He elbows through the crowded room, fists balled, telling himself to breathe. Breathe. He wants to run hard, to get the pent-up adrenaline pumped out of his body, but somehow he doesn’t think the hospital looks kindly on new fathers sprinting through the corridors. So he just walks. Fast. And hard. Past a nurse’s station, past a crash cart in the hall, and past a crowded waiting room.
The buildup of the night, the lack of sleep, the pressure of the biggest decision in his life—they all weigh on him, like he’s carrying the world around in a giant red Santa Claus bag slung over his shoulders. He thinks about it every which way, and nothing seems right. He makes a mental list of his thoughts.
1. No way I’m giving my baby up for adoption. I’d feel like I failed her somehow. She’d never know me. I’d never know her.
2. No way am I ready to be a dad. I can’t even get my shit together to finish my college applications without Daniel’s help.
3. No way I’m giving up college—if I get in.
4. No way I’m letting Rose keep the baby without my help. She’d refuse to go back to the Parsimmons, so she’d have no one to help her. No money. No home.
5. Maybe I could do it. My mom did it. Had me as a teenager. Sure she missed out on prom and college and all that, but at least I grew up with my own mother. Now that Daisy and I are getting older, she can have her own life again. Candy just flip-flopped the order of things. Kids first, life second.
6. Shit. This list-making crap is getting me more worked up, not less.
Chase wanders the halls with glassy eyes, thinking and rethinking. Somehow he finds himself in the hospital chapel. He kneels and bows his head, something he hasn’t done in a long time, not even during Pastor Tom’s sermons. If there ever was a time to truly reconnect with God, this is it. But he’s out of practice and he doesn’t know what to pray for. So he kneels there in silence, his brain buzzing with thoughts, until his knees hurt.
Dear God … Chase starts, then freezes. He can only think of questions. He’s sure that’s not the right way to pray, but it’s all that comes to his mind. Why is this happening to me? Why are you putting me in a situation like this? It’s lose-lose. Neither decision is good. I’m not ready to be a dad, and I’m not willing to walk away from my own kid. What am I supposed to do? What lesson are you trying to teach me … and can’t I learn it some other way? Chase straightens up. This is pointless. Jesus Christ, he swears to himself, then looks up at Jesus on the cross above him. No offense, he adds.
Nothing makes sense. Will it ever? Has it ever really before? Should he call Pastor Tom? Where the hell are spiritual guides when you need them?
He tilts his face toward a stained-glass window. Christmas sunshine streams through, splaying into a pattern of light on one of the pews. Chase watches it for a moment, remembering the stained-glass windows he stared at in church as a child. He thinks of the small one in Pastor Tom’s church, and even the synagogue stained-glass at the Steins’ temple. It’s funny, no matter what church or temple he attends, those stained-glass windows always bring a feeling of peace. He reaches his hand out and lets the colored light spill over his fingers.
And then, quite suddenly, he knows what to pray for. Serenity. His own. Rose’s. The baby’s. He bends his head and prays that they will all leave the hospital at peace with whatever decision has been made.
When Chase returns to Room 227, Rose sits alone, her knees pulled up to her chest, under the sterile white hospital sheets. “Where’s the baby?” Chase asks.
Rose turns her face toward him, her eyes puffy and her face tear stained. “Nurse took her.”
“Why?” Chase tries to keep the panic out of his voice.
“Just tests, I guess.” Rose shrugs her shoulders like she doesn’t care, but it just makes her look more deflated. “Shit, it still hurts, Chase. I thought it was over already, but I keep getting stomach pains. They’re like aftershocks or something. The nurse said it’s normal, but it sucks.”
“Is that why you’re crying?”
For a moment, he sees a flicker of the old Rose, ready to retort, but it fades away. “No,” she says quietly. “I’m crying because Becca is right. I can’t take care of a baby.”
“Not by yourself. But maybe we could. Together.” Chase puts his hand on her knee. He looks around the room. The second bed sits unoccupied, ultra-white sheets neatly pulled tight. Rose’s clothes are wrapped in a plastic bag and sit on the counter by a small sink. Aside from a television hanging from the ceiling and some ominous-looking machines behind Rose’s bed, the room seems almost empty.
