic dinner—pasta, sauce from a jar, a fancy-grocery salad, and Pepperidge Farm cookies. I’d hoped it might soften him up and reduce the chances that he’d tell me I was crazy.
He didn’t, at least. “I’m not surprised,” he said. “Sounded like you were headed that direction. I’ll just say … what Chelsea said about a support network, that’s going to be important. Especially if I’m not around to babysit for the first six months.”
“But you would if you were around?”
“Of course. Duh.” He finally ate the bite of spaghetti.
Images flashed into my head: Andy cooing at my baby, lifting him or her up above his head, making steampunk aircraft noises, bottle-feeding the little one on his lap on the couch while watching Doctor Who and explaining in quiet tones what Daleks were …
I wanted it so much it hurt.
But he had other plans for his life and didn’t know I was having such sappy feelings, so I just poked my fork at the pasta and said, “Thanks.” We ate silently for a minute.
“How are you going to break it to your folks?” he asked.
“I was thinking I’d put it off till the time’s closer. Fiona could still change her mind, so there’s no point freaking them out till I’m sure it’s happening.”
“Have you talked to her yet?”
“That’s up next.”
“Hey, Fiona.”
“Hello.” She sounded tired. “How are things?”
“They’re okay.” I sank onto the couch, my bare feet cold. It was a Monday morning, and I’d waited until Andy left for work before I called her. “So I’ve been going over and over it, and … I would like to take the baby. If that’s okay with you.”
Second or two of silence. “Really? You wouldn’t rather be free?”
Remembering the tied-down-ness of those parents I’d scrutinized, I felt a new flutter of terror. “It’s scary, for sure. But I think I’d regret it if I gave up this chance. I want to be there for this kid.”
She released her breath slowly, in a static crackle. “Well, this is good, then. Means I won’t have to go through as much. The adoption agency and all.” Sounded like she was trying to convince herself it was truly good, though.
“I hope so. I wanted you to feel settled, as much as possible.”
“Then we shall consider that the plan. Unexpected though it is.”
“Great. Thank you.”
But nothing legally binding could be decided until the baby was born. She could change her mind. The possibility reverberated in the silence.
After those few quiet seconds, she said in a crisper voice, “We’ll have the DVDs ready soon. The final cut of the film. I’ll have some put into region 1 format for you. Also a downloadable version. We’ll send you a link.”
“Cool, yeah, can’t wait to see it.”
We talked about the final edits, the changes made, the soundtrack. Before long she said, “I should go. Thank you for letting me know your intentions.”
I pull
ed my knees to my chest, gazing at the drizzle on the living-room window. I’d hoped to feel steadier after this conversation, but instead we were all still floundering in uncertainty—me, Fiona, Andy, the baby. “Thank you,” I said. “For going through all this, which I know sucks. For giving me this chance, when all I did was …” Fuck up your life? Break your heart? “Disappoint you,” I settled for.
“You haven’t,” she said. “Well. No, that’s a lie. It’s true I’m disappointed in some ways. My trouble is, I don’t know what I want anymore.”
The sadness in her voice was overloading my emotions. It was so unlike what I was used to hearing from her—my adaptable, got-it-together director. “I hope you find it. Whatever inspires you. You will. You’re so good at it—writing, directing, everything.”
“Thanks.” She basically whispered it. “Well, I’ll have them send the DVDs. Bye.”
I said, “Bye,” but the call had already clicked into silence.
CHAPTER 29: ALIVE AND KICKING
MAY ARRIVED. FLOWERS AND GREEN LEAVES STARTED BRIGHTENING SEATTLE’S PERSISTENT GRAY. THE costumers on The Fair Youth selected and tailored our clothes, and I got my hair cut to about two inches long so it would fit easier under the ponytailed wig they’d chosen for me. I allowed a week with dyed-black tips and dirty-blond roots, then had one of the hairstyling professionals on Capitol Hill tint my roots purple and blue, because I wasn’t me without crazy hair.
I ordered books online, three heavy volumes for the clueless beginner on how to keep babies alive: what to feed an infant, what to do when they were screaming, that kind of thing.
When they came, I sat down and opened one. An anxiety attack threatened me in the first few pages, but I kept on. With more and more information, fed to me slowly by the sympathetic author like mashed carrots on a tiny spoon, I began to calm down. After all, everyone currently alive was born and raised somehow. Maybe even I could handle parenting.
All the Better Part of Me Page 17