Rose isn’t sure whether she should slap the nurse or thank her. And it’s impossible not to stare at the baby’s tiny pumping cheeks. Impossible not to love her. But Becca is right. With every pump of her cheeks, Rose is getting more and more attached. And it’s dangerous to bond if she has any thought of giving her up.
That’s why Mrs. Rosenberg’s proposal tempts her.
At first when the assistant rabbi walks through the hospital door, looking strangely different without Matthew attached to her hip, Rose has no idea why she’s there or even how she’d known to come. It doesn’t take long to figure it out, though. Becca Stein, the matchmaker, who can’t mind her own damn business.
She’ll be happy to take both Rose and the baby if the Parsimmons agree, Mrs. Rosenberg explains, her wide lips curiously smile free. Rose can stay past the age of eighteen, as long as she follows the house rules. “And we’re strict,” she adds.
There’s one sticking point Mrs. Rosenberg insists is non-negotiable. “If we go with this, you’ll have to understand that the baby would be mine. Legally, physically, emotionally.” Rose watches her smile-free lips quiver while she says it, like she’s nervous or something. “Would that be hard for you?”
Rose cringes inside. It would definitely be hard for her. But everything about this situation is hard. She meets Mrs. Rosenberg’s serious gaze head-
on. “Why would you want a package deal? Why would you want me?”
“Why wouldn’t I want you?” Mrs. Rosenberg asks, her face softening.
“Ask the Parsimmons. I’m trouble. A disappointment.”
“Well, I don’t tolerate trouble, so if you wanted to stay with me, you’d have to make some changes.” Mrs. Rosenberg leans back against the wall like she needs the support. “I know you could do it. You’d have to rise to the challenge, because I only allow positive influences around my kids.”
“And she’d be … your kid.” Rose brushes her fingertips against the soft fluff that is the baby’s hair. “And I’d be what?”
“We’d be open with her, of course. We’d explain that she’s adopted, and that you gave birth to her.” Mrs. Rosenberg says. “But I’d be her mother. Just like I’m Matthew’s mother.”
“I don’t know … ” Rose looks around the room, feeling like the walls are too close together. She wishes Chase would come back already. “Why do you want this?”
“Do you know how hard it is to adopt a healthy newborn?” Mrs. Rosenberg half laughs … to herself mostly. “I’m close to forty and my husband is forty-five. He’s got diabetes. We’re not ideal candidates.” She shakes her head, dangling silver earrings bouncing off the side of her face.
“But I want Matthew to have a sister. I want it so bad I can taste it.” She stops for a moment, runs a hand through her hair, then moves over to examine the contents of the IV bag, now half empty. She turns back to look at Rose directly. “And I’m a good mother. Yes, I work. But my work is flexible, and there is a quality day care right on site. But I guess you know that.”
“Why don’t you just adopt from China or something?”
“I might, if this doesn’t work out. Although with a foreign adoption, I wouldn’t be able to take the baby until she was almost a year. I’d hate to miss out on that first year.” She sits herself on the edge of Rose’s bed, uninvited, but somehow it seems more loving than rude. “This plan might be your best option, Rose. It allows you and Chase to stay peripherally involved. You get to enjoy her and watch her grow without having to give up your own lives. You can rest assured that she’ll be in good hands.”
Rose aches in the center of her chest. Her throat feels like it’s been burned, it hurts so bad. “Maybe you could be her foster mother, and I could stay with you until I get on my feet?”
“No,” Mrs. Rosenberg says quietly. “I have a lot of admiration for foster mothers, but it is not for me. I love too deeply. Once I let myself love that child, I won’t let anyone take her away. Not even you. So know that going in.”
“The Parsimmons won’t let me live with you,” Rose tosses out, feeling helpless and ripped in half.
“I think they might,” Mrs. Rosenberg volleys back. “Look, Rose, you have to take ownership of your problems with the Parsimmons. It’s not all them. Nothing ever is. You have a part to play too.”
Rose swallows. She knows that’s true. Sort of. But it’s so much easier to blame the Parsimmons for everything.