“You’re in no better shape than me.”
“You’re not thinking of giving her up, are you?”
“I’m a mess.” Rose sniffles. “I had this grand plan of running away nine months pregnant and finding my birth mother or this random pastor who knew her eleven years ago. Like that was somehow going to solve everything. Like she’d take me in and we’d raise this kid together or some fairy-tale Disney crap like that.” Rose plays with the IV stuck into her hand. “Shit. I’ve screwed up everything I’ve ever done. I’d screw up this baby too.”
“No, you wouldn’t. I saw the way you held her, Rose. You love her. Have you ever loved anything that way before?”
“No,” she admits, her eyes going to that faraway place. “Maybe my own mother. But how much you want to bet that’s how she felt about me when she held me the first time? And where did that get me?”
Chase shakes his head. “I thought I’d be coming in here trying to convince you to consider other options. Now that you have, I’m not so sure I like the options you’re considering.” He sighs, lifting his hand to touch her hair, then letting it fall again, her hair untouched. “This is half my decision, you know. I could keep her even if you decided to take off.”
“I know.” She leans her head back and closes her eyes. “I will hate myself for the rest of my life if I leave her here. She’s so fresh. So pure. So good.” Chase nods. He knows. Life hasn’t tainted her yet. She seems so peaceful and serene. Isn’t that what Walter and Lex are always looking for? What he himself is looking for? Serenity? Well, it’s right there in that baby. You could bottle it and make millions. But how long before life sucks that precious peacefulness right out of her?
“Well, we don’t have to make the decision right this minute, do we?” The room feels stuffy and the air thick. Chase wishes he could open a window or something. He hears something beeping from down the hall, loud, making his heartbeat quicken, but then it stops. “How many days will you be in the hospital?”
“I think two. Unless I hemorrhage or something.” Rose says, and Chase senses some semblance of humor. “Then I get to stay a little longer.”
“Very funny.” He tries to breathe. “I have to think some more before we decide this thing.”
“I’ll do you one better. I’m gonna pray.”
“You? Pray? Where’s my phone—I’d better record this.” Chase almost smiles, thinking he could wheel her down to the chapel, now that he knows where it is. “You don’t strike me as the praying type.”
“No shit,” Rose almost sounds like herself for a moment. Then her lower lip turns under, like she’s trying not to cry. She whispers, “Maybe it’s time for me to start.”
58
CHASE
Candy meets Chase outside the door to Room 227 as he exits. She’s probably been waiting there, pacing back and forth. Today, anxiety seems as contagious as the flu, just traveling through the air, infecting everyone. Her smile too forced, Candy greets him so full of anxiety he can see it throbbing in her neck. “I had you when I was sixteen.”
“I know that.”
“Sometimes I think having you saved my life.”
Chase raises an eyebrow.
“You gave me a purpose, a reason to wake up every day.” Candy shakes her head at the memory. “But it was hard, Chase. Shit, it
was hard. I gave up the dreams I had for me. All of a sudden they didn’t exist anymore. I didn’t exist anymore. I tried to hold on to my social life as best I could, but everything was different. I got trapped in a relationship with Walter that we both know wasn’t healthy, and I couldn’t see a way out.” She hesitates and then goes on. “It’s just that having a baby doesn’t have to be so hard.”
Chase bristles, irritated. Great speech if he hadn’t already knocked someone up. He turns away, but Candy grabs his shoulder. “I’m not telling you to give up the baby, Chase. Shit. I’m not saying this very well.” She stops and presses her shaking fingers to her lips. Chase can’t help but notice her green-and-red Christmas-themed fingernails.
“What I’m trying to say is that I’m older now. I’m in a stable relationship with Bob. He’s a solid, reliable man. He has a good job. Let me take the baby. You can see her every day, do as much or as little as you want. Same for Rose. It’ll give you a chance to have a life, and me a chance to do it better.”
Chase stares at his mother. Takes in her faded skinny jeans and the “Kiss Me, Santa!” long-sleeved T-shirt that hugs her breasts a little too tight. She hadn’t bothered with mascara or lipstick, so her face seems washed out. His mother. Candy. Some women are just having their first child at her age. “Thanks, Cand—I mean, thanks, Mom. I’ll think about it, okay?”
Candy seems so vulnerable, standing there, looking her age for the first time in forever. She’s let her teenage years bleed into her twenties and now into her thirties. She’s sacrificed her youth to take care of him. Is it even fair to ask her to do it again?
Chase has barely taken three steps down the hospital corridor before Becca loops her arm through his. “I have an idea.” She leans in toward his ear.
“Becca,” he sighs. “I can’t hardly hear myself think for all the thoughts I’ve got banging around in my head.”
“Just listen to one word. It’s genius.” Becca waits, holding on tight. “Rosenberg.”
“What?” Chase pries her fingers from his arm. What’s she trying to do, cut off his circulation?
“Matthew’s mother. Mrs. Rosenberg. She’s been trying to adopt another child.”
Suddenly, Chase’s mouth is so dry he could have downed a gallon of water like a tequila shot and still been thirsty. “You’re saying we should give up the baby … to her?” The fluorescent hospital lights seem too bright and make his head ache.
Becca pulls him around to face her. “It’s perfect. Think about it. Why doesn’t Rose want to give up the baby? Because she’s petrified the baby would wind up mismatched with some awful family—and have the same kind of experience she’s had.” Becca’s face practically glows with excitement, or maybe it’s the reflection of the overhead lights against her skin. “I haven’t totally figured out Rose’s parents yet, whether they’re as horrible as Rose says. But Mrs. Rosenberg was born to be a mother. Any kid would be lucky to have her.”
Chase extends his arms, moving Becca away. “Rose might go for that, but I’m not sure I will. Maybe I want to keep the baby. Maybe I don’t want to give her up at all.” He looks around for a water fountain.
Becca’s eyes search the crevices of his face like she’s looking for something written there. “You’d have to give up college, wouldn’t you?”
“I don’t know.” He starts to walk past her. His feet make scuffing noises against the hospital floor. “I have to think. I just need some quiet to think.”
“You might hate me,” Becca starts, her voice half its regular volume. Chase cocks his head so he can hear. “I called Mrs. Rosenberg and asked her to come.”
“You did what?” Chase’s mouth is drier by the minute.
“You heard me. I figured Rose would need some convincing, so I called her and asked her to come.”
“Rebecca Stein, you have balls of steel. Too bad you don’t use your head.”
“Oh, but I do.” Becca grins.
“And by the way, you reek of cigarette smoke. Better not stand near your parents. How many did you have today?”
“Eight. But I quit an hour ago.”
“I’ll believe that when I see it.”
“It’s true. Daniel took me on a field trip to see the cancer unit … which honestly didn’t do much for me because I can’t think twenty minutes down the line, much less twenty years.” Becca chews at a hangnail. “But then he bribed me and that did it.”
“With what, bubblegum and Blow Pops?”
“No. He’ll take me to practice driving every day I go without a cigarette. But he’s gonna do a sniff test. You know, breath, hair, clothes. So unless I plan on taking five showers a day, I gotta quit.”
“May the force be with you. You’re gonna need it.” Chase waves his hand behind him and pushes through the double doors that separate the maternity wing from the rest of the hospital. “And may the force be with me. I’m gonna need it too.” He heads toward a soda machine, hoping it carries bottled water.
Daniel stands in front of another vending machine, his face pressed against the glass. “What’s wrong?” Chase asks. “You trying to smell the snacks?”
“As of twelve hours ago, I’ve become a vegan, which means the only thing I can buy from this machine are the peanuts. I hate peanuts.” Daniel punctuates his words by tapping against the glass. He sighs and sits down on a green bench.
“Hmmm. You might have to give up the vegan thing if you don’t want to starve.” Chase rummages through his pockets and comes up with five quarters for a bottle of Dasani.