Mrs. Rosenberg goes on. “Personally, I think if you handle this like an adult, you might be able to present an alternative living situation to them. They seem pretty burned out to me. They might be ready to hand over the torch to someone else.” A sliver of a smile touches her lips for a moment. “Of course, that means you have to stop running away from your problems and face them. You’d have to call your parents.”
Rose studies her fingers and holds in her tears as best she can. “I have to th-think about this.” Rats. Her voice breaks. And now a tear slides down her face. Others follow, more than she can count.
“I know this is a hard decision. Please do think about it.” Mrs. Rosenberg stands up, smoothing her slacks. She moves toward the door.
But that means giving up on the fantasy of finding her mother, at least temporarily. Moving back to Simi Valley. As much as she hates to admit it, the whole reunite-with-bio-Mom fantasy is just that, a fantasy. Even if she does find her mother—even if she’s still alive—chances are slim that her lifestyle has changed all that much.
But Rose doesn’t ever want to go back and live with the Parsimmons. Deep down she knows they don’t hate her, not really. They just don’t have a clue what to do with her. And deep down she knows she doesn’t really hate them either. She just hates that she was taken from her real mother and dumped at their house. Rose wipes her face with her arm. She sits quietly except for those little crying breaths that feel like hiccups.
As Mrs. Rosenberg starts to slip out of the room, she asks, “If I gave her to you, would you still let me name her?”
Mrs. Rosenberg pokes her head back in. “Depends. You’re not thinking of naming her something strange or hideous, are you? I am strongly opposed to naming children after pieces of fruit, months of the year, or states.”
“You don’t like Georgia?” Rose throws out halfheartedly before she catches herself. “No,” she adds more seriously. “And I’m not making any promises here. But if I did give her up, I want to be able to give her something that can stay with her forever. Like my mom did for me.”
Mrs. Rosenberg nods slowly. “Well, in that case, yes.”
60
CHASE
Time is funny. Sometimes a single minute drags out for a lifetime, and sometimes a month goes so fast it feels like it never even happened. Too bad Chase can’t fast forward, rewind, delete, and pause what’s happening in real life, just like a movie. If he could, Chase would have wanted to fast forward through much of his childhood. But right now, at this moment, the time spent making this decision is so important that he wishes he could press Pause and make it all stand still until he can sort things out. Because he knows once the decision is made and papers signed, there’s no rewind.
But in the end, the decision seems clear. Sad, but clear. Like oil in salad dressing left out overnight, the answer just rises to the top. Chase and Rose talk about it long into the evening, long after their room empties and the hospital ward quiets down. With the lights dimmed, they take turns holding the baby, rocking her, and patting her back. Mostly she sleeps, her eyes gently closed, and her chest rising and falling with little breaths.
“This might be the only good thing I’ve ever done,” Rose says softly, squeezed over on one half of the bed. Chase sits on the other side, his feet bare. The baby lies across their two laps, swaddled in a thin blanket with her arms pulled in toward her body. “Unless you count sharing my lunch in elementary school. Or letting someone bum a cigar
ette.”
“Well, this is definitely the best thing I’ve ever done,” Chase agrees. “We made her and she’s perfect. Nameless, but perfect. Only she can’t go without a name for too much longer.” The heat of Rose’s body against his and the baby across his lap warm him, despite the cool hospital air.
“I wonder how my mother picked mine. Did she figure out the symbolism of a rose? Did she give me my thorns for protection?”
“Man, you and symbolism. Just promise me you won’t name her something from a Disney movie.”
“Oh, come on. Don’t you like Jasmine? Or Ariel? Cinderella?” Rose swats the back of his head. “I almost want to name her something out there just to be a rebel.”
“Imagine, you a rebel.”
Rose ignores this. “And she was born on Christmas. That gives us something to work with.”
“How about Jingle?”
“Bells?” The baby stirs as if to protest. “Or Belle like from Beauty and the Beast?”
“Disney, that’s Disney! I reserve the right to veto all Disney-related names.”