“Guess so. It was nice while it lasted.” Daniel pulls his legs up onto the bench and crosses them. “I felt so … enlightened.” His hair sticks up in the back, and Chase figures it’s been a while since he’s seen a mirror.
Daniel is the one person Chase actually wants advice from, maybe because he doesn’t give it lightly. “I’m dying here, man. Don’t you have any Buddhist words of wisdom for me?”
“Nah.”
“Jewish wisdom?” Chase asks, staring at a cluster of people hurrying by, carrying presents and a hideous Big Bird balloon.
“Nah. All I got is what I would do.” Daniel waits a moment while Chase guzzles his water and then goes on. “I’d try to figure out what would let me sleep at night.”
“You mean like could I sleep at night if I knew she was in someone else’s home?” Chase asks. Daniel nods. “Only if I knew that person.” An intercom pages a doctor to the ER, pauses, then pages the doctor again.
“Could you sleep at night if you knew you gave up a chance to go to college?” Daniel unfolds his legs and sets them back on the ground.
“Yeah, but I’d always wonder what-if, you know?” Chase looks up at the fluorescent hospital lights, as if the answer is written up there. “I mean, sometimes I wonder what got Walter so angry all the time. And I wonder if he felt stuck. Stuck with some girl he got pregnant and this whiny-ass kid. I just don’t want to feel stuck.”
Daniel scuffs his tennis shoes against the scraped-up hospital floor. “You know Becca’s got it in her head to fix you up with Mrs. Rosenberg?”
“She told me.” Chase groans. “And Candy’s got some idea about taking the baby herself. Crazy. But then maybe I could still go to school … ”
“No offense, but somehow I don’t think Candy will be up for Mother of the Year any time soon.”
“Tell me about it. I’m living proof of that. I know my parents made a lot of mistakes. Here’s what I want to know. Did they screw up because they were young, or did they screw up because they were them?” Chase asks, but Daniel just shrugs.
“I don’t know,” he says softly.
Chase feels the pressure of something behind his eyes, the way a dam must feel before it breaks. He hopes he won’t cry. “This whole thing is a freaking trip. One day I’m filling out college applications and trying to figure out who I am, getting t
o know my dad … and the next I’m a father? No way. I think my head might explode.”
“Not much time to get used to the idea, I know.” Daniel stands up and reaches to sling his arm around Chase’s shoulder. He can barely reach.
“I thought she was on the pill … ” Carrying sodas with straws, four doctors in hospital greens amble down the corridor, laughing at something one of them said.
Daniel shakes his head and pats Chase on the back. “What about doubling up on the protection? Didn’t I teach you anything?” He waits a beat, and when Chase doesn’t say anything, he adds, “Just kidding. I’ll shut up now.”
“An accident. Happens all the time, right?” Chase thinks out loud. “But how can I be upset about something as perfect as that baby girl?”
If Daniel answers, Chase can’t hear him. He moves past his friend and toward the elevator. He needs to get out of the hospital for a little while. He needs to run. He needs that burn. That adrenaline. That release.
So he does. He pumps his arms and pounds his feet against the sidewalk, hard and fast. The chill of a December day numbs the tip of his nose and the tops of his ears, and that feels good. Chase runs through mid-afternoon streets of Van Nuys until he can feel his heart all the way through his chest.
As usual, the running loosens his thoughts and helps him get himself unstuck. Suddenly he knows who to call. Panting, he leans over and pulls out his cell phone to dial the number. “Hey, Walt—hey, Dad?”
59
ROSE
Breastfeeding is harder than it looks. First of all, Rose’s breasts are swollen like overfilled water balloons, the kind that burst when you barely pick them up because they’re so full. Second, the baby’s mouth can only open so big.
The perky swing-shift nurse keeps telling Rose how good breast milk is for the baby, how it’s so much healthier than formula, how her own antibodies will be passed to the baby through breast milk. Rose doesn’t even have a chance to tell the nurse she’s thinking of giving up the baby. Perky Nurse reaches right over to Rose, grabs her boob, and helps her position it toward the baby’s mouth, lightly brushing the tip against the baby’s lips so her rooting reflex will kick in.
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