“How about Nicholas for a girl?” Rose shifts to face him more, although it makes their butts press against the hospital-bed railing.
“Uh … no.” Chase checks out Rose’s face to see if she’s serious. “Remember, she has to survive elementary school.”
“What are your ideas, oh wise one?”
“I have one. But don’t laugh.” Chase clears his throat. “How about Serenity?”
“Serenity?”
“That’s what I said.” Chase leans over to touch the baby’s hair. It looks and feels like duck fluff. “Because that’s what I want for her. To hold on to all that is peaceful and serene about herself.”
“Serenity, huh? Maybe.” Rose puts her finger in the baby’s palm. Tiny fingers wrap around her own. “Isn’t there a famous tennis player named Serena?”
“Yeah, but I like Serenity better. I know it’s unusual. I just think it fits her.”
Rose brings the baby’s hand to her mouth, pressing her lips into the delicate skin. “I can’t imagine being without her. She was inside of me for so long. She was all mine. My little secret. I could feel her move, feel her turning around in there, feel her kicking.”
Rose’s eyes fill up with tears. She turns her head away, so that strands of hair fall down and cover her face. Her braids had come undone hours ago. “Being without her will feel like I’m missing a part of myself, like I’m walking around without my right arm. How do you manage without your right arm?”
“Are we sure we want to do this? We don’t have to.” Chase cuts in a little too quickly, saying what he’s said twenty times before.
“You’re not making this any easier by waffling so damn much.”
“Okay, okay. It just sucks because what I want and what I know to be right are two separate things. I guess I don’t feel that different from you. I’ll feel like something is missing. Or I’ll feel homesick … or guilty.” Chase feels nauseous just thinking about it. “But at least we can still be involved in her life without sacrificing our own. And at least we’ll know she’s loved. And safe.” The baby turns her head to the right and works her mouth like she’s sucking on something, only she’s not.
Rose wipes her eyes with the back of her hand. “Serenity.” She rolls the name around in her mouth. “I could get used to that.”
“For short, we could call her ‘T.’”
Rose brushes the tip of her finger against the baby’s nose. “Hey, little T, get ready. Because the world is coming at you. Fast.” The baby’s lips turn upward for a moment while she sleeps.
“Hey! Did you see that? She smiled! I didn’t think babies smiled this young.”
“They don’t. It must have been gas.”
“Or maybe she likes her name.”
Chase listens to the baby’s puffs of breath in and out, and tries to match his breaths to hers. He tries not to think of all the tomorrows and to just be there with her breathing. If Chase could take this moment in isolation, it might’ve been perfect.
“I think Serenity is the name for you,” he tells her, kissing her soft cheek, his lips sinking in deeper than he’d have thought, like into a down pillow.
“Me too. I want one,” Rose whispers. “Pucker up, little T.” She leans forward to kiss the baby’s mouth, loose hair spilling around her.
Chase gathers Rose’s hair in his hands, holding it away from Serenity. “No. You pucker up,” he says to Rose, kissing her for the first time in eight months, sending goose bumps racing down his arms.
“Well, aren’t we a sappy bunch. We ought to be on a freaking Hallmark commercial.”
“I missed you,” Chase says, tucking her hair behind her shoulder. “Welcome back, Rose.”
Chase knows that this moment is the closest to serenity he’s ever been. He looks at the baby’s little hands, dimples indenting the skin in front of each finger. You can tell a lot about a person by her hands. Soft. Delicate. Sweet. Serene. But strong. Her hand grips his finger in her palm like a clamp, like she doesn’t want him to escape. Like she wants to hold on to him, to hold him there for that moment in time. That perfect, peaceful moment.
And then, for just the briefest slice of a second, Serenity opens her eyes and looks right at him. Kind of like she wants to say something. Kind of like she wants to tell him it’s okay.
Behind every good story is a good support team.
Thank you to Team Home Front: my husband, Rob, and my children, Ben, Noah, Jacob, and the little one on the way—my synonyms for love. Thank you for believing in me and for being the amazing people you are.
Thank you to my sweet son Alex, who was with us for such a short time, but still managed to teach me so much about life and about who I am. Alex, we miss you and will love you forever.
Thank you to Team Family Support: to Mom and Dad, Peggy and Bob, thank you for all the love and encouragement. To Jessie and Dale, Adam and J.A., Daniel and Jamie, Lois and Brian, Marjie and Jeff, and Michael, thank you for being the coolest siblings and siblings-in-law on earth. To Holly—my honorary sister—thank you for always being on my team.
Thank you to Team Moral Support: to Holly, Dorothy, Jill, Janet, Tina, Dream, Kristi, Jodie, Stephanie, Omario, Sanjay, Valerie, Darlene, Jennifer, Ophra, Steve, Pete, Jodi, Tara, Yvette, Michelle, Maria, Tom, Kelly, and Tim.
Thank you to Team Tech Support: Sherry, Hillary, Stacy, Marilyn, Stephanie, Lisa, Ian, Chad, Platte, Mindy, Hannah, Julie, Alexis, and Terry. Thank you for your keen eyes, pruning tendencies, and patient support.
Thank you to the Fabulous Team at Whitman: Wendy for your brilliant guidance, your balance of fleshing out and tightening up, and your supportive nature; Kelly for your wise oversight; Diane and Kristin for your careful eyes; and Jenna for your vision.
Thank you to Team Cheerleader: Deborah for being my tireless advocate, an amazing party thrower, and networker extraordinaire.
Thank you to Team Literature: Connie at Mrs. Fig’s Bookworm and Mary at the Camarillo Library. Thank you for bringing amazing books to our community.
Thank you to Team Inspiration: This is a completely fictional work. But I am inspired on a daily basis by the teens in tough situations who not only survive, but thrive. To all the teens I’ve ever worked with … teenage-hood is temporary. Don’t forget that it gets better.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Behind every good story is a good support team.
Thank you to Team Home Front: my husband, Rob, and my children, Ben, Noah, Jacob, and the little one on the way—my synonyms for love. Thank you for believing in me and for being the amazing people you are.
Thank you to my sweet son Alex, who was with us for such a short time, but still managed to teach me so much about life and about who I am. Alex, we miss you and will love you forever.
Thank you to Team Family Support: to
Mom and Dad, Peggy and Bob, thank you for all the love and encouragement. To Jessie and Dale, Adam and J.A., Daniel and Jamie, Lois and Brian, Marjie and Jeff, and Michael, thank you for being the coolest siblings and siblings-in-law on earth. To Holly—my honorary sister—thank you for always being on my team.
Thank you to Team Moral Support: to Holly, Dorothy, Jill, Janet, Tina, Dream, Kristi, Jodie, Stephanie, Omario, Sanjay, Valerie, Darlene, Jennifer, Ophra, Steve, Pete, Jodi, Tara, Yvette, Michelle, Maria, Tom, Kelly, and Tim.
Thank you to Team Tech Support: Sherry, Hillary, Stacy, Marilyn, Stephanie, Lisa, Ian, Chad, Platte, Mindy, Hannah, Julie, Alexis, and Terry. Thank you for your keen eyes, pruning tendencies, and patient support.
Thank you to the Fabulous Team at Whitman: Wendy for your brilliant guidance, your balance of fleshing out and tightening up, and your supportive nature; Kelly for your wise oversight; Diane and Kristin for your careful eyes; and Jenna for your vision.
Thank you to Team Cheerleader: Deborah for being my tireless advocate, an amazing party thrower, and networker extraordinaire.
Thank you to Team Literature: Connie at Mrs. Fig’s Bookworm and Mary at the Camarillo Library. Thank you for bringing amazing books to our community.
Thank you to Team Inspiration: This is a completely fictional work. But I am inspired on a daily basis by the teens in tough situations who not only survive, but thrive. To all the teens I’ve ever worked with … teenage-hood is temporary. Don’t forget that it gets better.
All rights reserved, including without limitation the right to reproduce this book or any portion thereof in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher.
The Opposite of Love Page 22